this isn't actual fic, so you shouldn't actually get excited.
According to LJ, today is the anniversary of neurotictealeaf's birth. In the grand tradition of me being a pretty much shit friend, I have hastily cobbled together a tiny part of a much larger story. Woo hoo?
THIS IS NOT A REAL FIC POST. I REPEAT: THIS IS NOT A REAL FIC POST. This isn't even read over by ME, let alone beta-read or anything like that. It's a fragment of a fragment.
Um, I intended to write more, but I have a house guest coming in... two hours, and I need to go, you know, pick her up from the airport. I wrote most of this on my lunch break. I will probably eventually write more, but not in any formal, linear way.
( For the uninitiated.)
I really have to credit the hairdresser idea to semplice. And half the ideas I'm cobbling together belong to neurotictealeaf.
Anyway. Then this happened.
***
Ianto woke up to an empty bed, which wasn't entirely unusual. Jack was a morning person and something of an insomniac. He liked to tell anyone who would listen that it was because his body was still stuck in America, even though Ianto reminded him as often as possible that jet lag didn't last for twenty-five years and also that Jack's body was definitely present in Wales, thank you very much, if the state of his laundry was any indicator.
Still, when his ringing phone woke him at eight am, he was a bit surprised to roll over into an empty space. On Ianto's days off, Jack liked to slip back into bed and come up with the lewdest way possible to wake him. Ianto couldn't complain, even if it infringed on his precious sleep.
"'Lo?" he mumbled into the phone, squinting around the bedroom for any sign of Jack.
"Ianto!" Only Gwen Cooper could sound that cheerful at this god-awful hour. "How are you, love?"
"I was better five minutes ago," he grumbled. "The bloody salon is closed today, Gwen, and I saw you twelve hours ago. What could you possible want this early?"
He resigned himself to getting out of bed, pulling on a dressing gown distractedly with the phone pressed between his ear and shoulder. Coffee. He definitely needed coffee.
"It's bakery day, remember?" Gwen said as Ianto padded into the kitchen. He frowned and looked at the calendar on the fridge, pushing aside newspaper clippings about the opening of the salon and a few candid photos of Gwen, her husband Rhys, Jack, and him.
"Bakery day," he murmured, seeing the bright red circle around the date. "Right. I had forgotten. I don't know where Jack is."
"Bugger Jack," Gwen said cheerfully. "Just get dressed and come over. I bought them a fruit basket."
"A fruit basket?" He wandered over to the coffee maker, his hands going through the motions by rote. "We couldn't have gotten them a nice bouquet from around the corner?"
"I think a fruit basket is sweet," Gwen said. "I put it together myself and added some maps and tourist brochures and a list of some of the local places. It's more personal that way, don't you think?" That was Gwen Cooper, diving nose first into other people's lives, a bulldozer of geniality and empathy.
"And useful," he agreed. Usefulness was his downfall. He could only assume that he was with Jack because of some masochistic attack on that weakness.
"So, come round soon as you've dressed and had a coffee. Oh, and bring one for me, yeah? All we've got here is instant."
"As you wish, Ms. Cooper. If Himself deigns to return before I leave, I'll drag him along too."
"Oh, wonderful! I'll see you soon, pet!"
He turned off his phone and let his full attention settle on his coffee, pulling down his travel mug and the red chrome one he kept on hand for Gwen, the one that he'd had almost as long as he'd known her. She didn't hesitate when she was adopting a new "project," and as condescending as it felt at the time, her concern was the best thing that ever happened to him.
He met Gwen almost three years ago when they were both working for Yvonne Hartman. Ianto had been at Yvonne's London salon for almost a year when she announced the intention to start up a staellite salon in Cardiff in an effort to cash in on the rise in movie and television work being done in Wales. Ianto had just gotten out of a rather nasty break-up with his girlfriend, Lisa, and was the first to sign up for a transfer. He wasn't a full-time stylist--he mostly washed hair, prepped clients, and answered phones--but Yvonne took him anyway.
Gwen was the only local stylist that Yvonne bothered to hire and she made it very clear from day one that Gwen was not nearly worthy enough to be working for Yvonne Hartman: Stylist to the Stars. Gwen was relegated to wash and dry and prep, demoting Ianto back to receptionist and teaboy. It was demoralizing, but Ianto found a kindred spirit in Gwen. Emotionally, they were on opposite ends of the spectrum, but in spite of that, or, perhaps, because of it, Ianto found it easy to open up to her. He told her about his break up with Lisa, his terrible home life, and his turbulent few years in London. Gwen listened with sympathy and told stories of her own, filling him in on her fiance, Rhys, and her parents and friends. They soon sought each other out on their downtime, and before long, they were spending long hours after work at the pub or at one of their flats.
It was... nice. It was different. It had been a long time since Ianto had had a friend.
He poured Gwen's coffee into her mug and sealed it to keep it warm, before dashing into the bathroom for a quick shower. It was considerably easier to get dressed and ready without Jack hovering over his shoulder (or climbing into the shower after him, for that matter...) and he was dressed, groomed, and ready to meet Gwen by 8:45. He gathered their coffees and locked the flat, sparing one last though to Jack's whereabouts before making his way towards Gwen's.
Gwen was waiting outside holding an honest-to-god fruit basket, all wrapped up in cellophane. She accepted the coffee with a thankful smile and led the way down the block, humming cheerfully. Ianto was waiting for her to start swinging the basket and skipping.
"Now, remember, they don't have any friends and they're new to the country, so we need to be welcoming," Gwen said as they crossed the street and entered the heart of downtown Cardiff.
"How do we know they don't have any friends?" Ianto asked.
"They're new to the country," Gwen repeated, as if the answer were obvious. "So we need to be welcoming."
"By which you mean I should keep Jack from doing anything embarrassing," Ianto surmised. "Right. That's worked out so well in the past."
"I'm just saying," Gwen said, "Jack can be a bit...." She waved her free hand in a complicated gesture that Ianto interpreted as, 'You're dating a manwhore who routinely molests out customers and would flirt with a cactus for an hour before he realized it wasn't flirting back.'
"Well," Ianto said, "Jack's American, they're American... maybe they'll be used to it."
"I've met other Americans," Gwen said. "I've never met anyone like Jack."
Ianto laughed ruefully at that, turning a smile and a wave to several merchants opening their shops. A few called out their surprise at seeing Ianto and Gwen on a Monday morning, but most of them assumed (correctly) that Gwen's reasons for being there were more gossip-related than business related.
They were at the bakery by nine am, just in time to see a cheerful, handsome man about Gwen's age flip the sign on the front from 'Closed' to 'Open.' Gwen and Ianto grinned at each other, and pushed their way inside.
"Good morning," Ianto said.
"Hello!" Gwen said. "We're your neighbors!"
The man who had flipped the sign over gave them a bright but confused smile. He was soon joined by and older, surlier looking man who seemed less pleased to see them.
"Is that a fruit basket?" the older man grunted. The younger man shot him a placating look.
"That's really sweet of you!" the younger man said. "I'm Sam, by the way. Sam Seaborn. That ray of sunshine is Toby Zeigler. Are you the couple who lives upstairs?"
Gwen and Ianto looked at each other and rolled their eyes. If people didn't think they were a couple, it was only because they thought they were siblings.
"No," Gwen said. "We own the hair salon next door. We thought we'd come over and introduce ourselves."
***
More to come, but don't hold your breath, guys.
THIS IS NOT A REAL FIC POST. I REPEAT: THIS IS NOT A REAL FIC POST. This isn't even read over by ME, let alone beta-read or anything like that. It's a fragment of a fragment.
Um, I intended to write more, but I have a house guest coming in... two hours, and I need to go, you know, pick her up from the airport. I wrote most of this on my lunch break. I will probably eventually write more, but not in any formal, linear way.
( For the uninitiated.)
I really have to credit the hairdresser idea to semplice. And half the ideas I'm cobbling together belong to neurotictealeaf.
Anyway. Then this happened.
***
Ianto woke up to an empty bed, which wasn't entirely unusual. Jack was a morning person and something of an insomniac. He liked to tell anyone who would listen that it was because his body was still stuck in America, even though Ianto reminded him as often as possible that jet lag didn't last for twenty-five years and also that Jack's body was definitely present in Wales, thank you very much, if the state of his laundry was any indicator.
Still, when his ringing phone woke him at eight am, he was a bit surprised to roll over into an empty space. On Ianto's days off, Jack liked to slip back into bed and come up with the lewdest way possible to wake him. Ianto couldn't complain, even if it infringed on his precious sleep.
"'Lo?" he mumbled into the phone, squinting around the bedroom for any sign of Jack.
"Ianto!" Only Gwen Cooper could sound that cheerful at this god-awful hour. "How are you, love?"
"I was better five minutes ago," he grumbled. "The bloody salon is closed today, Gwen, and I saw you twelve hours ago. What could you possible want this early?"
He resigned himself to getting out of bed, pulling on a dressing gown distractedly with the phone pressed between his ear and shoulder. Coffee. He definitely needed coffee.
"It's bakery day, remember?" Gwen said as Ianto padded into the kitchen. He frowned and looked at the calendar on the fridge, pushing aside newspaper clippings about the opening of the salon and a few candid photos of Gwen, her husband Rhys, Jack, and him.
"Bakery day," he murmured, seeing the bright red circle around the date. "Right. I had forgotten. I don't know where Jack is."
"Bugger Jack," Gwen said cheerfully. "Just get dressed and come over. I bought them a fruit basket."
"A fruit basket?" He wandered over to the coffee maker, his hands going through the motions by rote. "We couldn't have gotten them a nice bouquet from around the corner?"
"I think a fruit basket is sweet," Gwen said. "I put it together myself and added some maps and tourist brochures and a list of some of the local places. It's more personal that way, don't you think?" That was Gwen Cooper, diving nose first into other people's lives, a bulldozer of geniality and empathy.
"And useful," he agreed. Usefulness was his downfall. He could only assume that he was with Jack because of some masochistic attack on that weakness.
"So, come round soon as you've dressed and had a coffee. Oh, and bring one for me, yeah? All we've got here is instant."
"As you wish, Ms. Cooper. If Himself deigns to return before I leave, I'll drag him along too."
"Oh, wonderful! I'll see you soon, pet!"
He turned off his phone and let his full attention settle on his coffee, pulling down his travel mug and the red chrome one he kept on hand for Gwen, the one that he'd had almost as long as he'd known her. She didn't hesitate when she was adopting a new "project," and as condescending as it felt at the time, her concern was the best thing that ever happened to him.
He met Gwen almost three years ago when they were both working for Yvonne Hartman. Ianto had been at Yvonne's London salon for almost a year when she announced the intention to start up a staellite salon in Cardiff in an effort to cash in on the rise in movie and television work being done in Wales. Ianto had just gotten out of a rather nasty break-up with his girlfriend, Lisa, and was the first to sign up for a transfer. He wasn't a full-time stylist--he mostly washed hair, prepped clients, and answered phones--but Yvonne took him anyway.
Gwen was the only local stylist that Yvonne bothered to hire and she made it very clear from day one that Gwen was not nearly worthy enough to be working for Yvonne Hartman: Stylist to the Stars. Gwen was relegated to wash and dry and prep, demoting Ianto back to receptionist and teaboy. It was demoralizing, but Ianto found a kindred spirit in Gwen. Emotionally, they were on opposite ends of the spectrum, but in spite of that, or, perhaps, because of it, Ianto found it easy to open up to her. He told her about his break up with Lisa, his terrible home life, and his turbulent few years in London. Gwen listened with sympathy and told stories of her own, filling him in on her fiance, Rhys, and her parents and friends. They soon sought each other out on their downtime, and before long, they were spending long hours after work at the pub or at one of their flats.
It was... nice. It was different. It had been a long time since Ianto had had a friend.
He poured Gwen's coffee into her mug and sealed it to keep it warm, before dashing into the bathroom for a quick shower. It was considerably easier to get dressed and ready without Jack hovering over his shoulder (or climbing into the shower after him, for that matter...) and he was dressed, groomed, and ready to meet Gwen by 8:45. He gathered their coffees and locked the flat, sparing one last though to Jack's whereabouts before making his way towards Gwen's.
Gwen was waiting outside holding an honest-to-god fruit basket, all wrapped up in cellophane. She accepted the coffee with a thankful smile and led the way down the block, humming cheerfully. Ianto was waiting for her to start swinging the basket and skipping.
"Now, remember, they don't have any friends and they're new to the country, so we need to be welcoming," Gwen said as they crossed the street and entered the heart of downtown Cardiff.
"How do we know they don't have any friends?" Ianto asked.
"They're new to the country," Gwen repeated, as if the answer were obvious. "So we need to be welcoming."
"By which you mean I should keep Jack from doing anything embarrassing," Ianto surmised. "Right. That's worked out so well in the past."
"I'm just saying," Gwen said, "Jack can be a bit...." She waved her free hand in a complicated gesture that Ianto interpreted as, 'You're dating a manwhore who routinely molests out customers and would flirt with a cactus for an hour before he realized it wasn't flirting back.'
"Well," Ianto said, "Jack's American, they're American... maybe they'll be used to it."
"I've met other Americans," Gwen said. "I've never met anyone like Jack."
Ianto laughed ruefully at that, turning a smile and a wave to several merchants opening their shops. A few called out their surprise at seeing Ianto and Gwen on a Monday morning, but most of them assumed (correctly) that Gwen's reasons for being there were more gossip-related than business related.
They were at the bakery by nine am, just in time to see a cheerful, handsome man about Gwen's age flip the sign on the front from 'Closed' to 'Open.' Gwen and Ianto grinned at each other, and pushed their way inside.
"Good morning," Ianto said.
"Hello!" Gwen said. "We're your neighbors!"
The man who had flipped the sign over gave them a bright but confused smile. He was soon joined by and older, surlier looking man who seemed less pleased to see them.
"Is that a fruit basket?" the older man grunted. The younger man shot him a placating look.
"That's really sweet of you!" the younger man said. "I'm Sam, by the way. Sam Seaborn. That ray of sunshine is Toby Zeigler. Are you the couple who lives upstairs?"
Gwen and Ianto looked at each other and rolled their eyes. If people didn't think they were a couple, it was only because they thought they were siblings.
"No," Gwen said. "We own the hair salon next door. We thought we'd come over and introduce ourselves."
***
More to come, but don't hold your breath, guys.