Goes To White
Title: "Goes To White"
Disclaimer: I'm not RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: Jack/Ianto, albeit understated
Rating: PG
Notes/Summary: In which the cold is a thing to be reckoned with. Written for the January 5 prompt at redismycolour.
"I love the winter weather
Because the two of us can get together
There's nothing sweeter, finer
When it's nice and cold I can hold
My baby closer, to me
Collecting all the kisses that are due me
I love the winter weather
Because I've got my love to keep me warm
I love the winter weather
Because the two of us can get together
There's nothing sweeter, finer
When it's nice and cold I can hold
My baby closer, to me
Collecting little kisses that are due me
I love the winter weather
Because I've got my love to keep me warm"
- "Winter Weather," Benny Goodman & Peggy Lee
If Ianto had the presence of mind to describe his actions, he’d call it a desperate attempt to get warm. Snow is supposed to be a good insulator, and he can’t remember how long he’s been out here, or why he’s lost on a mountainside. His hands in their gloves don’t seem to be good for much, though, and so he’s using them like little shovels to dig into a snowbank. He wants a little cave so he can get out of the wind and try to get warm. Then, maybe he can quit shivering.
Everything except his clothes is a mesmerizing white. Sky and shadow are just different shades, and it’s easy to lose track. He digs and keeps digging because his limbs fall easily into the rhythm even if he is a little clumsy at it. He’s nearly dug in when a shout and the sound of rifle-fire jerks him alert. Somewhere on the ridge, near enough to see but far enough that the man there looks like a toy standing guard over a snow fort.
Ianto can’t make out his uniform, though, and so he scrambles away from his den in progress and stumbles through the almost knee-deep blanket of white to get away. It’s no good, though. He’s slow and his legs haven’t been moving like his arms have, so it takes them too long to get the action sorted out. He stumbles and his knees go out from under him. He collapses, teeth chattering, into a snow drift and groans.
He’s too weak to fight when someone drags him out of the snow - warm, insulating snow - and everything is still so white.
Later, he opens his eyes to more white, but also blue and wood grain, and the low murmur of a television bolted to the wall somewhere just out of sight. Everything smells of plastic, cleanser, and solvent. His whole body aches, and he doesn’t remember arriving here. Come to think of it, the bits after the air drop aren’t particularly clear either.
A gentle snore makes him turn his head, and there’s Jack, dead asleep in a chair beside him. Ianto reaches out to touch his arm and Jack jerks awake, startled.
“Hullo, lazybones,” Ianto says and winces. His voice sounds awful.
Jack gives him a look that’s all relief and amazement. “You should talk. I had to carry you down off a mountain.”
“Pics or it didn’t happen.” There are enough blankets on his bed to crush a small child, Ianto thinks. He wiggles his toes and rubs his feet together. He doesn’t feel any gaps or dressings. That’s encouraging. He vastly prefers having toes to the alternative. “I’m guessing they’re not letting me out of here anytime soon.”
“One more day at least.” Jack gets up and sits on the edge of Ianto’s bed. “So don’t get any ideas.”
“Which ideas would those be?” Ianto asks. Of course, with Jack here, that sounds substantially naughtier than it really is. Well, than it would be otherwise, in any case. Now that it’s been said, though, he wonders about the possible consequences of being caught having sex in a hospital.
Jack leans closer. “I wouldn’t mind helping you warm up a little, but I’m thinking the nurses might notice.” He gestured at the heart monitor.
“I’m sure you could just invite them to join in.”
“Maybe later.” Jack leaned in and kissed him, more gently than usual, but with a definite hint of interest. “For now, get some rest.”
Disclaimer: I'm not RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: Jack/Ianto, albeit understated
Rating: PG
Notes/Summary: In which the cold is a thing to be reckoned with. Written for the January 5 prompt at redismycolour.
"I love the winter weather
Because the two of us can get together
There's nothing sweeter, finer
When it's nice and cold I can hold
My baby closer, to me
Collecting all the kisses that are due me
I love the winter weather
Because I've got my love to keep me warm
I love the winter weather
Because the two of us can get together
There's nothing sweeter, finer
When it's nice and cold I can hold
My baby closer, to me
Collecting little kisses that are due me
I love the winter weather
Because I've got my love to keep me warm"
- "Winter Weather," Benny Goodman & Peggy Lee
If Ianto had the presence of mind to describe his actions, he’d call it a desperate attempt to get warm. Snow is supposed to be a good insulator, and he can’t remember how long he’s been out here, or why he’s lost on a mountainside. His hands in their gloves don’t seem to be good for much, though, and so he’s using them like little shovels to dig into a snowbank. He wants a little cave so he can get out of the wind and try to get warm. Then, maybe he can quit shivering.
Everything except his clothes is a mesmerizing white. Sky and shadow are just different shades, and it’s easy to lose track. He digs and keeps digging because his limbs fall easily into the rhythm even if he is a little clumsy at it. He’s nearly dug in when a shout and the sound of rifle-fire jerks him alert. Somewhere on the ridge, near enough to see but far enough that the man there looks like a toy standing guard over a snow fort.
Ianto can’t make out his uniform, though, and so he scrambles away from his den in progress and stumbles through the almost knee-deep blanket of white to get away. It’s no good, though. He’s slow and his legs haven’t been moving like his arms have, so it takes them too long to get the action sorted out. He stumbles and his knees go out from under him. He collapses, teeth chattering, into a snow drift and groans.
He’s too weak to fight when someone drags him out of the snow - warm, insulating snow - and everything is still so white.
Later, he opens his eyes to more white, but also blue and wood grain, and the low murmur of a television bolted to the wall somewhere just out of sight. Everything smells of plastic, cleanser, and solvent. His whole body aches, and he doesn’t remember arriving here. Come to think of it, the bits after the air drop aren’t particularly clear either.
A gentle snore makes him turn his head, and there’s Jack, dead asleep in a chair beside him. Ianto reaches out to touch his arm and Jack jerks awake, startled.
“Hullo, lazybones,” Ianto says and winces. His voice sounds awful.
Jack gives him a look that’s all relief and amazement. “You should talk. I had to carry you down off a mountain.”
“Pics or it didn’t happen.” There are enough blankets on his bed to crush a small child, Ianto thinks. He wiggles his toes and rubs his feet together. He doesn’t feel any gaps or dressings. That’s encouraging. He vastly prefers having toes to the alternative. “I’m guessing they’re not letting me out of here anytime soon.”
“One more day at least.” Jack gets up and sits on the edge of Ianto’s bed. “So don’t get any ideas.”
“Which ideas would those be?” Ianto asks. Of course, with Jack here, that sounds substantially naughtier than it really is. Well, than it would be otherwise, in any case. Now that it’s been said, though, he wonders about the possible consequences of being caught having sex in a hospital.
Jack leans closer. “I wouldn’t mind helping you warm up a little, but I’m thinking the nurses might notice.” He gestured at the heart monitor.
“I’m sure you could just invite them to join in.”
“Maybe later.” Jack leaned in and kissed him, more gently than usual, but with a definite hint of interest. “For now, get some rest.”