Layover
Title: Layover
Rating: PG
Characters: Ianto, Gwen
Words: 1217
Summary: Gwen and Ianto have a conversation in an airport.
(The stuff about Jack's accent isn't entirely mine. The idea is introduced here by snakeling. I wanted to expand it a little.)
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“American airports always remind me of sleepovers.”
Ianto took a moment to look up from his diary and stare silently at Gwen. They were sitting through a three-hour layover in the Detroit Metropolitan Airport, headed home to Cardiff after a trip to Utah to deal with a repeat offender - his newest transgression being a security system that announced a little too clearly to the world, “I am using alien technology (and I am also hiding it).”
“Pardon?” he asked, finally, certain that he had heard her correctly but, really, what else does one say when faced with something so sudden and incongruous (and stupid)?
“Sleepovers,” she repeated, and bounced one crossed leg over the other, boots shining in the artificial lights. The windows high up along the ceiling showed a clear night sky. “Everyone slipping about in their socks, kids in their pyjamas sleeping on benches.”
Ianto chose not to point out to Gwen that the reason for taking off your shoes in an American airport is, in spirit, about the exact opposite of a slumber party - nor yet to inform her that he had just spent three and a half hours in an airplane, with nine more to come, and his brain was attempting to escape his skull by punching through his eyes. All he did was silently return to the diary in his lap.
But Gwen was in a talking mood.
“Writing love letters to Jack?” she asked, leaning against Ianto and peering over his shoulder. He cut his eyes to her. He knew that she was only trying to annoy him enough to get a response, and he didn’t dignify the attempt. (Though he had, while she was distracted during a jaunt in New Mexico, bought an Area 51 postcard featuring a smiling alien in a Hawaiian shirt and posted it to Cardiff from their hotel that evening, with a dry comment about Americans being self-aware scrawled across the back. He thought Jack would appreciate it.)
“Come on, Ianto.” Gwen lightly poked her elbow into his side. “You can’t tell me that you don’t miss him. You’ve been listening to American accents for four days.”
“Yes, but that’s made our Welsh accents adorable.” He moved his pen across the page, but was no longer intent on what he was writing. “Now we know how Jack feels constantly.” Like a science project. “I felt like I needed a cowboy hat and mustache.”
She laughed. “It’s like when he says ‘oi’ and we giggle behind his back.”
“You giggle,” Ianto said pointedly. “I smirk condescendingly.”
Gwen laughed again and sat back, looking up at the ceiling. “You know, I’ve wondered. Why does Jack have an American accent? American English can’t have been his first language. You’d think he’d have an accent from whatever weird fifty-first century alien tongue he was born into.”
Ianto looked over at her, surprised. He’d thought the answer was obvious. Well, not obvious, not unless you knew Jack. But, still.
Jack had chosen an American accent - to use in Cardiff and London and wherever the language or native inflection was different. He did it to appear foreign. Ianto had seen it countless times; Jack, caught with his hands in something they shouldn’t be, forgiven because, ‘Oh, you’re an American.’ Jack talking loudly in public about his sexual conquests with alien life, his experiences in the 1960’s, and no one around him batting an eyelash because he was American, and also probably crazy, and that was all right then. Jack forgetting the meaning of 21st century British idioms and slang, understandable because he was American and used to fries-trucks-elevators-zees, rather than chips-lorries-lifts-zeds.
Ianto thought that if Jack had settled in the Americas, or were to, God forbid, relocate there at some point in the future, he would affect some other accent. Scottish, maybe. Scottish suited Jack rather well. And then he would still have the excuse of being a foreigner to allow his strangeness to slip by unnoticed, or at the very least unchecked.
But it would always be a degree of separation from the people around him. It would be a difference; he would be Foreign, with a capital-letter significance, although no one would know just how foreign he really was. Thousands of years, millions of miles away from where he was born. The distance only readable in his eyes, and only if you were standing close - close enough for him to see into you, as well. For him to see how far you were from home.
“Ianto?” Gwen knocked him out of his thoughts.
He blinked. “I don’t know,” he said, looking back at the diary. “Maybe the US conquers the world at some point and squelches other cultures with Twinkies and reality television. Then launches itself into space to continue the traditions of rodeo and poor healthcare among the stars.”
“Your cultural sensitivity is touching, Ianto.” Gwen smirked, then moved her head slightly to once more look at the pages open on his lap. “Really, what do you write in there?”
“Lists,” Ianto said, lifting the book by its spine and rifling over the pages with his thumb. “To do lists, shopping lists-”
“-the list of rules to Naked Hide and Seek?” Gwen interjected, looking amused.
Ianto looked at her and arched one suggestive eyebrow.
Gwen pinked, then smiled uncertainly, then hesitantly asked, “Really?”
“I’m an archivist, Gwen. These things should be preserved.” His dead-seriousness flickered slightly. Gwen caught it and laughed.
“You’re having me on! I’d more expect Jack to keep that list, anyway.”
Ianto shrugged. “He probably does, somewhere. Nothing if not thorough, Jack. About sex, anyway. Paperwork is another matter entirely.”
Gwen furrowed her brow, and Ianto could see her working through something in her head. It wasn’t difficult to guess what. Which was more powerful: her jealousy and annoyance at Ianto’s relationship with Jack, or her curiosity about the details of that relationship - both the innocent and the not-terribly-innocent? Ianto took the decision out of her hands. “I won’t be discussing my sex life with you, Gwen.”
“You’re the one who brought it up!”
“I’ve been away from home too long. Fatigued slip of the tongue. Also, I believe the hide and seek comment was yours.”
Gwen pouted. It was a hilarious sight. “You’re no fun, Ianto Jones.”
“I’m not paid to be fun, Gwen Cooper.” He set his pen to the page again, but there was a buzz and a chatter of muffled tones from his pocket. He pulled his mobile out and flipped it open, then pressed it to his ear. “Hello, Jack.” He listened, ignoring Gwen’s kissy-faces and her hands making a love heart in the air. “That’s right. Will you be there to collect us?” He turned fully away from Gwen as she continued to mock him. “No, I’m fairly certain that you won’t be allowed to stand at the gate for a Love Actually reunion.” He stood and started walking away as Gwen continued to try and catch his attention with swoons and hand gestures. “True, your Torchwood credentials might get you past security.”
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Gwen watching him, smiling.
“Be safe, okay?” he heard from six thousand kilometers away.
“We will,” he said, then smiled. “I’ll see you later.”
Rating: PG
Characters: Ianto, Gwen
Words: 1217
Summary: Gwen and Ianto have a conversation in an airport.
(The stuff about Jack's accent isn't entirely mine. The idea is introduced here by snakeling. I wanted to expand it a little.)
--------------
“American airports always remind me of sleepovers.”
Ianto took a moment to look up from his diary and stare silently at Gwen. They were sitting through a three-hour layover in the Detroit Metropolitan Airport, headed home to Cardiff after a trip to Utah to deal with a repeat offender - his newest transgression being a security system that announced a little too clearly to the world, “I am using alien technology (and I am also hiding it).”
“Pardon?” he asked, finally, certain that he had heard her correctly but, really, what else does one say when faced with something so sudden and incongruous (and stupid)?
“Sleepovers,” she repeated, and bounced one crossed leg over the other, boots shining in the artificial lights. The windows high up along the ceiling showed a clear night sky. “Everyone slipping about in their socks, kids in their pyjamas sleeping on benches.”
Ianto chose not to point out to Gwen that the reason for taking off your shoes in an American airport is, in spirit, about the exact opposite of a slumber party - nor yet to inform her that he had just spent three and a half hours in an airplane, with nine more to come, and his brain was attempting to escape his skull by punching through his eyes. All he did was silently return to the diary in his lap.
But Gwen was in a talking mood.
“Writing love letters to Jack?” she asked, leaning against Ianto and peering over his shoulder. He cut his eyes to her. He knew that she was only trying to annoy him enough to get a response, and he didn’t dignify the attempt. (Though he had, while she was distracted during a jaunt in New Mexico, bought an Area 51 postcard featuring a smiling alien in a Hawaiian shirt and posted it to Cardiff from their hotel that evening, with a dry comment about Americans being self-aware scrawled across the back. He thought Jack would appreciate it.)
“Come on, Ianto.” Gwen lightly poked her elbow into his side. “You can’t tell me that you don’t miss him. You’ve been listening to American accents for four days.”
“Yes, but that’s made our Welsh accents adorable.” He moved his pen across the page, but was no longer intent on what he was writing. “Now we know how Jack feels constantly.” Like a science project. “I felt like I needed a cowboy hat and mustache.”
She laughed. “It’s like when he says ‘oi’ and we giggle behind his back.”
“You giggle,” Ianto said pointedly. “I smirk condescendingly.”
Gwen laughed again and sat back, looking up at the ceiling. “You know, I’ve wondered. Why does Jack have an American accent? American English can’t have been his first language. You’d think he’d have an accent from whatever weird fifty-first century alien tongue he was born into.”
Ianto looked over at her, surprised. He’d thought the answer was obvious. Well, not obvious, not unless you knew Jack. But, still.
Jack had chosen an American accent - to use in Cardiff and London and wherever the language or native inflection was different. He did it to appear foreign. Ianto had seen it countless times; Jack, caught with his hands in something they shouldn’t be, forgiven because, ‘Oh, you’re an American.’ Jack talking loudly in public about his sexual conquests with alien life, his experiences in the 1960’s, and no one around him batting an eyelash because he was American, and also probably crazy, and that was all right then. Jack forgetting the meaning of 21st century British idioms and slang, understandable because he was American and used to fries-trucks-elevators-zees, rather than chips-lorries-lifts-zeds.
Ianto thought that if Jack had settled in the Americas, or were to, God forbid, relocate there at some point in the future, he would affect some other accent. Scottish, maybe. Scottish suited Jack rather well. And then he would still have the excuse of being a foreigner to allow his strangeness to slip by unnoticed, or at the very least unchecked.
But it would always be a degree of separation from the people around him. It would be a difference; he would be Foreign, with a capital-letter significance, although no one would know just how foreign he really was. Thousands of years, millions of miles away from where he was born. The distance only readable in his eyes, and only if you were standing close - close enough for him to see into you, as well. For him to see how far you were from home.
“Ianto?” Gwen knocked him out of his thoughts.
He blinked. “I don’t know,” he said, looking back at the diary. “Maybe the US conquers the world at some point and squelches other cultures with Twinkies and reality television. Then launches itself into space to continue the traditions of rodeo and poor healthcare among the stars.”
“Your cultural sensitivity is touching, Ianto.” Gwen smirked, then moved her head slightly to once more look at the pages open on his lap. “Really, what do you write in there?”
“Lists,” Ianto said, lifting the book by its spine and rifling over the pages with his thumb. “To do lists, shopping lists-”
“-the list of rules to Naked Hide and Seek?” Gwen interjected, looking amused.
Ianto looked at her and arched one suggestive eyebrow.
Gwen pinked, then smiled uncertainly, then hesitantly asked, “Really?”
“I’m an archivist, Gwen. These things should be preserved.” His dead-seriousness flickered slightly. Gwen caught it and laughed.
“You’re having me on! I’d more expect Jack to keep that list, anyway.”
Ianto shrugged. “He probably does, somewhere. Nothing if not thorough, Jack. About sex, anyway. Paperwork is another matter entirely.”
Gwen furrowed her brow, and Ianto could see her working through something in her head. It wasn’t difficult to guess what. Which was more powerful: her jealousy and annoyance at Ianto’s relationship with Jack, or her curiosity about the details of that relationship - both the innocent and the not-terribly-innocent? Ianto took the decision out of her hands. “I won’t be discussing my sex life with you, Gwen.”
“You’re the one who brought it up!”
“I’ve been away from home too long. Fatigued slip of the tongue. Also, I believe the hide and seek comment was yours.”
Gwen pouted. It was a hilarious sight. “You’re no fun, Ianto Jones.”
“I’m not paid to be fun, Gwen Cooper.” He set his pen to the page again, but there was a buzz and a chatter of muffled tones from his pocket. He pulled his mobile out and flipped it open, then pressed it to his ear. “Hello, Jack.” He listened, ignoring Gwen’s kissy-faces and her hands making a love heart in the air. “That’s right. Will you be there to collect us?” He turned fully away from Gwen as she continued to mock him. “No, I’m fairly certain that you won’t be allowed to stand at the gate for a Love Actually reunion.” He stood and started walking away as Gwen continued to try and catch his attention with swoons and hand gestures. “True, your Torchwood credentials might get you past security.”
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Gwen watching him, smiling.
“Be safe, okay?” he heard from six thousand kilometers away.
“We will,” he said, then smiled. “I’ll see you later.”