FIC: A Peculiar Joy
Title: A Peculiar Joy
Author: blue_fjords
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto, OCs
Word count: 2,000 words
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Sometime after series two, Jack and Ianto have been invited to a naming ceremony for a baby.
A/N: Written for my schmoop_bingo card square "BABY'S FIRST HOLIDAY/CELEBRATION." The descriptions of the Nigerian ceremony are from one such ceremony I attended myself, and further from Joe Fiorito's book, "Union Station." Thanks to amand_r for loaning me Dick Van Dyke. Dirty!
“You turn left here.”
“No you don’t, Jack.”
“Trust me, there’s construction -”
“And it ended three days ago. I’m driving, just - sit back.”
Jack sat back in the passenger seat and sighed. Ianto was hunched over the wheel of the SUV, peering through the windshield and the hazy curtain of a drenching rain. The windshield wipers slapped back and forth, back and forth, keeping track of the argument. It was his turn.
“You should park on Oak Street. You’ll never be able to find a place on Daffyd.”
Jack took a perverse delight in the way Ianto’s knuckles tightened on the wheel, a clear sign that Ianto agreed with him. Ha. A frosty silence settled over the interior of the SUV. Jack watched Ianto, gauging the width of his nostril flare, the thinness of his pressed lips, the depth of his forehead furrows. If he were a more patient man, Jack could have taken over the world six times in the past hundred years. As it was, he was instead a perennial loser of the Quiet Game.
“I bet the baby likes me more.”
Ianto slammed on the brakes, stopping a mere fingersbreadth behind the lorry in front of them, and Jack lurched forward before his seat belt caught him and threw him back. A grunt escaped his lips.
“Jesus, Jack, the baby’s not going to remember either of us! He’s a week old! And if you had administered the retcon properly to his parents, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Jack drew himself up in his seat and gave Ianto his ‘imperious’ look.
“I’ve been retconning people since before you were born. I did it perfectly.”
“You were distracted by that baby,” Ianto mumbled. He inched the SUV forward. At this rate, Ianto wasn’t going to get them to the party until the kid was a teenager.
“You’re just jealous ‘cause he stopped crying for me. Abayo and Etoro don’t remember the weevil; that’s all that matters.”
Ianto snorted but didn’t say anything. Jack frowned out the window. He was getting sloppy with the retcon. He hadn’t used it in so long, just handed it off to Ianto to administer. But last week Ianto had been wrestling the weevil into the back of the SUV and Jack had needed to take care of the memories of the little family. Which had led to two grateful parents inviting their son’s rescuers to his Name Day celebration.
“Why’d you call it a mess?” Jack asked quietly. “It’s a party.”
“It leaves Gwen alone in the Hub,” Ianto answered quickly. Jack rolled his eyes.
“Ianto. We’re not even leaving Cardiff. We’re reachable by mobile. That’s not an excuse. Hell, we went to Tesco’s for four hours just two days ago. The Hub’s still standing.”
Ianto didn’t respond. He flicked the right indicator with his finger and turned onto Oak. Jack shifted in his seat as a thought occurred to him.
“Is this because I signed the card from Uncle Jack and Uncle Ianto?”
Ianto spared him a quick glance from beneath his lashes. “You bought a card, too?”
“Well, what else were we going to put the money - wait. You bought a card?”
Ianto put the SUV into reverse and craned his neck around to start backing into a very tight parallel parking spot. “It’s a birthday party, Jack. Of course I bought a card.”
“If you’re not mad about the card, why are you arguing with me over every little thing?”
Jack could hear Ianto’s teeth grind against each other as the tires spun and the rain continued to pound against the windshield. “Jack. I haven’t slept more than three hours at a time for the past two weeks. It’s pouring, my trousers are still wet, every other driver on the road should be shot, and for my first free afternoon in a month, I am going to a party with no one I know, featuring a baby.”
Jack was silent for a moment. Ianto inched forward, then back, then forward, angling into the spot.
“Not a big baby person, are you?” Jack asked. Ianto gave a put-upon sigh.
“Babies are perfectly lovely. In the abstract.”
“Don’t worry.” Jack leaned over and squeezed his knee. “I’ll protect you from the big, bad baby. And all the people you don’t know.”
“Hmph.”
Jack moved his hand up Ianto’s leg and kept it resting on his thigh as Ianto continued parking the SUV. His tense muscles slowly relaxed under Jack’s touch. He even smiled slightly once he finally shifted into ‘park.’
“Okay. Let me see the card you bought. We can’t give them two signed from the same people.”
Jack graciously let Ianto’s card win, even though he thought blue was too predictable for a baby boy’s card and the pink unicorn on his own was quite cute. They ran the block and a half to Abayo and Etoro’s flat. Ianto was drenched from mid-thigh down, despite his umbrella. Jack paused on the doormat before knocking. Delicious smells wafted through the door and down the hall, and he could hear loud music playing inside.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked Ianto. “Last chance.”
Ianto sniffed the air. “I’m pretty sure I want to eat whatever is cooking in there.”
“That’s the spirit.” Jack grinned and pulled him into a kiss, resting his hand on the small of Ianto’s back. Ianto kissed him back, opening his mouth with a familiar ease and gently parting Jack’s lips with his tongue. Ianto broke the kiss and gave Jack’s waist a squeeze.
“Let’s go in.”
The flat was packed. About a dozen Nigerian families had gathered to welcome Abayo and Etoro’s son officially into their company, as well as a smattering of Welsh neighbors. Jack and Ianto were handed bowls of pepper soup and egwusi soup and pointed to a table loaded down with fufu and several meat dishes. Abayo introduced them to his friends and relatives as “the brave men who saved us from a rabid dog.” Jack lost track of how many times he had his hand shook or he received a bear hug. Ianto’s smile started to look a tad fixed, but he held up well.
Dancing started in earnest as the baby wasn’t quite ready for the ceremony. Jack watched with considerable amusement as Ianto got pulled into the thick of things by several exuberant Nigerian teenagers. Their hands waved in the air and their feet stomped as Ianto did his best to keep up, his limbs jutting out in an attempt at grace and rhythm. His cheeks flushed and his hair curled with sweat. Jack licked his lips when a startled laugh erupted from Ianto’s throat.
He collapsed, breathless, in a chair next to Jack at the end of a song.
“You look downright delectable when you’re all sweaty and awkward,” Jack murmured to him out of the corner of his mouth.
Ianto’s lips curved up into a smile as he patted at his face with a handkerchief. “You have the most peculiar tastes, Jack,” he said, his eyes sparkling with affection.
“Mmmm,” Jack agreed. “I love the way you say ‘peculiar.’ And ‘brilliant’ and ‘extraordinary.’ And ‘vegetables.’” Ianto laughed.
“You want some brilliant vegetables?”
“I prefer when you say them in relation to me.” Jack turned to face Ianto and adopted an atrocious accent. “Why, Jack Harkness, you are one extraordinary and brilliant man. Would you like some peculiar vegetables?”
Ianto made a face. “Jack. I do not sound like Dick Van Dyke.”
“Oh! Oh! Say we’ll go on a jolly holiday!” Jack laughed. “Jaw-ww ‘ola-day, guv’nah!”
Ianto rolled his eyes and elbowed him in the ribs. “Quiet you. The baby’s here.”
The baby was indeed there. The music cut off abruptly as two of Abayo and Etoro’s friends brought out a small table and laid out several bowls at the front of the room. The oldest man in the community stood beside the table and blessed the family as they stepped forward. Jack and Ianto stood and gathered with everyone else to witness the ceremony.
An object from each of the bowls was passed over the head of the baby. Jack noted what looked to be salt and sugar, honey and some kind of meat, nuts and water, and the baby was introduced officially as Chigbo. One of Ianto’s dancing buddies stood at their elbow and whispered to them that it meant ‘God protect,’ a fitting name since he received protection from the two of them on his way home from hospital. Jack met Ianto’s eyes over the teen’s head.
The elder held the baby in his arms and announced that the community could now give him their own special names. Abayo wrote each name down as one by one little Chigbo’s neighbors came forward to leave a blessing and hold the baby, giving him a dozen new names. The names varied from Etukokwu (“To guard against gossip,” said the man who gave it) to Alozie-uwa (“Because he came at just the right time”) to Daffyd (“So he remembers where he lives!”). And then it was Jack’s turn.
He cradled Chigbo’s head effortlessly in his large palm. The baby was sleepy again, eyes fluttering open and shut. Jack held him against his chest for a moment and tried to catch his breath. He’d done this before, so many times, but each child was unique. Each child meant something else to him. He switched Chigbo to the crook of his right arm and looked down at him.
“I choose to name this child ‘Ianto.’ Wales will always be one of his homes now, and this is my favorite Welsh name, as well as the name of one of the bravest men I know.”
There were murmurings of agreement from the crowd, as by that time, everyone had heard the tale of the miraculous rescue. Jack didn’t have to look at Ianto to know he was blushing. Instead he looked down at the baby, his pudgy hands trying to get a hold on his fancy white outfit, the rich cloth chosen especially for this important day. Chigbo’s lips opened and closed on the empty air, forming a perfect rosebud. Jack watched, entranced.
It was a peculiar joy, to hold someone else’s child. A mix of wonder at precious life and relief at not being responsible for it, of longing for what one does not have and hope for what could be. Ianto was standing next to them, shifting slightly from foot to foot, and Jack glanced up to see the same emotions play across his face. The half-raised arms, Ianto’s tongue licking his lips, a muscle in his jaw twitching - Jack closed his eyes and pressed his cheek to Chigbo’s curls. If there were ghost babies of might-have-beens crowded around Ianto, Jack didn’t want to see them. He had enough of his own, and Chigbo was a warm weight in his arms, tiny and perfect and smelling of powder.
Jack squeezed the baby to his chest one more time and bent to kiss his tiny baby forehead. He looked down at Chigbo, and Chigbo blinked slowly back up at him. Will I know you, the next time we meet? If I pass you on the street as a small boy, a teenager, a man, will I recognize the baby I once held in my arms? Chigbo blew a spit bubble at him. Jack smiled. Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll see you and say, “Hello, Ianto. It’s been awhile. How are you?” And maybe you’ll ask me who I am. Or maybe you will remember me. And maybe I’ll say, “It is a joy to see you again, Ianto.”
Jack shifted the baby in his arms and passed him carefully over into Ianto’s waiting hands. Ianto bit his lip and a bit of flop sweat glistened on his forehead. Jack could see the exact moment the eyes of adult Ianto and baby Ianto met. A most peculiar joy indeed.
Author: blue_fjords
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto, OCs
Word count: 2,000 words
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Sometime after series two, Jack and Ianto have been invited to a naming ceremony for a baby.
A/N: Written for my schmoop_bingo card square "BABY'S FIRST HOLIDAY/CELEBRATION." The descriptions of the Nigerian ceremony are from one such ceremony I attended myself, and further from Joe Fiorito's book, "Union Station." Thanks to amand_r for loaning me Dick Van Dyke. Dirty!
“You turn left here.”
“No you don’t, Jack.”
“Trust me, there’s construction -”
“And it ended three days ago. I’m driving, just - sit back.”
Jack sat back in the passenger seat and sighed. Ianto was hunched over the wheel of the SUV, peering through the windshield and the hazy curtain of a drenching rain. The windshield wipers slapped back and forth, back and forth, keeping track of the argument. It was his turn.
“You should park on Oak Street. You’ll never be able to find a place on Daffyd.”
Jack took a perverse delight in the way Ianto’s knuckles tightened on the wheel, a clear sign that Ianto agreed with him. Ha. A frosty silence settled over the interior of the SUV. Jack watched Ianto, gauging the width of his nostril flare, the thinness of his pressed lips, the depth of his forehead furrows. If he were a more patient man, Jack could have taken over the world six times in the past hundred years. As it was, he was instead a perennial loser of the Quiet Game.
“I bet the baby likes me more.”
Ianto slammed on the brakes, stopping a mere fingersbreadth behind the lorry in front of them, and Jack lurched forward before his seat belt caught him and threw him back. A grunt escaped his lips.
“Jesus, Jack, the baby’s not going to remember either of us! He’s a week old! And if you had administered the retcon properly to his parents, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Jack drew himself up in his seat and gave Ianto his ‘imperious’ look.
“I’ve been retconning people since before you were born. I did it perfectly.”
“You were distracted by that baby,” Ianto mumbled. He inched the SUV forward. At this rate, Ianto wasn’t going to get them to the party until the kid was a teenager.
“You’re just jealous ‘cause he stopped crying for me. Abayo and Etoro don’t remember the weevil; that’s all that matters.”
Ianto snorted but didn’t say anything. Jack frowned out the window. He was getting sloppy with the retcon. He hadn’t used it in so long, just handed it off to Ianto to administer. But last week Ianto had been wrestling the weevil into the back of the SUV and Jack had needed to take care of the memories of the little family. Which had led to two grateful parents inviting their son’s rescuers to his Name Day celebration.
“Why’d you call it a mess?” Jack asked quietly. “It’s a party.”
“It leaves Gwen alone in the Hub,” Ianto answered quickly. Jack rolled his eyes.
“Ianto. We’re not even leaving Cardiff. We’re reachable by mobile. That’s not an excuse. Hell, we went to Tesco’s for four hours just two days ago. The Hub’s still standing.”
Ianto didn’t respond. He flicked the right indicator with his finger and turned onto Oak. Jack shifted in his seat as a thought occurred to him.
“Is this because I signed the card from Uncle Jack and Uncle Ianto?”
Ianto spared him a quick glance from beneath his lashes. “You bought a card, too?”
“Well, what else were we going to put the money - wait. You bought a card?”
Ianto put the SUV into reverse and craned his neck around to start backing into a very tight parallel parking spot. “It’s a birthday party, Jack. Of course I bought a card.”
“If you’re not mad about the card, why are you arguing with me over every little thing?”
Jack could hear Ianto’s teeth grind against each other as the tires spun and the rain continued to pound against the windshield. “Jack. I haven’t slept more than three hours at a time for the past two weeks. It’s pouring, my trousers are still wet, every other driver on the road should be shot, and for my first free afternoon in a month, I am going to a party with no one I know, featuring a baby.”
Jack was silent for a moment. Ianto inched forward, then back, then forward, angling into the spot.
“Not a big baby person, are you?” Jack asked. Ianto gave a put-upon sigh.
“Babies are perfectly lovely. In the abstract.”
“Don’t worry.” Jack leaned over and squeezed his knee. “I’ll protect you from the big, bad baby. And all the people you don’t know.”
“Hmph.”
Jack moved his hand up Ianto’s leg and kept it resting on his thigh as Ianto continued parking the SUV. His tense muscles slowly relaxed under Jack’s touch. He even smiled slightly once he finally shifted into ‘park.’
“Okay. Let me see the card you bought. We can’t give them two signed from the same people.”
Jack graciously let Ianto’s card win, even though he thought blue was too predictable for a baby boy’s card and the pink unicorn on his own was quite cute. They ran the block and a half to Abayo and Etoro’s flat. Ianto was drenched from mid-thigh down, despite his umbrella. Jack paused on the doormat before knocking. Delicious smells wafted through the door and down the hall, and he could hear loud music playing inside.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked Ianto. “Last chance.”
Ianto sniffed the air. “I’m pretty sure I want to eat whatever is cooking in there.”
“That’s the spirit.” Jack grinned and pulled him into a kiss, resting his hand on the small of Ianto’s back. Ianto kissed him back, opening his mouth with a familiar ease and gently parting Jack’s lips with his tongue. Ianto broke the kiss and gave Jack’s waist a squeeze.
“Let’s go in.”
The flat was packed. About a dozen Nigerian families had gathered to welcome Abayo and Etoro’s son officially into their company, as well as a smattering of Welsh neighbors. Jack and Ianto were handed bowls of pepper soup and egwusi soup and pointed to a table loaded down with fufu and several meat dishes. Abayo introduced them to his friends and relatives as “the brave men who saved us from a rabid dog.” Jack lost track of how many times he had his hand shook or he received a bear hug. Ianto’s smile started to look a tad fixed, but he held up well.
Dancing started in earnest as the baby wasn’t quite ready for the ceremony. Jack watched with considerable amusement as Ianto got pulled into the thick of things by several exuberant Nigerian teenagers. Their hands waved in the air and their feet stomped as Ianto did his best to keep up, his limbs jutting out in an attempt at grace and rhythm. His cheeks flushed and his hair curled with sweat. Jack licked his lips when a startled laugh erupted from Ianto’s throat.
He collapsed, breathless, in a chair next to Jack at the end of a song.
“You look downright delectable when you’re all sweaty and awkward,” Jack murmured to him out of the corner of his mouth.
Ianto’s lips curved up into a smile as he patted at his face with a handkerchief. “You have the most peculiar tastes, Jack,” he said, his eyes sparkling with affection.
“Mmmm,” Jack agreed. “I love the way you say ‘peculiar.’ And ‘brilliant’ and ‘extraordinary.’ And ‘vegetables.’” Ianto laughed.
“You want some brilliant vegetables?”
“I prefer when you say them in relation to me.” Jack turned to face Ianto and adopted an atrocious accent. “Why, Jack Harkness, you are one extraordinary and brilliant man. Would you like some peculiar vegetables?”
Ianto made a face. “Jack. I do not sound like Dick Van Dyke.”
“Oh! Oh! Say we’ll go on a jolly holiday!” Jack laughed. “Jaw-ww ‘ola-day, guv’nah!”
Ianto rolled his eyes and elbowed him in the ribs. “Quiet you. The baby’s here.”
The baby was indeed there. The music cut off abruptly as two of Abayo and Etoro’s friends brought out a small table and laid out several bowls at the front of the room. The oldest man in the community stood beside the table and blessed the family as they stepped forward. Jack and Ianto stood and gathered with everyone else to witness the ceremony.
An object from each of the bowls was passed over the head of the baby. Jack noted what looked to be salt and sugar, honey and some kind of meat, nuts and water, and the baby was introduced officially as Chigbo. One of Ianto’s dancing buddies stood at their elbow and whispered to them that it meant ‘God protect,’ a fitting name since he received protection from the two of them on his way home from hospital. Jack met Ianto’s eyes over the teen’s head.
The elder held the baby in his arms and announced that the community could now give him their own special names. Abayo wrote each name down as one by one little Chigbo’s neighbors came forward to leave a blessing and hold the baby, giving him a dozen new names. The names varied from Etukokwu (“To guard against gossip,” said the man who gave it) to Alozie-uwa (“Because he came at just the right time”) to Daffyd (“So he remembers where he lives!”). And then it was Jack’s turn.
He cradled Chigbo’s head effortlessly in his large palm. The baby was sleepy again, eyes fluttering open and shut. Jack held him against his chest for a moment and tried to catch his breath. He’d done this before, so many times, but each child was unique. Each child meant something else to him. He switched Chigbo to the crook of his right arm and looked down at him.
“I choose to name this child ‘Ianto.’ Wales will always be one of his homes now, and this is my favorite Welsh name, as well as the name of one of the bravest men I know.”
There were murmurings of agreement from the crowd, as by that time, everyone had heard the tale of the miraculous rescue. Jack didn’t have to look at Ianto to know he was blushing. Instead he looked down at the baby, his pudgy hands trying to get a hold on his fancy white outfit, the rich cloth chosen especially for this important day. Chigbo’s lips opened and closed on the empty air, forming a perfect rosebud. Jack watched, entranced.
It was a peculiar joy, to hold someone else’s child. A mix of wonder at precious life and relief at not being responsible for it, of longing for what one does not have and hope for what could be. Ianto was standing next to them, shifting slightly from foot to foot, and Jack glanced up to see the same emotions play across his face. The half-raised arms, Ianto’s tongue licking his lips, a muscle in his jaw twitching - Jack closed his eyes and pressed his cheek to Chigbo’s curls. If there were ghost babies of might-have-beens crowded around Ianto, Jack didn’t want to see them. He had enough of his own, and Chigbo was a warm weight in his arms, tiny and perfect and smelling of powder.
Jack squeezed the baby to his chest one more time and bent to kiss his tiny baby forehead. He looked down at Chigbo, and Chigbo blinked slowly back up at him. Will I know you, the next time we meet? If I pass you on the street as a small boy, a teenager, a man, will I recognize the baby I once held in my arms? Chigbo blew a spit bubble at him. Jack smiled. Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll see you and say, “Hello, Ianto. It’s been awhile. How are you?” And maybe you’ll ask me who I am. Or maybe you will remember me. And maybe I’ll say, “It is a joy to see you again, Ianto.”
Jack shifted the baby in his arms and passed him carefully over into Ianto’s waiting hands. Ianto bit his lip and a bit of flop sweat glistened on his forehead. Jack could see the exact moment the eyes of adult Ianto and baby Ianto met. A most peculiar joy indeed.