Christmas Comment!fics [2011]
Merry Christmas, everyone!
Last year, I offered comment!fic in a number of fandoms as a Christmas present to all you lovely folk out there. I got some wonderful prompts and really enjoyed myself writing ficlets for them, so I’ve decided to do the same this year. For those of you who don’t know how this works, let’s go over things:
( Basic Info )
Last year, I offered comment!fic in a number of fandoms as a Christmas present to all you lovely folk out there. I got some wonderful prompts and really enjoyed myself writing ficlets for them, so I’ve decided to do the same this year. For those of you who don’t know how this works, let’s go over things:
( Basic Info )
When Rhiannon was nine, she was hit by a car.
Put that way, it sounds a lot more dramatic than it was. Their neighbour had reversed into her and knocked her down, but she hadn’t wound up with anything worse than a broken leg. Ianto hadn’t seen that a broken leg was worth crying about the way Rhiannon did. He’d broken his leg earlier that year, himself, and he hadn’t cried.
With the benefit of hindsight, he thinks he’d probably been too much in shock to cry.
At any rate, it had been the first time the family had spent Christmas in the hospital. It had taken a while for the doctors to see Rhiannon, and then they’d spent another bit of time waiting till she could go get a scan done of her leg, and then yet another bit of time waiting till a doctor could come put a cast on for her. In the end, they spent the whole of Christmas day stuck in the hospital, and their mum had called home and told their grandparents they wouldn’t be able to make it for dinner.
It hadn’t been the last time, though. Three Christmases after that, it was Ianto’s turn to wind up in hospital with a terrible case of pneumonia. His mother didn’t stop lecturing him on the perils of getting wet and cold in the rain for months after. Six years after that, his father had had his first heart attack. Two years after that, his family had been holding a vigil by his grandfather’s bed. The year after, another vigil for his grandmother. Five years after, when Ianto had come home from London especially for Christmas, his father had had his second heart attack.
All things told, it’s unsurprising that Ianto’s gone off the day a bit. It’s turned into a family joke, and these days he and Rhiannon have phone conversations that run something like this:
“Are you coming over for Christmas, then?”
“I don’t know, yet. Depends on whether I can get away, we’re always a bit swamped at Christmas.”
“Well, let me know if you can and I’ll tell you which hospital we’re at.”
“Sure. We’ll meet up outside the hospital and get a bite to eat first. Unless it’s you in the bed, of course.”
“Or you! I’ll not hold your hand if you wind up nearly dying of a cold again.”
“Wouldn’t dream of asking. Pity dad went and died in June. He’s the only one who made it twice, would have been great if he’d managed a hat-trick.”
He gets some odd looks whenever people catch his end of the conversation. He wonders what it would be like if anyone overheard the conversations in their entirety. It’s a litany of woe and dismay, and utterly hilarious to them. Ianto privately hopes that when he dies (and it will probably be soon), it’s on Christmas. He sort of wants to keep the pattern going, and he knows that Rhiannon at least, will laugh at his funeral.
The point is, he’s just not used to Christmas being anything but misery, something to be reflected on later and laughed at because the only other possible response is a wretched, anguished bawl of despair. Theoretically, the day is meant to bring family together, but he’s used to that being around a hospital bed. This year is better in the sense that he’s not in hospital - but he’s still miserably sick, which is only one step up from a hospital stay.
He’s also enjoying himself, which is something rather rare for a Christmas.
Jack hands him another tissue and doesn’t even look disgusted when Ianto noisily blows his nose. Their planned Christmas dinner is cooling in the fridge because Ianto doesn’t think he can keep it down. Jack’s done a quick grocery run and got them some soup and soft bread and hot tea, all of which sit much more easily with Ianto. There’s a bad Christmas movie on the telly for a vain stab at a normal Christmas. And Jack is letting a phlegmy, snotty Ianto lean against him, and is even petting his sweat-slick hair, which makes Ianto think that Jack’s a lot more invested in this relationship than he’ll ever admit. It’s really very sweet of him.
Ianto tosses the tissue into the rapidly-filling rubbish bin that Jack’s pulled up next to the bed. Yeah, this Christmas might initially have seemed to fit the usual pattern, but it’s really turning out pretty good after all.
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~T
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