[TW Fic] The Trouble With Families [6/6]
Title: The Trouble With Families [6/6]
Characters: Jack/Ianto
Rating: 12 [mild spoilers for series 2]
Word Count: Chapter: 1,343 ; Total: 11,709
Summary: When Ianto gets a phone call from his mother, Jack feels obligated to find out what's going on. But there are some things even Captain Jack Harkness can't fix.
Disclaimer: Not RTD, not the BBC. I own nothing, I'm making no money from this. I really wish I had a Jack and Ianto, though.
Author's Note: Unbeta'd, so please forgive any mistakes. A completely great-aunt-free final chapter (although I can't promise that she won't appear in another fic sometime in the future). I hope it was worth the wait.
« Chapter One
« Chapter Two
« Chapter Three
« Chapter Four
« Chapter Five
It had been a mutual decision that they would spend the Christmas period at Ianto’s flat; it was dreadfully underused as it was and though Jack protested that they wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on the Rift from there (though if any alien dared to venture through the Rift on their time off he would have their guts for garters), Ianto had set up the computers to relay any alarms to his laptop. Besides, it would be nice to spend some time somewhere other than underground; Ianto had a proper double bed, and a flame-effect gas fire. It wouldn’t be quite like having a real fire, with logs that needed chopping - Jack thought he would be rather good at that, given that wielding an axe couldn’t be that different to a gun, could it? - but he was sure that he could convince Ianto to spend some time lying beside it. Naked, preferably.
The moment that they had locked up the last Weevil on Christmas Eve, Jack waved goodbye to Gwen and practically dragged Ianto to the SUV to drive him home.
“Jack, I have paperwork to finish…”
“Nope. You don’t. It’s Christmas.”
There were times when Jack simply couldn’t understand Ianto’s efficiency. He loved it, of course - it meant that there was less work that he had to do and it was far easier to appear to be a sophisticated organisation when you could actually find the report you were meant to be discussing with the Prime Minister - but he wished that he could make the young man let go some times. He was only twenty-six, for crying out loud; he should have been out with his mates tonight, getting pissed and wishing each other a merry Christmas the moment the minute hand reached the twelve. Instead, he was going to spend the time with Jack, probably getting a little tipsy but not too much - there were dead friends to remember. It scared Jack that Ianto was so willing to give up his youth to Torchwood, to him. It scared him, but he loved it.
“Fine. But the boss will be getting instant coffee if he complains about the backlog next week,” Ianto replied grudgingly, closing the folder he was flicking through with a snap and putting his pen in the pencil pot.
“I’m sure the boss won’t complain. Now come on!”
Jack couldn’t help but be excited; since he had thrown Ianto’s great-aunt out of the tourist office two days ago, the Welshman had visibly relaxed and even been happy enough to let Jack decorate his flat with a pile of decorations that he had found at the back of a store cupboard. Jack had been delighted, of course, and spent the whole day orchestrating the placement of mistletoe so that it would be almost impossible for Ianto to be in his house and not stand underneath it.
Ulterior motive? Who, him?
***
There was no snow on Christmas Day. Jack was disappointed about that; despite having been told repeatedly by Ianto that they never got snow at Christmas - didn’t Jack know that, having lived here for over a century? - and he’d simply be lucky if it didn’t rain for once. Didn’t he love the Welsh weather? Sometimes Jack wished that there was a rift in time and space somewhere in the Caribbean. However, even with the two percent chance of snow, he had insisted on keeping the curtain open a crack so that he could watch out for any snowflakes - or reindeer, not that he would admit that the children’s stories amused him - while Ianto slept. There had never been any snow when he’d been a child, living as he did on a sandy colony tortured by burning sunlight in the summer, nor had there been any Christmas. Religion hadn’t died out, but the holidays had changed with the changing calendar, got different meanings and significance. So here, celebrating Christmas with Ianto, snow would have been the icing on the cake.
As it was, he’d have to put up with turkey. Not on the cake, though. Even his tastes didn’t accommodate that.
“Wake up, Ianto, wake up!” Jack muttered, well aware of the fact that he was acting like more of an impatient five-year-old than the dashing hero who saved the world from alien invasions on a regular basis. So what? For once, Jack didn’t care; it was Christmas. That could excuse all sorts of weird behaviour on his part, he was sure of it. It was just a shame he couldn’t use it as an excuse the rest of the time; he wasn’t entirely sure the Prime Minister would appreciate the sentiment next time Jack told him that Whitehall had fuck-all authority over Torchwood. Yeah…‘it’s Christmas’ probably wouldn’t cut it, not if the reaction last time Jack had used those words was any indication…
“I am awake, Jack. Now stop acting like a three-year-old for five minutes so I can get some coffee.”
“Merry Christmas, Ianto!”
“Nadolig Llawen, Jack. Coffee?”
Jack watched lazily from the bed as Ianto got up (God, did that Welshman have one of the most beautiful bodies on Earth or what? - it almost compared to those he’d seen when he’d crashed on Gaerig and found the wait for rescue pleasantly passed in various encounters of the purple, tentacled kind…um, yes, anyway, that was something to remember another time) and pulled on some underwear before making his way through to the kitchen and switching on the coffee machine. It took a few moments more for Jack to untangle his feet from the duvet and summon the willpower to get up himself; Ianto’s bed was so much more comfortable than the camp bed in his quarters under his office at the Hub, he was surprised that he didn’t come here more, really. He didn’t bother to put clothes on himself as he followed Ianto to the kitchen, the smell of coffee already reaching his nostrils; after all, anything he put on now would only get taken off again in a few minutes.
***
A few minutes later, Jack had dragged Ianto and the coffee back to bed, grabbing a mince pie off a plate as he went - surely he could eat it for breakfast if he wanted to?
“If you get crumbs in the bed, you’re clearing them up,” Ianto warned him. That was an improvement; usually Jack wasn’t allowed to eat in bed at all, but clearly the Christmas spirit was rubbing off. Ooh, talking of spirit, or rather spirits, which was clearly similar…yes, he would need to find some alcohol later. You couldn’t have Christmas without brandy or whisky.
Suddenly, Ianto’s phone started ringing, interrupting Jack’s thoughts of booze. Leaning over Jack to pick it up, he glanced at the display.
“It’s Mam,” he said quietly, holding out his phone as if he anticipated what Jack would do next (it wouldn’t have surprised Jack, he had to admit; Ianto seemed to have an uncanny way of knowing exactly what he wanted, needed or was about to do, sometimes before he himself knew it). This time, however, Jack was certain about his next actions. He plucked the phone from Ianto’s hand, pressed ‘reject’ and all but threw the mobile across the room, hoping that it didn’t hit anything on its way. Ianto might not mind now, but when he found it in the morning, there would be hell to pay if it was in pieces.
That done, Jack rolled on top of Ianto, ignoring the fact that he was still chewing his mince pie as he kissed him thoroughly.
“The trouble with families,” he said, spraying crumbs everywhere (and not caring that he was going to have to clear that up later), “is that they always seem to make you feel bad. Me, on the other hand, I know exactly how to make you feel good.”
Ianto’s moans a moment later were enough to confirm this. And he’d only just begun; Jack had a whole list of ways to make Ianto feel good this Christmas.
FIN~
Characters: Jack/Ianto
Rating: 12 [mild spoilers for series 2]
Word Count: Chapter: 1,343 ; Total: 11,709
Summary: When Ianto gets a phone call from his mother, Jack feels obligated to find out what's going on. But there are some things even Captain Jack Harkness can't fix.
Disclaimer: Not RTD, not the BBC. I own nothing, I'm making no money from this. I really wish I had a Jack and Ianto, though.
Author's Note: Unbeta'd, so please forgive any mistakes. A completely great-aunt-free final chapter (although I can't promise that she won't appear in another fic sometime in the future). I hope it was worth the wait.
« Chapter One
« Chapter Two
« Chapter Three
« Chapter Four
« Chapter Five
It had been a mutual decision that they would spend the Christmas period at Ianto’s flat; it was dreadfully underused as it was and though Jack protested that they wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on the Rift from there (though if any alien dared to venture through the Rift on their time off he would have their guts for garters), Ianto had set up the computers to relay any alarms to his laptop. Besides, it would be nice to spend some time somewhere other than underground; Ianto had a proper double bed, and a flame-effect gas fire. It wouldn’t be quite like having a real fire, with logs that needed chopping - Jack thought he would be rather good at that, given that wielding an axe couldn’t be that different to a gun, could it? - but he was sure that he could convince Ianto to spend some time lying beside it. Naked, preferably.
The moment that they had locked up the last Weevil on Christmas Eve, Jack waved goodbye to Gwen and practically dragged Ianto to the SUV to drive him home.
“Jack, I have paperwork to finish…”
“Nope. You don’t. It’s Christmas.”
There were times when Jack simply couldn’t understand Ianto’s efficiency. He loved it, of course - it meant that there was less work that he had to do and it was far easier to appear to be a sophisticated organisation when you could actually find the report you were meant to be discussing with the Prime Minister - but he wished that he could make the young man let go some times. He was only twenty-six, for crying out loud; he should have been out with his mates tonight, getting pissed and wishing each other a merry Christmas the moment the minute hand reached the twelve. Instead, he was going to spend the time with Jack, probably getting a little tipsy but not too much - there were dead friends to remember. It scared Jack that Ianto was so willing to give up his youth to Torchwood, to him. It scared him, but he loved it.
“Fine. But the boss will be getting instant coffee if he complains about the backlog next week,” Ianto replied grudgingly, closing the folder he was flicking through with a snap and putting his pen in the pencil pot.
“I’m sure the boss won’t complain. Now come on!”
Jack couldn’t help but be excited; since he had thrown Ianto’s great-aunt out of the tourist office two days ago, the Welshman had visibly relaxed and even been happy enough to let Jack decorate his flat with a pile of decorations that he had found at the back of a store cupboard. Jack had been delighted, of course, and spent the whole day orchestrating the placement of mistletoe so that it would be almost impossible for Ianto to be in his house and not stand underneath it.
Ulterior motive? Who, him?
***
There was no snow on Christmas Day. Jack was disappointed about that; despite having been told repeatedly by Ianto that they never got snow at Christmas - didn’t Jack know that, having lived here for over a century? - and he’d simply be lucky if it didn’t rain for once. Didn’t he love the Welsh weather? Sometimes Jack wished that there was a rift in time and space somewhere in the Caribbean. However, even with the two percent chance of snow, he had insisted on keeping the curtain open a crack so that he could watch out for any snowflakes - or reindeer, not that he would admit that the children’s stories amused him - while Ianto slept. There had never been any snow when he’d been a child, living as he did on a sandy colony tortured by burning sunlight in the summer, nor had there been any Christmas. Religion hadn’t died out, but the holidays had changed with the changing calendar, got different meanings and significance. So here, celebrating Christmas with Ianto, snow would have been the icing on the cake.
As it was, he’d have to put up with turkey. Not on the cake, though. Even his tastes didn’t accommodate that.
“Wake up, Ianto, wake up!” Jack muttered, well aware of the fact that he was acting like more of an impatient five-year-old than the dashing hero who saved the world from alien invasions on a regular basis. So what? For once, Jack didn’t care; it was Christmas. That could excuse all sorts of weird behaviour on his part, he was sure of it. It was just a shame he couldn’t use it as an excuse the rest of the time; he wasn’t entirely sure the Prime Minister would appreciate the sentiment next time Jack told him that Whitehall had fuck-all authority over Torchwood. Yeah…‘it’s Christmas’ probably wouldn’t cut it, not if the reaction last time Jack had used those words was any indication…
“I am awake, Jack. Now stop acting like a three-year-old for five minutes so I can get some coffee.”
“Merry Christmas, Ianto!”
“Nadolig Llawen, Jack. Coffee?”
Jack watched lazily from the bed as Ianto got up (God, did that Welshman have one of the most beautiful bodies on Earth or what? - it almost compared to those he’d seen when he’d crashed on Gaerig and found the wait for rescue pleasantly passed in various encounters of the purple, tentacled kind…um, yes, anyway, that was something to remember another time) and pulled on some underwear before making his way through to the kitchen and switching on the coffee machine. It took a few moments more for Jack to untangle his feet from the duvet and summon the willpower to get up himself; Ianto’s bed was so much more comfortable than the camp bed in his quarters under his office at the Hub, he was surprised that he didn’t come here more, really. He didn’t bother to put clothes on himself as he followed Ianto to the kitchen, the smell of coffee already reaching his nostrils; after all, anything he put on now would only get taken off again in a few minutes.
***
A few minutes later, Jack had dragged Ianto and the coffee back to bed, grabbing a mince pie off a plate as he went - surely he could eat it for breakfast if he wanted to?
“If you get crumbs in the bed, you’re clearing them up,” Ianto warned him. That was an improvement; usually Jack wasn’t allowed to eat in bed at all, but clearly the Christmas spirit was rubbing off. Ooh, talking of spirit, or rather spirits, which was clearly similar…yes, he would need to find some alcohol later. You couldn’t have Christmas without brandy or whisky.
Suddenly, Ianto’s phone started ringing, interrupting Jack’s thoughts of booze. Leaning over Jack to pick it up, he glanced at the display.
“It’s Mam,” he said quietly, holding out his phone as if he anticipated what Jack would do next (it wouldn’t have surprised Jack, he had to admit; Ianto seemed to have an uncanny way of knowing exactly what he wanted, needed or was about to do, sometimes before he himself knew it). This time, however, Jack was certain about his next actions. He plucked the phone from Ianto’s hand, pressed ‘reject’ and all but threw the mobile across the room, hoping that it didn’t hit anything on its way. Ianto might not mind now, but when he found it in the morning, there would be hell to pay if it was in pieces.
That done, Jack rolled on top of Ianto, ignoring the fact that he was still chewing his mince pie as he kissed him thoroughly.
“The trouble with families,” he said, spraying crumbs everywhere (and not caring that he was going to have to clear that up later), “is that they always seem to make you feel bad. Me, on the other hand, I know exactly how to make you feel good.”
Ianto’s moans a moment later were enough to confirm this. And he’d only just begun; Jack had a whole list of ways to make Ianto feel good this Christmas.
FIN~