Holiday!Bang 2008 entry for prompt 136
Title: Of Presents, Give-and-Take, & Memory
Author Name: blue_fjords
Original Prompt Number: 136
Pairing(s): Jack/Ianto, Gwen/Rhys, Cooper Parents, Williams Parents, Banana Boat, OC
Summary: In which Dead!Tosh gives presents from the beyond, Ianto is the King of Shitty Christmases, Jack learns a few helpful Welsh phrases, Gwen tries her hand at a roast, Rhys provides reinforcements, and Scotch is consumed by all.
Rating: PG-13 (for swearing, implied m/m sex, butchering of the Welsh language)
Word Count: 7 524
Author's Notes: I have no idea if there is a pub named the Three-Legged Shepherd in Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwlll
lantysiliogogogoch (Llanfair PG). Probably not. Also, all of the Welsh is from a free online translation site - it’s not supposed to be perfect. If anyone actually speaks Welsh, I’d love to know how off Daffyd’s little book really is.
More A/N: This was originally posted anonymously for "The Stopwatch" challenge. I wrote it all the way back at the beginning of September, and it holds the distinction of being the first fic I ever wrote. And yes, I know the title sucks donkey's balls. If you can help me come up with a better title, please post it in the comments! Thanks!
“Look who’s coming round the bend!
It’s Santa and his reindeer friends…”
‘Not this fucking song again,’ Ianto thought. Tesco had the worst selection of Christmas music. Seriously, how many versions of “Wonderful Christmastime” could there be? He’d been in the store for less than an hour, and had heard three, at least, and now Santa was back in his damn super sleigh, an even more annoying song. That sleigh had accompanied Ianto on the drive to the Hub that morning, Gwen had been humming it rather listlessly last night when they were supposedly taking inventory of the ammunition stores (but in reality they’d both been stealing surreptitious glances at Jack as he demolished half a dozen targets), and now here it was again. Still, it was better to think of inane holiday tunes than to dwell on what he had found in the Hub that morning…
If it hadn’t snowed, Ianto would have had no reason to go looking for the extra bags of Ice Melt. It had been an icier winter than usual, and what with the diminished manpower, Ianto hadn’t had time to re-stock the Ice Melt for the Tourist Centre. He knew there were some extra bags leftover from last year anyhow, in the little broom closet on the same level as Janet’s cell. There was just one problem. The bags were not there. Ianto was the only one to use them, he was sure, but that didn’t change facts that they were nowhere to be seen. Owen must have borrowed them for an experiment of some sort, and forgot to restock. Muttering under his breath, Ianto closed the door to the broom closet with just a bit too much force. He distinctly heard something fall off a shelf inside. Sighing, he opened up the door again, rather more gingerly. It was just a packet of extra paper towels. He tried to put them back on the top shelf, but they wouldn’t fit. There was a large flat box that had fallen forward on the shelf when the towels toppled off. He tugged the box down and shoved the towels back on their shelf. Backing out of the closet, he glanced at the box in his hands and felt his throat close up. Tosh’s familiar handwriting looked back up at him. “Right guys, I will actually be upset if you open this box. I am trying to do something nice for you all, plus it is a surprise, so I would appreciate it if you just put this box back where you found it and did not open it. Do not peek until Christmas! That goes for you, too, Owen! And you, Gwen! Yes, and you, Jack! Ianto, I know you wouldn’t open this if I asked you not to, so try to keep that lot in line!”
“Ianto!” Jack called as he hopped down the last stair and made his way through the tunnel over to the broom closet. “Come on, I want to start doing a very scientific experiment on how quickly snowflakes will melt off of your tongue versus…Ianto? What’s the matter?”
Jack frowned down at the box in Ianto’s hands. His eyes widened as he took in the note.
“Oh, Ianto,” he sighed.
“We should show this to Gwen,” Ianto said hurriedly.
“Are you okay?” Jack asked, reaching out to touch Ianto’s shoulder. Ianto let him. He was trying to be more comfortable with consoling touches, and he knew Jack appreciated it.
“Yes, of course,” he lied smoothly. Jack let him. Jack was trying to be more comfortable with Ianto tamping down on his emotions until he had sufficiently mulled them over, and Jack knew Ianto appreciated it.
The two men climbed the stairs into the main Hub and found Gwen printing off recipes at her workstation.
“Which sounds more appetizing - Roast something I can’t pronounce in French or Dory’s Home Cooking Roast?” Gwen asked, still staring at her screen.
Ianto shifted his feet. He had turned down Gwen’s offer to join her and her family at her flat for Christmas dinner, and still felt vaguely guilty over it. He was just miserable company around the holidays (for good reason, he thought) and did not think the newlyweds needed to put up with his attitude as they tried hosting their first ever Christmas dinner for both sets of parents. “Gwen.”
“Hmm? The French thing, right?”
“Gwen. Ianto found something we should all take a look at,” Jack’s tone was serious. Gwen looked up and noticed the box.
“I thought we said no gifts?” she asked, faintly accusatory.
“It’s not from us. They’re from Tosh.” Ianto showed her the note affixed to the box. Gwen’s lower lip began to tremble.
“Right, then,” she said, squaring her shoulders and taking a deep breath. “Shall we open it? It’s Christmas Eve, that’s close enough, yeah?”
“Are you both sure you want to?” Jack asked, glancing at Ianto.
Ianto nodded slowly. Jack opened the box and pulled out a flat smallish parcel. “Ianto.” Ianto immediately took it and held it like it was an unknown alien artifact. Jack paused. Knowing Tosh, it could actually be an unknown alien artifact. Shaking his head, he reached into the box and pulled out the next present. It was slightly smaller than Ianto’s and had his own name on it. “Mine,” he said, putting it down on the edge of Gwen’s desk. Reaching in again, he found a brightly wrapped box, fatter than his and Ianto’s. “This was for Owen,” he said softly. Gwen’s lower lip trembled again. Ianto closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, Jack was looking at him. “Go on. Let’s see Gwen’s,” he said roughly. Jack reached in for the last gift, and the large size of the box was explained, as Gwen’s present was flat, square, and took up the entire bottom of Tosh’s box.
Jack, Gwen, and Ianto stood there for a moment. Finally Ianto cleared his throat. “Well. I really need to see about getting some Ice Melt for the front steps to the Tourist Centre, or we’re going to have a lawsuit on our hands.” He nodded to the other two, and briskly headed up the stairs, clutching his present.
“Ianto!” Gwen called after him. Jack gave her a warning look and a small shake of his head. Gwen visibly changed her mind. “Ianto. I just want to say to have a nice evening and a pleasant day tomorrow.” She gave him a tremulous smile.
Ianto turned and came back, wrapping his arms around Gwen. “You have a Merry Christmas, Gwen,” he said, pressing his lips to her forehead. “I’ll be back soon with that Ice Melt,” he said to Jack, and headed back up the stairs and out through the Tourist Centre.
Gwen and Jack turned to face each other. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Jack offered.
Gwen smiled. “Meet in your office in fifteen minutes for show and tell?” she said with something close to her normal good cheer.
“See you then,” Jack agreed, heading up there now to open his gift in solitude. Gwen waited until his door had shut. She took one more deep breath, and tore the paper off her present.
************
Gwen felt her eyes fill with tears for what had to be at least the eight thousandth time since Tosh and Owen had ceased to be Tosh and Owen and had become That Gaping Hole of Regret and Fear. Her present from Tosh came with a note, “Just your usual, normal, un-Photo Shopped, wedding collage for a most unusual bride. Cheers! Tosh.”
The center picture of the collage was Torchwood, as it had been. Gwen and Rhys were in the middle, arms around each other and thousand-watt beams on their faces. Jack stood next to Gwen, the tips of his fingers visible on her left shoulder. He looked strangely solemn, as a father looks when his beloved daughter has decided on a new life, one in which he will no longer have the chief influence. There was a trace of melancholy about his eyes, a bit of pride in the set of his mouth. Jack’s right arm circled Ianto’s waist, snaking up under the suit with his fingers resting on Ianto’s hip. There was something in the way the thumb was high up on the hip that looked like Jack had been rubbing that spot, claiming it for his own. The expression on Ianto’s face was open and loose, much more so than the coolly professional mask he felt he needed to wear at all other times. His right hand gripped a flute of champagne, and from the color in his cheeks, Gwen could tell he had already enjoyed his fair share. She looked closer at the photo, and found herself snorting. You couldn’t see Ianto’s left hand. She had a couple of guesses as to where it was resting. Over on Rhys’ other side, Tosh held herself erect, a small smile playing about her lips. She was partially blocked by Rhys, but the set of her shoulders indicated that she was more than happy to let him take the center spotlight. Her hands clutched the flower Gwen had impulsively taken out of her bouquet and handed to her earlier in the evening. Next to Tosh, Owen was striking a pose. Gwen was pretty sure he was trying to mimic Jack’s noble hero stance. His right arm was around Tosh’s shoulders, his left hand on his hip. He was rather valiantly trying to raise just one eyebrow. He looked cocky, and aggressive, and like he couldn’t care less. He looked like he was trying to convince himself that he was only happy, and thinking only about the people around him, and failing miserably. He looked like he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, in spite of everything. He looked like Owen.
Gwen tore her eyes away to look at the other photos in the collage. There was a rare shot of Jack and Rhys standing together, neither looking antagonistic. She recognized the slightly daft expression on Rhys’ face - he must have just downed a couple of fingers’ worth of Scotch. There was a picture of Gwen and Tosh dancing to what Gwen realized to her horror must have been the Chicken Dance. She could just see Ianto approaching Banana Boat at the DJ booth in the background. Another photo showed Owen balancing a full pint of beer on his forehead. Gwen’s eyes slid over to a picture of herself laughing with Jack and Owen. All three of them looked animated, and relieved, and a bit stunned to be where they were. Ianto, Tosh, and Rhys sat together in the next photo. From the balled up napkins and arrangement of flatware on the table in front of them, Gwen suspected that Rhys was getting a demonstration of some of the early failures of the Singularity Scalpel. The last photo featured Jack and Ianto, dancing. Jack’s lips were very close to Ianto’s ear, and Gwen could only imagine what he was whispering.
Gwen stayed there for a long while, smiling through her tears.
******************
Up in his office, Jack tore off the neatly folded paper and let out a bark of a laugh. “1001 Useful Phrases for the New Welshman by Daffyd Canhwyllbren” looked back up at him. It was well-used, with various pages folded back and scribblings in Tosh’s hand in the margins. There was an inscription on the title page. “Jack - I got this book five years ago when I cast my lot with you and moved to Cardiff. Now my time is up (but don’t worry, I’m staying!). However, I feel I have successfully acclimated myself here and found my home. I am therefore passing this book on to you. Cardiff is where you belong. You should talk like a native. Check out page 116. Tosh.” Jack turned to page 116. “Unusual Occurrences That Have Befallen the Author and Needs Be Translated,” read the heading. About two-thirds of the way down, Tosh had underlined the following phrase: “Fy carwr anrheithio y popty eilchwyl = My boyfriend has broken the toaster again.” In the margin, she had scrolled a note to Jack: “Ianto is better at deleting CCTV than you. You want proof, check out the folder marked “Toaster Repairs” in the “Deliveries” folder in the “Minutiae of Running the Hub” folder in the “CCTV Maintenance” folder on the Mainframe. Enjoy!”
Jack scrambled to his computer to pull up the proper folder. All of the Toaster Repairs were listed by date. He chose one at random. The CCTV image of Ianto on the dilapidated settee in the main part of the Hub filled the screen. As he watched, CCTV Jack came over and slipped in behind Ianto. CCTV Jack began to give Ianto a shoulder massage, and was visibly frustrated at the amount of clothes Ianto was wearing. Jack pursed his lips and silently critiqued his method of getting Ianto bare-chested. He remembered that night. He was debating with himself about skipping ahead to when he broke out the massage oil for Ianto’s lower back and legs, or enjoying the extended foreplay of the shoulder massage, and, oh, there’s some necking…when Gwen knocked on his office door. He quickly minimized the screen, and, clearing his throat, bade her enter.
Gwen’s eyes were puffy, but her smile was beautiful. Wordlessly, she handed her collage over to Jack. Jack gave her his book.
Jack examined each picture, eyes roaming over smiles and hugs and dances. This wedding was so completely different from his own, but that indescribable feeling, that strange mixture of beginnings and separations, trust, love, respect, and mind-boggling fear, and so many other emotions that Jack, in spite of all of his years of living, could not name, that feeling was still evident in the photos from Gwen’s wedding. Jack traced his and Ianto’s clasped hands in the picture of them dancing. Jack had been surprised when Ianto asked him to dance. Ianto was not one to publicize his affections. It was most definitely not one of Ianto’s kinks, and Jack had worked quite hard at uncovering his hidden kinky side. Jack could see the lock of hair that curled around the bottom of Ianto’s ear. He liked to twist it around his finger, late at night while Ianto slept, his head resting on Jack’s heart (since touching was okay, and encouraged, when they were alone) as Jack kept vigil through the night. Jack would never admit it out loud, but he liked that Ianto trusted him to keep the monsters away. It made him feel needed in a way that he hadn’t felt in a long time, and the fact that it was Ianto, a man who practically screamed “self-reliant” just made it all that much better. Jack was secretly a control freak (though perhaps not all that secretly). The sound of Gwen snorting indelicately pulled him away from his reverie.
Gwen was paging through the section entitled “Location Is Everything: Please Study the Pronunciation of the Y and W or You Will Get Nowhere in Wales.”
“Jack, this book lists all of the pubs in Llanfair PG. You should really check out the Three-legged Shepherd. They have a Superhero Theme Night,” Gwen said, eyes twinkling.
“I take it you approve of my gift?” Jack asked with a smile.
Gwen glanced at his computer screen and the minimized window. “I see you’ve read page 116.”
“Of course.”
“Hmm.”
Gwen smiled at him again, and looked at her collage. “Isn’t that fantastic?” she asked with a catch in her throat.
“It is indeed. Tosh was a lovely soul.”
Gwen nodded. “I wonder - .” She stopped, and took a breath. “What do you think we should do with Owen’s gift?”
“I am very tempted to open it. But I really don’t think we should.”
“Yeah.” Gwen smiled again. “Here, let’s switch back.” She bit her lip as she surveyed her collage yet again. “Will you call me tomorrow? In case you decide to come, I mean? The offer’s still open.”
“I’ll call you regardless. And I will continue to work on his Royal Scrooge-ness.”
“You have the jumpers, right? Just in case?”
Jack visibly blanched. “You mean you weren’t kidding? Gwen, have you seen them?”
“Jack Harkness, I have had to wear one of those hideous jumpers every Christmas of my life. One day won’t hurt you.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
Jack followed Gwen out into the Hub and helped her on with her coat.
“Which roast are you going with?”
“The French thing. Rhys ordered the cut weeks ago, I need to pick it up on my way home, and some other ingredients.”
They stopped at the top of the stairs. Gwen threw her arms around Jack’s neck, careful not to jostle her collage too much. Jack held her close, and breathed in the scent of her hair and perfume. He kissed the top of her head.
“Merry Christmas, Gwen.”
“Merry Christmas, Jack.”
*************************
Ianto eyed his gift, resting innocuously in the passenger’s seat beside him. He had no intention of opening it just yet. He had been short with Gwen and Jack all week, and they had been nothing but understanding. It was driving him crazy. Why couldn’t they just act like it was a normal week? Ianto was not a Christmas-person. In fact, Ianto would go so far as to say that he was the King of Shitty Christmases. This present from Tosh, whatever it was, was not going to help matters. The first Christmas that Ianto remembered clearly was his third Christmas. His Uncle Alfie and Auntie Judy had visited with their daughter, Ianto’s six year old cousin, Gracie. Gracie was a holy terror. She had started a small fire in the back shed, deliberately hid his father’s best shears and pincushion, ate his mother’s entire pumpkin pie, and had topped it off by drowning in her bath on Christmas Eve. Uncle Alfie and Auntie Judy had never recovered. To this day, Ianto avoided pumpkin pie like the plague. He still felt guilty for disliking any child. He had hated Gracie, and she had died. Intellectually, he knew it was not his fault. That didn’t always help, though. The next Christmas, they had received a very early morning phone call from a PC Ceryse, asking for Auntie Judy’s next of kin. Alfie and Judy had managed to wrap their car around a telephone pole while driving home from visiting Gracie’s grave. After that, Ianto and his parents never celebrated the holidays. It was a week before Christmas (while Ianto’s mother was “on holiday” at Providence Park, nine years after Judy’s death) that she had completely lost her tentative grip on sanity, and somehow had managed to climb out to the roof. It was icy, and wholly within the realm of possibility that she had merely slipped and fallen to her death. It was also wholly within the realm of possibility that she had deliberately jumped. (Ianto never joined Jack on roofs. He wanted to. He just couldn’t.) When Ianto’s father had died a few years later in the spring, Ianto had almost been giddy with relief to hear birds sing. Lisa had tried to give him a good Christmas. Their first Christmas together was also the first time they had had a huge row, the kind you think, when you’re having it, that you’re not going to come through it as a couple. Ianto had driven off in a seething rage and stayed away for three days. They had made up on New Year’s Eve. (That holiday had always been one of his favorites. Another year over - surely the next one would be better, right?) Their second Christmas together was spent with six other friends, all of whom had died horrible deaths at Canary Wharf. Last Christmas, when Jack and John had died of carbon monoxide poisoning in Ianto’s car, was actually starting to look pretty good in comparison. Which led Ianto to this Christmas, and a present from his dead friend, a woman he should have tried to get to know better. Tosh was brilliant, and beautiful, and generous, and so fucking lonely. Ianto swallowed past the lump in his throat, started the engine, and headed to Tesco’s.
Ianto arrived back at the Hub a couple of hours later, trying to get “Santa’s Super Sleigh” out of his head. The roads had been awful, and Tesco’s was full of people in a blind panic, grabbing anything off the shelves that could pass as an acceptable present for Great-Auntie Enid and other myriad relatives. ‘Relatives that they forget the other 364 days of the year,’ thought Ianto. If he had relatives. . . well. He didn’t. He had Jack and Gwen (and Rhys, he supposed), and he had been a right twat to them all week. He sighed. He really needed to get a grip.
He quickly spread some Ice Melt on the walkway to the Tourist Centre, and went inside, looking for Jack. He could do with a good dose of Jack about now.
“Jack?”
There was a light on in Jack’s office. Ianto climbed the stairs and looked around. The trapdoor was up.
“Jack?”
Jack poked his head up out of the opening.
“Ianto! Just the man I wanted to see!” Jack hoisted himself up until he was sitting on the floor, feet dangling into his personal quarters. He took a deep breath. “Gadu ni bwyta cacen.” (Let us eat cake.)
Jack looked at Ianto expectantly. Ianto blinked back. “Umm?” he said finally.
“Gadu ni bwyta cacen.” Jack repeated himself slowly.
“Jack, I have no idea what you are saying. You want…cake? Is that right? We have biscuits…”
“You understood me!” Jack crowed. “Listen to me, I speak Welsh!”
“Jack, you’ve lived in Wales for over a hundred years. I should hope you could speak at least a little Welsh,” Ianto smiled at him to take the sting out of his words.
“Well, to be perfectly honest, I’ve never bothered before. I just like the accent,” Jack confessed. “Hey, come here. Sit with me.”
Ianto decided to humor him, and hunkered down next to Jack on the floor, feet dangling through the trapdoor. Jack drew him in closer, one arm about the shoulders and the other hand taking one of Ianto’s, playing with the fingers.
“So did you really want some cake?” Ianto asked, leaning against Jack’s shoulder.
“Nah. I just wanted to practice the book Tosh gave me.”
“Oh.”
“Ianto?”
“Hmm?” Ianto was starting to feel sleepy. Fighting hordes of last minute holiday shoppers could do that to a man.
“Do you want to tell me why you don’t like Christmas?”
Ianto stiffened, and consciously forced himself to relax. “Not particularly.”
“You going to change your mind about coming with me to Gwen’s tomorrow?”
Ianto frowned, and lifted his head off Jack’s shoulder. “I thought you said you weren’t going to go without…, I mean, it’s fine if you want to go alone, I just thought…”
“Ianto, I really think she needs us to be there. Christmas isn’t important to me. It is important to her. I think we should go. You obviously don’t have a Christmas tradition you’ll be breaking by going to Gwen’s…”
“Jack, I don’t want to go to a Christmas dinner, and sing stupid carols, and eat Christmas pudding, and act all jolly! It’s not my thing,” Ianto protested, forgetting all about his earlier intention to not act like a twat.
Jack assessed him for a moment. “Why not?”
“Jack…” Ianto sighed, and, disentangling himself further from Jack, began to rise to his feet. “Look, I’m rubbish to be around during the holidays. I don’t want to inflict myself on Gwen and her family…”
“Why are you rubbish around the holidays?” Jack asked, also getting to his feet.
“Jack…I don’t really feel…I don’t want to talk about it…”
“Ianto, how am I supposed to know if you don’t tell me, yeah? It’s always the same with you, you bottle everything up and expect me to act like that’s fine! I’m trying to give you your space, but really, don’t you think enough is enough?”
Ianto was starting to get angry now. “Jack. I just told you that I didn’t want to talk about it. And it’s hardly your place to complain; you keep almost everything to yourself!”
They stood there, glaring at each other over Jack’s trapdoor.
Jack’s mobile chose that moment to go off. Ianto looked at him expectantly. “Aren’t you going to get that?”
“We’re having a conversation here.”
“No, actually, Jack, we’re having an argument, and as I am leaving for the night, you have plenty of time to answer your phone.”
All of the anger left Jack, and he sagged back against his desk. “Ianto. Please don’t leave angry. Can’t we…”
Ianto shook his head. “I’m not angry. Not really. I just want to be alone right now. I’ll come in tomorrow. Have a good evening.”
“Ianto - “
Ianto gave him a brief, perfunctory kiss on the lips. “Your phone is still ringing. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Ianto turned and walked out of the office, through the Hub, and out the door. Jack stared after him for a moment, trying to figure out where the conversation went so wrong, before shaking his head and answering his phone.
“Martha! Good to hear your voice…”
*********************
Later that night, Ianto lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. ‘Smashing job, Jones. You’ve alienated the only people in the world who give a damn about you, and for what? Your stupid grudge against Christmas.’
He sighed and turned on his side, checking the clock. 2:00 AM.
Ianto hated sleeping alone. He had grown used to waking up in someone’s arms when he was with Lisa; he’d never had that closeness before her. He had missed it bitterly after Canary Wharf, and cursed himself for turning into someone who needed other people. He had gradually grown used to sleeping solo after that. Last year, when he and Jack had their “arrangement,” Jack never slept with him. That was one of the many things that had changed when Jack waltzed back into their lives after Abaddon and the Doctor. After paying for five rooms at Cardiff’s fanciest hotel, Torchwood had only used four. Ianto supposed that he was something of a pushover when it came to Jack, but he couldn’t muster up any guilt over this fact.
The sound of his mobile ringing cut through the stillness of his flat.
“Jack?”
“Ianto.” Pause. “I was wondering if you were awake. Sounds like you are.”
“Yup.” Longer pause. “Jack, listen, I’m - “ Ianto started at the same time Jack said, “Ianto, I was - “
They both stuttered to a halt.
“Ianto, I want to come over there. Would you let me in if I showed up at your doorstep?”
“You know I’ll always let you in.”
“Into your flat, yes, and into your bed, and believe me, I appreciate it. But am I ever going to get any further here, Ianto?”
Ianto blinked up at his ceiling. He had had a lot of terrible Christmases. He was not adding losing Jack to that list. Taking a shaky breath, he started talking about Gracie, Uncle Alfie, and Auntie Judy.
**************************
Ianto didn’t wake up until almost 10:00 AM on Christmas morning. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept so late; at least, on a morning that was not after a near-death experience. Ianto had talked for almost two hours last night, non-stop - first on his mobile to Jack, and then face-to-face, lying in bed together. Ianto was not a big talker, and combined with the emotionally-exhausting subject matter, it was a wonder he had managed to stay awake for the post-talk sex.
“Good morning, fy bach rhesin chwiogen.” (my little raisin muffin) Jack greeted him.
Ianto groaned. “I am taking that book away from you.”
“Well, I did memorize it last night. While you snored. Loudly, I might add.”
“So sorry,” Ianto replied, sounding not the least bit sorry.
“As you should be. Want some breakfast? I have a hankering for raisin muffins…”
Ianto groaned again. “Out. Out of the bed,” he commanded, rolling out of bed himself. “I’m going to take a shower. You find something to eat.”
Jack smirked and opened his mouth.
“No. I already know what you’re going to say, Captain Innuendo. Why don’t you find us some food to eat?”
“You’re no fun. Fine, I’ll get a proper breakfast together while you pretty yourself up.” Jack hopped out of bed and walked off to the kitchen to make breakfast, completely starkers.
Ianto snorted to himself. “Be careful around the knife block!” he yelled to Jack’s retreating back.
***********************
Twenty minutes later, Ianto stepped out of the shower and inhaled deeply. He definitely smelled cinnamon wafting down the hall from the kitchen. He quickly dried off and reached for the clothes he had automatically set out for himself the night before. They weren’t there. Frowning, Ianto stepped out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. Two outfits were set out on the bed.
“Bloody hell. Jack!” he bellowed. “Jack!”
“What?! What?!” Jack came running down the hall, Webley drawn, spatula in his other hand. “Ianto, what’s the problem?” He was still naked.
“Put the gun down! We’re not under attack; it’s…it’s…” Ianto gestured helplessly to the clothes on the bed. “Jack, what the fuck is on my bed?”
“Is that all?” Jack looked down at the clothes. “That’s what we’re wearing. If we go to Gwen’s.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope.”
“Jack, have you looked at them? I can’t wear something like that!”
“Does that mean that you’re thinking about going?” Jack asked hopefully.
“Well, I - I know it will make you happy. And Gwen.”
“But can you manage it? If we go to Gwen’s, we are going to be filled with Christmas cheer. We are going to wear these atrocious offenses to wool-dom and fit right in with Gwen and Rhys. We are going to drink too much eggnog and I am going to drive us back here and make sweet, sweet love to you all night long. Can you handle that much Christmas?”
Ianto considered his options. “Two sweets?”
Jack grinned.
Ianto looked back down at the two most hideous Christmas jumpers he had ever seen. “Which one are you wearing?”
“Oh, I’m claiming the frolicking snowman. It comes with an attachable carrot.”
Ianto smiled. “Of course it does.” He paused, avoiding Jack’s eyes. “Jack, are you sure about this?”
Jack sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, Ianto, I have a lot of experience with memory and… associations. I know your past Christmases wouldn’t win any prizes in the cheer department. Maybe it’s time to get some good memories.”
Ianto looked down at the second jumper - Jack Frost in a tutu, waving a wand to emit glittery snowflakes. He looked back up at Jack.
“So…I’m holding you to the two sweets.”
Jack grinned even brighter than before.
***********************
“Oh, shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT! Rhys! Reinforcements!” Gwen bellowed, running over to the smoke detector and waving a dish towel under it. Rhys ran into the kitchen and inspected the roast.
“What’s the verdict?” Gwen asked somewhat breathlessly.
“Um…well…”
“Oh, no, it’s not that bad, is it?”
“Depends on your definition…”
Gwen looked completely crestfallen.
“But don’t worry, love,” Rhys hurriedly continued. “We have expertly roasted vegetables, and we managed to save almost all of the potatoes - my da, for one, loves the little burnt pieces in his mashed potatoes - and Banana Boat is bringing fancy dinner rolls, and your parents have the pudding -“
“That still leaves us with only burnt roast for the main course. Oh, this was a terrible idea. I know I can’t cook. Everyone knows I can’t cook. Why did I ever say, ‘Rhys, let’s host Christmas dinner. I want to roast a roast!’”
“Well, to be fair, you didn’t actually say that.”
Gwen fixed him with the Look. “Rhys Williams. This is an emergency situation. It is no time for frivolity. Your parents are on their way. As are my parents. And Banana Boat and his, um,” Gwen faltered, looking for the right word.
“Female acquaintance with no place else to go?” Rhys supplied helpfully.
“Exactly, her. The point is, we have nothing to feed them.”
“What about your mates? We could ask them to pick something up -“ Rhys paused when he saw the anguished expression on his wife’s face. “Oh. They’re not coming, are they?”
Gwen blinked back a tear, and fixed a wobbly smile on her face. “I don’t think so. Christmas really isn’t a good time for Ianto.”
Rhys pulled her into a hug and kissed her forehead. “Well,” he began as Gwen’s mobile began to ring.
Gwen picked it up. “It’s Ianto. Let me talk to him for a moment, then we’ll come up with a roast plan, yeah?”
“Of course,” Rhys said charitably.
“Ianto? How are you sweetheart?”
“Wearing Jack Frost on my chest and coming to your flat. Want us to pick anything up for you?”
“No! Really? You’re really coming? Oh, that’s brilliant! Rhys is excited, too,” Gwen said, catching a glimpse of Rhys gesturing to the roast. “Listen, Ianto, we’ve had a bit of an incident with the roast…”
*************************
All in all, not a bad spread, Rhys thought several hours later. The roasted vegetables were actually quite delicious - Rhys had done those. The mashed potatoes, well, the burnt pieces added texture. Of course, nothing quite went with the Thai tofu dish Ianto had managed to whip up at the last minute, but who could really expect to find a roast left in the stores on Christmas Day? Rhys was quite impressed at the caliber of Ianto’s cooking. And Banana Boat’s female acquaintance with no place else to go had definitely appreciated the vegetarian aspect of the meal. The important thing was that no one had killed anyone else, though there had been some close brushes. His mum had been less than impressed with the story of the burnt roast, and of course had made some rather cutting remarks about everyone’s Christmas jumpers. Gwen’s teeth had started grinding one minute into the visit. It was when she and his father had started in on Gwen’s work schedule, though, that Rhys had really started to get worried. Jack had managed to deflect matters, and who’d have thought Captain Jack Harkness could be diplomatic? Certainly not Rhys. Everyone was starting to finally mellow out over his da’s Scotch and the remains of the Christmas pudding, and Rhys favored the table with a slightly daft smile. Gwen sat across from him, and blinked her jumper Rudolph’s nose at him when she caught his eye. Her parents sat on one side of the table with Banana Boat and the vegetarian. Gwen’s parents had started the tradition of the Christmas jumper, of course. Mary Cooper wore dancing candy canes, sugar plums, and those chocolate foiled-wrapped coins embroidered across her chest. She looked like the Christmas candy aisle had declared war on her, and she had lost quite soundly. Geraint Cooper had claimed the Christmas tree jumper. Unfortunately, that was one of the oldest ones, and the tree was quite dead. It looked like he had tried reattaching some twigs, but the result was less than desirable. Next to him, Banana Boat sported the angel jumper, and refused to accept that it was originally made for Gwen and therefore much too small. Rhys had to admit it was the only pretty jumper in the lot. Banana’s female acquaintance with no place else to go also had no idea how to dress festively. She wore black from head to toe, not an exceptional choice with her pale coloring and limp light red hair. Rhys’ parents sat to his left. They, of course, were not wearing Christmas jumpers, and had looked askance at the Father Christmas “laying a finger aside of his nose” on Rhys’ jumper. (Rhys supposed it was a little hard to tell precisely where Santa had his finger.) Barry Williams wore his best suit. He had spilled Thai food on his tie. Brenda Williams wore a red dress whose cut did her no favors. It gave the unfortunate impression that she was a giant turnip. She had been beadily eyeing Ianto next to her all through dinner, asking him pointed questions about working Special Ops (the Torchwood cover story they had come up with after the bombing of Cardiff) with Gwen and Jack. Ianto had smoothly deflected her inquiries and smiled politely. Rhys had grown to know him well enough to see that he had switched off and was answering solely on auto pilot. He did not seem concerned by his Jack Frost jumper. Every now and then throughout the meal, a small smirk had appeared on his face. Those times coincided whenever Jack used his napkin, resting in his lap. Jack was seated next to Ianto and on Gwen’s right. He had entertained the entire table with lewd comments about his own snowman jumper-and-attachable-carrot, and had quoted several outrageous passages from a book he swore was real, but had graciously ceded the spotlight to Rhys for several rants.
***********************
“So, Ianto,” Brenda began, swirling her Scotch and taking a generous gulp. “Does all of that running around with Special Ops leave you any time for wining and dining?” she asked suggestively.
For the first time that evening, Ianto look startled. “Pardon?”
“Because Rhys’ cousin Matilda’s oldest girl, Beatrice, has a very sweet little friend -“
“Now, Brenda, give the lad some space!” Gwen’s mam interrupted. “Isn’t Beatrice the artist? Don’t you think Ianto would like someone a bit more down-to-earth? Ianto,” she said, turning her head to give him a winning smile, “I have a niece, Margaret -“
Ianto was starting to make strangled noises. Rhys caught Jack’s eye to give him a knowing wink, but was startled to see an expression almost of jealousy on his face before he smoothed his features and winked back. Really, Jack, you don’t have anything to worry about from that lot, Rhys thought to himself.
Brenda and Mary began to talk over one another, citing the attributes of various single female relations, and calling into question the good points of their opponent’s candidates.
“Oi! Enough you two! Ianto’s not interested!” Gwen finally broke in.
“Yes, so sorry ma’am, ma’am,” Ianto managed, with a nod to either lady. “Gwen’s right. I already have a, well, I’m in, I mean, I’m not…there’s already someone in my life. Thank you for thinking of me.”
“You have a relationship? With all of the things you do for Special Ops?” Brenda asked suspiciously.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“There. You see. What did I tell you, Barry? Gwen’s job is not that time-consuming. She obviously has something else to occupy her time.”
Gwen gasped. Ianto looked stunned.
“Mum -“ Rhys interjected.
“No, Rhys, your mam is right. Look at your Christmas guests. Banana Boat and his…female acquaintance here… came because you invited them. Who did Gwen invite? Two blokes that she spends all day, every day with - did she really need to spend Christmas with them, as well? She’s obviously involved.”
“How dare you! Jack and Ianto are my family and I love them and if I have to suffer through one of your visits, I need them here to keep me from flying into a homicidal rage!” Gwen was starting to froth at the mouth.
“Gwen is not having an affair! Fuck, mum and dad, you are guests here in our house! Don’t you come in here with wild, completely un-founded accusations. Gwen is great at her job. It’s important, what she does. I’m proud of her, and you should be, too. And don’t you insult Ianto, either. He’s part of Gwen’s family, that makes him part of mine.”
A cold silence descended on the table. Banana Boat’s female acquaintance with no place else to go began to nervously shred her napkin, unaware that it was cloth and not prone to shredding.
Jack surveyed the faces around the table. Ianto was staring down at his hands. Jack could guess what was going through his head. Well, there was one way Jack could save another Christmas from going up in flames. Turning to Ianto, he placed one hand at the nape of his neck and gripped him closer by holding on to one of those foul glittery snowflakes. He kissed him, open-mouthed and sloppy, uncaring as to the spectacle. Jack felt a thrill as Ianto responded in kind, one hand sliding through Jack’s hair and the other disappearing up under Jack’s jumper to get entangled in his braces.
Brenda’s jaw dropped. Mary giggled, and took her husband’s face in her hands and placed a kiss on his nose. Gwen met Rhys’ eyes over the remains of Christmas pudding. A smile started small on her face and then grew and grew. Rhys responded with an equally bright grin.
“Well! More Scotch anyone?”
************************************
Several hours later, Ianto slipped out of bed and padded into the kitchen for a glass of water. He had already been made love to thoroughly and sweetly (twice, with more to come, he devoutly hoped) and Jack had actually dozed off. It was well past midnight. No longer Christmas, and time to open his present. Ianto had left it on the coffee table in the living room earlier. Scooping it up, he settled into one corner of the settee and slowly peeled back the wrapping paper.
Tosh had made it herself. It was a journal. Tosh had recycled the paper, added lines, and bound the pages together. The first page contained a message to him. Squinting in the darkened room, Ianto began to read, “Dear Ianto, This is what I was working on last week when you brought over the special mocha you made for me. Thanks for that! J I used that odd Klastorian device that came through the Rift over a year ago - it recycles! This paper is made from balled up sheets of reports from Jack’s office, Owen’s t-shirt with the beer stains, Gwen’s crisps packages and tickets from that concert she went to with Rhys, a few of my own ponytail holders, and some of your coffee grounds, for color. I can’t wait to show you how it works! Merry Christmas, Love, Tosh.”
Ianto sat there in silence for a long time, stroking the pages in front of him. Finally he got up and went back into the bedroom.
“Jack?” he murmured, fingers tracing Jack’s profile. “You awake?”
“Ehhh,” Jack burrowed deeper into the pillows, then stopped abruptly. “Why, what did you have in mind?”
Ianto was silent. His fingers continued down Jack’s neck and ghosted across his shoulders.
“That’s good, too,” Jack said lazily.
Ianto paused with his hand over Jack’s heart. “I opened up my present from Tosh.”
Jack had closed his eyes, but they opened again with that confession. He raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“And…and it is perfect for me. I had a good Christmas.”
Jack gazed intently into his eyes. “I’m glad.”
Ianto smiled. “This is getting a little sappy.”
“You want me to make sweet, sweet love to you again?”
Ianto rolled his eyes. “You only said that because you know I hate that phrase.”
“Make love? You have a problem with making love? Why, Ianto Jones, you un-romantic clod,” Jack teased.
Ianto hit him in the face with a pillow. “Shut up. I just don’t like the phrase. It sounds weird. You make things, not a feeling. It’s like ‘pass gas’ - it’s not like you’re handing it off to someone else.”
Jack looked at him. “You really are an un-romantic clod.”
Ianto rolled his eyes yet again. “Fine. Make sweet, sweet love to me, Jack.”
“I don’t know if I care for your bedroom manners. They are truly atrocious,” Jack replied, beginning to roll onto his side.
Ianto caught his shoulder. “Jack.”
Jack swallowed hard at the look in Ianto’s eyes. Looking away, he caught his breath, and flippantly replied as he moved over Ianto’s body, “Alright, I will make sweet, sweet love to you again, but only because this feeling is like a thing, and we are - “ Jack stopped, shocked at what he had been about to say.
Ianto looked up at Jack. The surprised look on Jack’s face was almost comical. “And you think I have trouble expressing my feelings,” Ianto murmured. Jack opened his mouth. Ianto placed a finger against his lips. “You love me. And I love you. This isn’t eternity, Jack, this is just how it is. And it’s good.”
Ianto moved his finger.
Jack opened and closed his mouth, and opened it again. “Thank you,” he finally said.
Ianto nodded. “You’re welcome. Now. Weren’t you doing something?”
Jack smiled, and bending down, he set to work expressing with his body what he had such difficulty saying out loud.
Author Name: blue_fjords
Original Prompt Number: 136
Pairing(s): Jack/Ianto, Gwen/Rhys, Cooper Parents, Williams Parents, Banana Boat, OC
Summary: In which Dead!Tosh gives presents from the beyond, Ianto is the King of Shitty Christmases, Jack learns a few helpful Welsh phrases, Gwen tries her hand at a roast, Rhys provides reinforcements, and Scotch is consumed by all.
Rating: PG-13 (for swearing, implied m/m sex, butchering of the Welsh language)
Word Count: 7 524
Author's Notes: I have no idea if there is a pub named the Three-Legged Shepherd in Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwlll
lantysiliogogogoch (Llanfair PG). Probably not. Also, all of the Welsh is from a free online translation site - it’s not supposed to be perfect. If anyone actually speaks Welsh, I’d love to know how off Daffyd’s little book really is.
More A/N: This was originally posted anonymously for "The Stopwatch" challenge. I wrote it all the way back at the beginning of September, and it holds the distinction of being the first fic I ever wrote. And yes, I know the title sucks donkey's balls. If you can help me come up with a better title, please post it in the comments! Thanks!
“Look who’s coming round the bend!
It’s Santa and his reindeer friends…”
‘Not this fucking song again,’ Ianto thought. Tesco had the worst selection of Christmas music. Seriously, how many versions of “Wonderful Christmastime” could there be? He’d been in the store for less than an hour, and had heard three, at least, and now Santa was back in his damn super sleigh, an even more annoying song. That sleigh had accompanied Ianto on the drive to the Hub that morning, Gwen had been humming it rather listlessly last night when they were supposedly taking inventory of the ammunition stores (but in reality they’d both been stealing surreptitious glances at Jack as he demolished half a dozen targets), and now here it was again. Still, it was better to think of inane holiday tunes than to dwell on what he had found in the Hub that morning…
If it hadn’t snowed, Ianto would have had no reason to go looking for the extra bags of Ice Melt. It had been an icier winter than usual, and what with the diminished manpower, Ianto hadn’t had time to re-stock the Ice Melt for the Tourist Centre. He knew there were some extra bags leftover from last year anyhow, in the little broom closet on the same level as Janet’s cell. There was just one problem. The bags were not there. Ianto was the only one to use them, he was sure, but that didn’t change facts that they were nowhere to be seen. Owen must have borrowed them for an experiment of some sort, and forgot to restock. Muttering under his breath, Ianto closed the door to the broom closet with just a bit too much force. He distinctly heard something fall off a shelf inside. Sighing, he opened up the door again, rather more gingerly. It was just a packet of extra paper towels. He tried to put them back on the top shelf, but they wouldn’t fit. There was a large flat box that had fallen forward on the shelf when the towels toppled off. He tugged the box down and shoved the towels back on their shelf. Backing out of the closet, he glanced at the box in his hands and felt his throat close up. Tosh’s familiar handwriting looked back up at him. “Right guys, I will actually be upset if you open this box. I am trying to do something nice for you all, plus it is a surprise, so I would appreciate it if you just put this box back where you found it and did not open it. Do not peek until Christmas! That goes for you, too, Owen! And you, Gwen! Yes, and you, Jack! Ianto, I know you wouldn’t open this if I asked you not to, so try to keep that lot in line!”
“Ianto!” Jack called as he hopped down the last stair and made his way through the tunnel over to the broom closet. “Come on, I want to start doing a very scientific experiment on how quickly snowflakes will melt off of your tongue versus…Ianto? What’s the matter?”
Jack frowned down at the box in Ianto’s hands. His eyes widened as he took in the note.
“Oh, Ianto,” he sighed.
“We should show this to Gwen,” Ianto said hurriedly.
“Are you okay?” Jack asked, reaching out to touch Ianto’s shoulder. Ianto let him. He was trying to be more comfortable with consoling touches, and he knew Jack appreciated it.
“Yes, of course,” he lied smoothly. Jack let him. Jack was trying to be more comfortable with Ianto tamping down on his emotions until he had sufficiently mulled them over, and Jack knew Ianto appreciated it.
The two men climbed the stairs into the main Hub and found Gwen printing off recipes at her workstation.
“Which sounds more appetizing - Roast something I can’t pronounce in French or Dory’s Home Cooking Roast?” Gwen asked, still staring at her screen.
Ianto shifted his feet. He had turned down Gwen’s offer to join her and her family at her flat for Christmas dinner, and still felt vaguely guilty over it. He was just miserable company around the holidays (for good reason, he thought) and did not think the newlyweds needed to put up with his attitude as they tried hosting their first ever Christmas dinner for both sets of parents. “Gwen.”
“Hmm? The French thing, right?”
“Gwen. Ianto found something we should all take a look at,” Jack’s tone was serious. Gwen looked up and noticed the box.
“I thought we said no gifts?” she asked, faintly accusatory.
“It’s not from us. They’re from Tosh.” Ianto showed her the note affixed to the box. Gwen’s lower lip began to tremble.
“Right, then,” she said, squaring her shoulders and taking a deep breath. “Shall we open it? It’s Christmas Eve, that’s close enough, yeah?”
“Are you both sure you want to?” Jack asked, glancing at Ianto.
Ianto nodded slowly. Jack opened the box and pulled out a flat smallish parcel. “Ianto.” Ianto immediately took it and held it like it was an unknown alien artifact. Jack paused. Knowing Tosh, it could actually be an unknown alien artifact. Shaking his head, he reached into the box and pulled out the next present. It was slightly smaller than Ianto’s and had his own name on it. “Mine,” he said, putting it down on the edge of Gwen’s desk. Reaching in again, he found a brightly wrapped box, fatter than his and Ianto’s. “This was for Owen,” he said softly. Gwen’s lower lip trembled again. Ianto closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, Jack was looking at him. “Go on. Let’s see Gwen’s,” he said roughly. Jack reached in for the last gift, and the large size of the box was explained, as Gwen’s present was flat, square, and took up the entire bottom of Tosh’s box.
Jack, Gwen, and Ianto stood there for a moment. Finally Ianto cleared his throat. “Well. I really need to see about getting some Ice Melt for the front steps to the Tourist Centre, or we’re going to have a lawsuit on our hands.” He nodded to the other two, and briskly headed up the stairs, clutching his present.
“Ianto!” Gwen called after him. Jack gave her a warning look and a small shake of his head. Gwen visibly changed her mind. “Ianto. I just want to say to have a nice evening and a pleasant day tomorrow.” She gave him a tremulous smile.
Ianto turned and came back, wrapping his arms around Gwen. “You have a Merry Christmas, Gwen,” he said, pressing his lips to her forehead. “I’ll be back soon with that Ice Melt,” he said to Jack, and headed back up the stairs and out through the Tourist Centre.
Gwen and Jack turned to face each other. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Jack offered.
Gwen smiled. “Meet in your office in fifteen minutes for show and tell?” she said with something close to her normal good cheer.
“See you then,” Jack agreed, heading up there now to open his gift in solitude. Gwen waited until his door had shut. She took one more deep breath, and tore the paper off her present.
************
Gwen felt her eyes fill with tears for what had to be at least the eight thousandth time since Tosh and Owen had ceased to be Tosh and Owen and had become That Gaping Hole of Regret and Fear. Her present from Tosh came with a note, “Just your usual, normal, un-Photo Shopped, wedding collage for a most unusual bride. Cheers! Tosh.”
The center picture of the collage was Torchwood, as it had been. Gwen and Rhys were in the middle, arms around each other and thousand-watt beams on their faces. Jack stood next to Gwen, the tips of his fingers visible on her left shoulder. He looked strangely solemn, as a father looks when his beloved daughter has decided on a new life, one in which he will no longer have the chief influence. There was a trace of melancholy about his eyes, a bit of pride in the set of his mouth. Jack’s right arm circled Ianto’s waist, snaking up under the suit with his fingers resting on Ianto’s hip. There was something in the way the thumb was high up on the hip that looked like Jack had been rubbing that spot, claiming it for his own. The expression on Ianto’s face was open and loose, much more so than the coolly professional mask he felt he needed to wear at all other times. His right hand gripped a flute of champagne, and from the color in his cheeks, Gwen could tell he had already enjoyed his fair share. She looked closer at the photo, and found herself snorting. You couldn’t see Ianto’s left hand. She had a couple of guesses as to where it was resting. Over on Rhys’ other side, Tosh held herself erect, a small smile playing about her lips. She was partially blocked by Rhys, but the set of her shoulders indicated that she was more than happy to let him take the center spotlight. Her hands clutched the flower Gwen had impulsively taken out of her bouquet and handed to her earlier in the evening. Next to Tosh, Owen was striking a pose. Gwen was pretty sure he was trying to mimic Jack’s noble hero stance. His right arm was around Tosh’s shoulders, his left hand on his hip. He was rather valiantly trying to raise just one eyebrow. He looked cocky, and aggressive, and like he couldn’t care less. He looked like he was trying to convince himself that he was only happy, and thinking only about the people around him, and failing miserably. He looked like he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, in spite of everything. He looked like Owen.
Gwen tore her eyes away to look at the other photos in the collage. There was a rare shot of Jack and Rhys standing together, neither looking antagonistic. She recognized the slightly daft expression on Rhys’ face - he must have just downed a couple of fingers’ worth of Scotch. There was a picture of Gwen and Tosh dancing to what Gwen realized to her horror must have been the Chicken Dance. She could just see Ianto approaching Banana Boat at the DJ booth in the background. Another photo showed Owen balancing a full pint of beer on his forehead. Gwen’s eyes slid over to a picture of herself laughing with Jack and Owen. All three of them looked animated, and relieved, and a bit stunned to be where they were. Ianto, Tosh, and Rhys sat together in the next photo. From the balled up napkins and arrangement of flatware on the table in front of them, Gwen suspected that Rhys was getting a demonstration of some of the early failures of the Singularity Scalpel. The last photo featured Jack and Ianto, dancing. Jack’s lips were very close to Ianto’s ear, and Gwen could only imagine what he was whispering.
Gwen stayed there for a long while, smiling through her tears.
******************
Up in his office, Jack tore off the neatly folded paper and let out a bark of a laugh. “1001 Useful Phrases for the New Welshman by Daffyd Canhwyllbren” looked back up at him. It was well-used, with various pages folded back and scribblings in Tosh’s hand in the margins. There was an inscription on the title page. “Jack - I got this book five years ago when I cast my lot with you and moved to Cardiff. Now my time is up (but don’t worry, I’m staying!). However, I feel I have successfully acclimated myself here and found my home. I am therefore passing this book on to you. Cardiff is where you belong. You should talk like a native. Check out page 116. Tosh.” Jack turned to page 116. “Unusual Occurrences That Have Befallen the Author and Needs Be Translated,” read the heading. About two-thirds of the way down, Tosh had underlined the following phrase: “Fy carwr anrheithio y popty eilchwyl = My boyfriend has broken the toaster again.” In the margin, she had scrolled a note to Jack: “Ianto is better at deleting CCTV than you. You want proof, check out the folder marked “Toaster Repairs” in the “Deliveries” folder in the “Minutiae of Running the Hub” folder in the “CCTV Maintenance” folder on the Mainframe. Enjoy!”
Jack scrambled to his computer to pull up the proper folder. All of the Toaster Repairs were listed by date. He chose one at random. The CCTV image of Ianto on the dilapidated settee in the main part of the Hub filled the screen. As he watched, CCTV Jack came over and slipped in behind Ianto. CCTV Jack began to give Ianto a shoulder massage, and was visibly frustrated at the amount of clothes Ianto was wearing. Jack pursed his lips and silently critiqued his method of getting Ianto bare-chested. He remembered that night. He was debating with himself about skipping ahead to when he broke out the massage oil for Ianto’s lower back and legs, or enjoying the extended foreplay of the shoulder massage, and, oh, there’s some necking…when Gwen knocked on his office door. He quickly minimized the screen, and, clearing his throat, bade her enter.
Gwen’s eyes were puffy, but her smile was beautiful. Wordlessly, she handed her collage over to Jack. Jack gave her his book.
Jack examined each picture, eyes roaming over smiles and hugs and dances. This wedding was so completely different from his own, but that indescribable feeling, that strange mixture of beginnings and separations, trust, love, respect, and mind-boggling fear, and so many other emotions that Jack, in spite of all of his years of living, could not name, that feeling was still evident in the photos from Gwen’s wedding. Jack traced his and Ianto’s clasped hands in the picture of them dancing. Jack had been surprised when Ianto asked him to dance. Ianto was not one to publicize his affections. It was most definitely not one of Ianto’s kinks, and Jack had worked quite hard at uncovering his hidden kinky side. Jack could see the lock of hair that curled around the bottom of Ianto’s ear. He liked to twist it around his finger, late at night while Ianto slept, his head resting on Jack’s heart (since touching was okay, and encouraged, when they were alone) as Jack kept vigil through the night. Jack would never admit it out loud, but he liked that Ianto trusted him to keep the monsters away. It made him feel needed in a way that he hadn’t felt in a long time, and the fact that it was Ianto, a man who practically screamed “self-reliant” just made it all that much better. Jack was secretly a control freak (though perhaps not all that secretly). The sound of Gwen snorting indelicately pulled him away from his reverie.
Gwen was paging through the section entitled “Location Is Everything: Please Study the Pronunciation of the Y and W or You Will Get Nowhere in Wales.”
“Jack, this book lists all of the pubs in Llanfair PG. You should really check out the Three-legged Shepherd. They have a Superhero Theme Night,” Gwen said, eyes twinkling.
“I take it you approve of my gift?” Jack asked with a smile.
Gwen glanced at his computer screen and the minimized window. “I see you’ve read page 116.”
“Of course.”
“Hmm.”
Gwen smiled at him again, and looked at her collage. “Isn’t that fantastic?” she asked with a catch in her throat.
“It is indeed. Tosh was a lovely soul.”
Gwen nodded. “I wonder - .” She stopped, and took a breath. “What do you think we should do with Owen’s gift?”
“I am very tempted to open it. But I really don’t think we should.”
“Yeah.” Gwen smiled again. “Here, let’s switch back.” She bit her lip as she surveyed her collage yet again. “Will you call me tomorrow? In case you decide to come, I mean? The offer’s still open.”
“I’ll call you regardless. And I will continue to work on his Royal Scrooge-ness.”
“You have the jumpers, right? Just in case?”
Jack visibly blanched. “You mean you weren’t kidding? Gwen, have you seen them?”
“Jack Harkness, I have had to wear one of those hideous jumpers every Christmas of my life. One day won’t hurt you.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
Jack followed Gwen out into the Hub and helped her on with her coat.
“Which roast are you going with?”
“The French thing. Rhys ordered the cut weeks ago, I need to pick it up on my way home, and some other ingredients.”
They stopped at the top of the stairs. Gwen threw her arms around Jack’s neck, careful not to jostle her collage too much. Jack held her close, and breathed in the scent of her hair and perfume. He kissed the top of her head.
“Merry Christmas, Gwen.”
“Merry Christmas, Jack.”
*************************
Ianto eyed his gift, resting innocuously in the passenger’s seat beside him. He had no intention of opening it just yet. He had been short with Gwen and Jack all week, and they had been nothing but understanding. It was driving him crazy. Why couldn’t they just act like it was a normal week? Ianto was not a Christmas-person. In fact, Ianto would go so far as to say that he was the King of Shitty Christmases. This present from Tosh, whatever it was, was not going to help matters. The first Christmas that Ianto remembered clearly was his third Christmas. His Uncle Alfie and Auntie Judy had visited with their daughter, Ianto’s six year old cousin, Gracie. Gracie was a holy terror. She had started a small fire in the back shed, deliberately hid his father’s best shears and pincushion, ate his mother’s entire pumpkin pie, and had topped it off by drowning in her bath on Christmas Eve. Uncle Alfie and Auntie Judy had never recovered. To this day, Ianto avoided pumpkin pie like the plague. He still felt guilty for disliking any child. He had hated Gracie, and she had died. Intellectually, he knew it was not his fault. That didn’t always help, though. The next Christmas, they had received a very early morning phone call from a PC Ceryse, asking for Auntie Judy’s next of kin. Alfie and Judy had managed to wrap their car around a telephone pole while driving home from visiting Gracie’s grave. After that, Ianto and his parents never celebrated the holidays. It was a week before Christmas (while Ianto’s mother was “on holiday” at Providence Park, nine years after Judy’s death) that she had completely lost her tentative grip on sanity, and somehow had managed to climb out to the roof. It was icy, and wholly within the realm of possibility that she had merely slipped and fallen to her death. It was also wholly within the realm of possibility that she had deliberately jumped. (Ianto never joined Jack on roofs. He wanted to. He just couldn’t.) When Ianto’s father had died a few years later in the spring, Ianto had almost been giddy with relief to hear birds sing. Lisa had tried to give him a good Christmas. Their first Christmas together was also the first time they had had a huge row, the kind you think, when you’re having it, that you’re not going to come through it as a couple. Ianto had driven off in a seething rage and stayed away for three days. They had made up on New Year’s Eve. (That holiday had always been one of his favorites. Another year over - surely the next one would be better, right?) Their second Christmas together was spent with six other friends, all of whom had died horrible deaths at Canary Wharf. Last Christmas, when Jack and John had died of carbon monoxide poisoning in Ianto’s car, was actually starting to look pretty good in comparison. Which led Ianto to this Christmas, and a present from his dead friend, a woman he should have tried to get to know better. Tosh was brilliant, and beautiful, and generous, and so fucking lonely. Ianto swallowed past the lump in his throat, started the engine, and headed to Tesco’s.
Ianto arrived back at the Hub a couple of hours later, trying to get “Santa’s Super Sleigh” out of his head. The roads had been awful, and Tesco’s was full of people in a blind panic, grabbing anything off the shelves that could pass as an acceptable present for Great-Auntie Enid and other myriad relatives. ‘Relatives that they forget the other 364 days of the year,’ thought Ianto. If he had relatives. . . well. He didn’t. He had Jack and Gwen (and Rhys, he supposed), and he had been a right twat to them all week. He sighed. He really needed to get a grip.
He quickly spread some Ice Melt on the walkway to the Tourist Centre, and went inside, looking for Jack. He could do with a good dose of Jack about now.
“Jack?”
There was a light on in Jack’s office. Ianto climbed the stairs and looked around. The trapdoor was up.
“Jack?”
Jack poked his head up out of the opening.
“Ianto! Just the man I wanted to see!” Jack hoisted himself up until he was sitting on the floor, feet dangling into his personal quarters. He took a deep breath. “Gadu ni bwyta cacen.” (Let us eat cake.)
Jack looked at Ianto expectantly. Ianto blinked back. “Umm?” he said finally.
“Gadu ni bwyta cacen.” Jack repeated himself slowly.
“Jack, I have no idea what you are saying. You want…cake? Is that right? We have biscuits…”
“You understood me!” Jack crowed. “Listen to me, I speak Welsh!”
“Jack, you’ve lived in Wales for over a hundred years. I should hope you could speak at least a little Welsh,” Ianto smiled at him to take the sting out of his words.
“Well, to be perfectly honest, I’ve never bothered before. I just like the accent,” Jack confessed. “Hey, come here. Sit with me.”
Ianto decided to humor him, and hunkered down next to Jack on the floor, feet dangling through the trapdoor. Jack drew him in closer, one arm about the shoulders and the other hand taking one of Ianto’s, playing with the fingers.
“So did you really want some cake?” Ianto asked, leaning against Jack’s shoulder.
“Nah. I just wanted to practice the book Tosh gave me.”
“Oh.”
“Ianto?”
“Hmm?” Ianto was starting to feel sleepy. Fighting hordes of last minute holiday shoppers could do that to a man.
“Do you want to tell me why you don’t like Christmas?”
Ianto stiffened, and consciously forced himself to relax. “Not particularly.”
“You going to change your mind about coming with me to Gwen’s tomorrow?”
Ianto frowned, and lifted his head off Jack’s shoulder. “I thought you said you weren’t going to go without…, I mean, it’s fine if you want to go alone, I just thought…”
“Ianto, I really think she needs us to be there. Christmas isn’t important to me. It is important to her. I think we should go. You obviously don’t have a Christmas tradition you’ll be breaking by going to Gwen’s…”
“Jack, I don’t want to go to a Christmas dinner, and sing stupid carols, and eat Christmas pudding, and act all jolly! It’s not my thing,” Ianto protested, forgetting all about his earlier intention to not act like a twat.
Jack assessed him for a moment. “Why not?”
“Jack…” Ianto sighed, and, disentangling himself further from Jack, began to rise to his feet. “Look, I’m rubbish to be around during the holidays. I don’t want to inflict myself on Gwen and her family…”
“Why are you rubbish around the holidays?” Jack asked, also getting to his feet.
“Jack…I don’t really feel…I don’t want to talk about it…”
“Ianto, how am I supposed to know if you don’t tell me, yeah? It’s always the same with you, you bottle everything up and expect me to act like that’s fine! I’m trying to give you your space, but really, don’t you think enough is enough?”
Ianto was starting to get angry now. “Jack. I just told you that I didn’t want to talk about it. And it’s hardly your place to complain; you keep almost everything to yourself!”
They stood there, glaring at each other over Jack’s trapdoor.
Jack’s mobile chose that moment to go off. Ianto looked at him expectantly. “Aren’t you going to get that?”
“We’re having a conversation here.”
“No, actually, Jack, we’re having an argument, and as I am leaving for the night, you have plenty of time to answer your phone.”
All of the anger left Jack, and he sagged back against his desk. “Ianto. Please don’t leave angry. Can’t we…”
Ianto shook his head. “I’m not angry. Not really. I just want to be alone right now. I’ll come in tomorrow. Have a good evening.”
“Ianto - “
Ianto gave him a brief, perfunctory kiss on the lips. “Your phone is still ringing. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Ianto turned and walked out of the office, through the Hub, and out the door. Jack stared after him for a moment, trying to figure out where the conversation went so wrong, before shaking his head and answering his phone.
“Martha! Good to hear your voice…”
*********************
Later that night, Ianto lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. ‘Smashing job, Jones. You’ve alienated the only people in the world who give a damn about you, and for what? Your stupid grudge against Christmas.’
He sighed and turned on his side, checking the clock. 2:00 AM.
Ianto hated sleeping alone. He had grown used to waking up in someone’s arms when he was with Lisa; he’d never had that closeness before her. He had missed it bitterly after Canary Wharf, and cursed himself for turning into someone who needed other people. He had gradually grown used to sleeping solo after that. Last year, when he and Jack had their “arrangement,” Jack never slept with him. That was one of the many things that had changed when Jack waltzed back into their lives after Abaddon and the Doctor. After paying for five rooms at Cardiff’s fanciest hotel, Torchwood had only used four. Ianto supposed that he was something of a pushover when it came to Jack, but he couldn’t muster up any guilt over this fact.
The sound of his mobile ringing cut through the stillness of his flat.
“Jack?”
“Ianto.” Pause. “I was wondering if you were awake. Sounds like you are.”
“Yup.” Longer pause. “Jack, listen, I’m - “ Ianto started at the same time Jack said, “Ianto, I was - “
They both stuttered to a halt.
“Ianto, I want to come over there. Would you let me in if I showed up at your doorstep?”
“You know I’ll always let you in.”
“Into your flat, yes, and into your bed, and believe me, I appreciate it. But am I ever going to get any further here, Ianto?”
Ianto blinked up at his ceiling. He had had a lot of terrible Christmases. He was not adding losing Jack to that list. Taking a shaky breath, he started talking about Gracie, Uncle Alfie, and Auntie Judy.
**************************
Ianto didn’t wake up until almost 10:00 AM on Christmas morning. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept so late; at least, on a morning that was not after a near-death experience. Ianto had talked for almost two hours last night, non-stop - first on his mobile to Jack, and then face-to-face, lying in bed together. Ianto was not a big talker, and combined with the emotionally-exhausting subject matter, it was a wonder he had managed to stay awake for the post-talk sex.
“Good morning, fy bach rhesin chwiogen.” (my little raisin muffin) Jack greeted him.
Ianto groaned. “I am taking that book away from you.”
“Well, I did memorize it last night. While you snored. Loudly, I might add.”
“So sorry,” Ianto replied, sounding not the least bit sorry.
“As you should be. Want some breakfast? I have a hankering for raisin muffins…”
Ianto groaned again. “Out. Out of the bed,” he commanded, rolling out of bed himself. “I’m going to take a shower. You find something to eat.”
Jack smirked and opened his mouth.
“No. I already know what you’re going to say, Captain Innuendo. Why don’t you find us some food to eat?”
“You’re no fun. Fine, I’ll get a proper breakfast together while you pretty yourself up.” Jack hopped out of bed and walked off to the kitchen to make breakfast, completely starkers.
Ianto snorted to himself. “Be careful around the knife block!” he yelled to Jack’s retreating back.
***********************
Twenty minutes later, Ianto stepped out of the shower and inhaled deeply. He definitely smelled cinnamon wafting down the hall from the kitchen. He quickly dried off and reached for the clothes he had automatically set out for himself the night before. They weren’t there. Frowning, Ianto stepped out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. Two outfits were set out on the bed.
“Bloody hell. Jack!” he bellowed. “Jack!”
“What?! What?!” Jack came running down the hall, Webley drawn, spatula in his other hand. “Ianto, what’s the problem?” He was still naked.
“Put the gun down! We’re not under attack; it’s…it’s…” Ianto gestured helplessly to the clothes on the bed. “Jack, what the fuck is on my bed?”
“Is that all?” Jack looked down at the clothes. “That’s what we’re wearing. If we go to Gwen’s.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope.”
“Jack, have you looked at them? I can’t wear something like that!”
“Does that mean that you’re thinking about going?” Jack asked hopefully.
“Well, I - I know it will make you happy. And Gwen.”
“But can you manage it? If we go to Gwen’s, we are going to be filled with Christmas cheer. We are going to wear these atrocious offenses to wool-dom and fit right in with Gwen and Rhys. We are going to drink too much eggnog and I am going to drive us back here and make sweet, sweet love to you all night long. Can you handle that much Christmas?”
Ianto considered his options. “Two sweets?”
Jack grinned.
Ianto looked back down at the two most hideous Christmas jumpers he had ever seen. “Which one are you wearing?”
“Oh, I’m claiming the frolicking snowman. It comes with an attachable carrot.”
Ianto smiled. “Of course it does.” He paused, avoiding Jack’s eyes. “Jack, are you sure about this?”
Jack sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, Ianto, I have a lot of experience with memory and… associations. I know your past Christmases wouldn’t win any prizes in the cheer department. Maybe it’s time to get some good memories.”
Ianto looked down at the second jumper - Jack Frost in a tutu, waving a wand to emit glittery snowflakes. He looked back up at Jack.
“So…I’m holding you to the two sweets.”
Jack grinned even brighter than before.
***********************
“Oh, shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT! Rhys! Reinforcements!” Gwen bellowed, running over to the smoke detector and waving a dish towel under it. Rhys ran into the kitchen and inspected the roast.
“What’s the verdict?” Gwen asked somewhat breathlessly.
“Um…well…”
“Oh, no, it’s not that bad, is it?”
“Depends on your definition…”
Gwen looked completely crestfallen.
“But don’t worry, love,” Rhys hurriedly continued. “We have expertly roasted vegetables, and we managed to save almost all of the potatoes - my da, for one, loves the little burnt pieces in his mashed potatoes - and Banana Boat is bringing fancy dinner rolls, and your parents have the pudding -“
“That still leaves us with only burnt roast for the main course. Oh, this was a terrible idea. I know I can’t cook. Everyone knows I can’t cook. Why did I ever say, ‘Rhys, let’s host Christmas dinner. I want to roast a roast!’”
“Well, to be fair, you didn’t actually say that.”
Gwen fixed him with the Look. “Rhys Williams. This is an emergency situation. It is no time for frivolity. Your parents are on their way. As are my parents. And Banana Boat and his, um,” Gwen faltered, looking for the right word.
“Female acquaintance with no place else to go?” Rhys supplied helpfully.
“Exactly, her. The point is, we have nothing to feed them.”
“What about your mates? We could ask them to pick something up -“ Rhys paused when he saw the anguished expression on his wife’s face. “Oh. They’re not coming, are they?”
Gwen blinked back a tear, and fixed a wobbly smile on her face. “I don’t think so. Christmas really isn’t a good time for Ianto.”
Rhys pulled her into a hug and kissed her forehead. “Well,” he began as Gwen’s mobile began to ring.
Gwen picked it up. “It’s Ianto. Let me talk to him for a moment, then we’ll come up with a roast plan, yeah?”
“Of course,” Rhys said charitably.
“Ianto? How are you sweetheart?”
“Wearing Jack Frost on my chest and coming to your flat. Want us to pick anything up for you?”
“No! Really? You’re really coming? Oh, that’s brilliant! Rhys is excited, too,” Gwen said, catching a glimpse of Rhys gesturing to the roast. “Listen, Ianto, we’ve had a bit of an incident with the roast…”
*************************
All in all, not a bad spread, Rhys thought several hours later. The roasted vegetables were actually quite delicious - Rhys had done those. The mashed potatoes, well, the burnt pieces added texture. Of course, nothing quite went with the Thai tofu dish Ianto had managed to whip up at the last minute, but who could really expect to find a roast left in the stores on Christmas Day? Rhys was quite impressed at the caliber of Ianto’s cooking. And Banana Boat’s female acquaintance with no place else to go had definitely appreciated the vegetarian aspect of the meal. The important thing was that no one had killed anyone else, though there had been some close brushes. His mum had been less than impressed with the story of the burnt roast, and of course had made some rather cutting remarks about everyone’s Christmas jumpers. Gwen’s teeth had started grinding one minute into the visit. It was when she and his father had started in on Gwen’s work schedule, though, that Rhys had really started to get worried. Jack had managed to deflect matters, and who’d have thought Captain Jack Harkness could be diplomatic? Certainly not Rhys. Everyone was starting to finally mellow out over his da’s Scotch and the remains of the Christmas pudding, and Rhys favored the table with a slightly daft smile. Gwen sat across from him, and blinked her jumper Rudolph’s nose at him when she caught his eye. Her parents sat on one side of the table with Banana Boat and the vegetarian. Gwen’s parents had started the tradition of the Christmas jumper, of course. Mary Cooper wore dancing candy canes, sugar plums, and those chocolate foiled-wrapped coins embroidered across her chest. She looked like the Christmas candy aisle had declared war on her, and she had lost quite soundly. Geraint Cooper had claimed the Christmas tree jumper. Unfortunately, that was one of the oldest ones, and the tree was quite dead. It looked like he had tried reattaching some twigs, but the result was less than desirable. Next to him, Banana Boat sported the angel jumper, and refused to accept that it was originally made for Gwen and therefore much too small. Rhys had to admit it was the only pretty jumper in the lot. Banana’s female acquaintance with no place else to go also had no idea how to dress festively. She wore black from head to toe, not an exceptional choice with her pale coloring and limp light red hair. Rhys’ parents sat to his left. They, of course, were not wearing Christmas jumpers, and had looked askance at the Father Christmas “laying a finger aside of his nose” on Rhys’ jumper. (Rhys supposed it was a little hard to tell precisely where Santa had his finger.) Barry Williams wore his best suit. He had spilled Thai food on his tie. Brenda Williams wore a red dress whose cut did her no favors. It gave the unfortunate impression that she was a giant turnip. She had been beadily eyeing Ianto next to her all through dinner, asking him pointed questions about working Special Ops (the Torchwood cover story they had come up with after the bombing of Cardiff) with Gwen and Jack. Ianto had smoothly deflected her inquiries and smiled politely. Rhys had grown to know him well enough to see that he had switched off and was answering solely on auto pilot. He did not seem concerned by his Jack Frost jumper. Every now and then throughout the meal, a small smirk had appeared on his face. Those times coincided whenever Jack used his napkin, resting in his lap. Jack was seated next to Ianto and on Gwen’s right. He had entertained the entire table with lewd comments about his own snowman jumper-and-attachable-carrot, and had quoted several outrageous passages from a book he swore was real, but had graciously ceded the spotlight to Rhys for several rants.
***********************
“So, Ianto,” Brenda began, swirling her Scotch and taking a generous gulp. “Does all of that running around with Special Ops leave you any time for wining and dining?” she asked suggestively.
For the first time that evening, Ianto look startled. “Pardon?”
“Because Rhys’ cousin Matilda’s oldest girl, Beatrice, has a very sweet little friend -“
“Now, Brenda, give the lad some space!” Gwen’s mam interrupted. “Isn’t Beatrice the artist? Don’t you think Ianto would like someone a bit more down-to-earth? Ianto,” she said, turning her head to give him a winning smile, “I have a niece, Margaret -“
Ianto was starting to make strangled noises. Rhys caught Jack’s eye to give him a knowing wink, but was startled to see an expression almost of jealousy on his face before he smoothed his features and winked back. Really, Jack, you don’t have anything to worry about from that lot, Rhys thought to himself.
Brenda and Mary began to talk over one another, citing the attributes of various single female relations, and calling into question the good points of their opponent’s candidates.
“Oi! Enough you two! Ianto’s not interested!” Gwen finally broke in.
“Yes, so sorry ma’am, ma’am,” Ianto managed, with a nod to either lady. “Gwen’s right. I already have a, well, I’m in, I mean, I’m not…there’s already someone in my life. Thank you for thinking of me.”
“You have a relationship? With all of the things you do for Special Ops?” Brenda asked suspiciously.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“There. You see. What did I tell you, Barry? Gwen’s job is not that time-consuming. She obviously has something else to occupy her time.”
Gwen gasped. Ianto looked stunned.
“Mum -“ Rhys interjected.
“No, Rhys, your mam is right. Look at your Christmas guests. Banana Boat and his…female acquaintance here… came because you invited them. Who did Gwen invite? Two blokes that she spends all day, every day with - did she really need to spend Christmas with them, as well? She’s obviously involved.”
“How dare you! Jack and Ianto are my family and I love them and if I have to suffer through one of your visits, I need them here to keep me from flying into a homicidal rage!” Gwen was starting to froth at the mouth.
“Gwen is not having an affair! Fuck, mum and dad, you are guests here in our house! Don’t you come in here with wild, completely un-founded accusations. Gwen is great at her job. It’s important, what she does. I’m proud of her, and you should be, too. And don’t you insult Ianto, either. He’s part of Gwen’s family, that makes him part of mine.”
A cold silence descended on the table. Banana Boat’s female acquaintance with no place else to go began to nervously shred her napkin, unaware that it was cloth and not prone to shredding.
Jack surveyed the faces around the table. Ianto was staring down at his hands. Jack could guess what was going through his head. Well, there was one way Jack could save another Christmas from going up in flames. Turning to Ianto, he placed one hand at the nape of his neck and gripped him closer by holding on to one of those foul glittery snowflakes. He kissed him, open-mouthed and sloppy, uncaring as to the spectacle. Jack felt a thrill as Ianto responded in kind, one hand sliding through Jack’s hair and the other disappearing up under Jack’s jumper to get entangled in his braces.
Brenda’s jaw dropped. Mary giggled, and took her husband’s face in her hands and placed a kiss on his nose. Gwen met Rhys’ eyes over the remains of Christmas pudding. A smile started small on her face and then grew and grew. Rhys responded with an equally bright grin.
“Well! More Scotch anyone?”
************************************
Several hours later, Ianto slipped out of bed and padded into the kitchen for a glass of water. He had already been made love to thoroughly and sweetly (twice, with more to come, he devoutly hoped) and Jack had actually dozed off. It was well past midnight. No longer Christmas, and time to open his present. Ianto had left it on the coffee table in the living room earlier. Scooping it up, he settled into one corner of the settee and slowly peeled back the wrapping paper.
Tosh had made it herself. It was a journal. Tosh had recycled the paper, added lines, and bound the pages together. The first page contained a message to him. Squinting in the darkened room, Ianto began to read, “Dear Ianto, This is what I was working on last week when you brought over the special mocha you made for me. Thanks for that! J I used that odd Klastorian device that came through the Rift over a year ago - it recycles! This paper is made from balled up sheets of reports from Jack’s office, Owen’s t-shirt with the beer stains, Gwen’s crisps packages and tickets from that concert she went to with Rhys, a few of my own ponytail holders, and some of your coffee grounds, for color. I can’t wait to show you how it works! Merry Christmas, Love, Tosh.”
Ianto sat there in silence for a long time, stroking the pages in front of him. Finally he got up and went back into the bedroom.
“Jack?” he murmured, fingers tracing Jack’s profile. “You awake?”
“Ehhh,” Jack burrowed deeper into the pillows, then stopped abruptly. “Why, what did you have in mind?”
Ianto was silent. His fingers continued down Jack’s neck and ghosted across his shoulders.
“That’s good, too,” Jack said lazily.
Ianto paused with his hand over Jack’s heart. “I opened up my present from Tosh.”
Jack had closed his eyes, but they opened again with that confession. He raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“And…and it is perfect for me. I had a good Christmas.”
Jack gazed intently into his eyes. “I’m glad.”
Ianto smiled. “This is getting a little sappy.”
“You want me to make sweet, sweet love to you again?”
Ianto rolled his eyes. “You only said that because you know I hate that phrase.”
“Make love? You have a problem with making love? Why, Ianto Jones, you un-romantic clod,” Jack teased.
Ianto hit him in the face with a pillow. “Shut up. I just don’t like the phrase. It sounds weird. You make things, not a feeling. It’s like ‘pass gas’ - it’s not like you’re handing it off to someone else.”
Jack looked at him. “You really are an un-romantic clod.”
Ianto rolled his eyes yet again. “Fine. Make sweet, sweet love to me, Jack.”
“I don’t know if I care for your bedroom manners. They are truly atrocious,” Jack replied, beginning to roll onto his side.
Ianto caught his shoulder. “Jack.”
Jack swallowed hard at the look in Ianto’s eyes. Looking away, he caught his breath, and flippantly replied as he moved over Ianto’s body, “Alright, I will make sweet, sweet love to you again, but only because this feeling is like a thing, and we are - “ Jack stopped, shocked at what he had been about to say.
Ianto looked up at Jack. The surprised look on Jack’s face was almost comical. “And you think I have trouble expressing my feelings,” Ianto murmured. Jack opened his mouth. Ianto placed a finger against his lips. “You love me. And I love you. This isn’t eternity, Jack, this is just how it is. And it’s good.”
Ianto moved his finger.
Jack opened and closed his mouth, and opened it again. “Thank you,” he finally said.
Ianto nodded. “You’re welcome. Now. Weren’t you doing something?”
Jack smiled, and bending down, he set to work expressing with his body what he had such difficulty saying out loud.