fic: Magpie Days
Title: Magpie Days
Author/Artist: woodencoyote
Rating: pg-13
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Characters: Gwen, Ianto, Jack - and Owen, in spirit
Genre: angst, fluff, a little naughty at the end
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for everything from Reset to Exit Wounds
Thanks to my betas, aztiluna13 and senry .
Summary: Packing away the remains of an unlife, Gwen and Ianto come across a surprise.
Authors notes: Holy smokes I wrote something else - sort of. This was actually intended, once upon a time, for horizonssing. Rememer that? I wrote it in a day and then obsessed and yelled and fretted at it for a whole year... hopefully, good things come to those who wait.
The key turned in the lock with a dull click that didn’t feel right. Not that there was anything suspicious about the sound or the circumstances, or any reason to believe there was something wrong with the pins and tumbler. It just gave Ianto a sinking feeling in his gut. He would have preferred it if the key had broken off in his grasp, jamming the mechanics and leaving the door locked forever.
As it was it swung open to admit them into the flat. Not easily; there was a crumple and tear of paper as the door plowed through the mountain of unopened post that had piled up under the flap. Besides the letters, they could see a tower of parcels and padded envelopes stacked precariously on the stairs. Other than that, the flat was sterile and cold. No jacket tossed carelessly over the back of the couch, no unfinished cup of coffee on the end table. No half-read magazines left open.
They stood in the hallway for a long time, just looking in the open door.
“I guess you take the front, then; I’ll start upstairs. Work our way towards the middle.”
Gwen took up a stack of flattened boxes, each printed with the Torchwood emblem, and a carton of bin liners, and disappeared into the flat without waiting for Ianto to respond. He didn’t hold it against her. The wounds left by the loss of their colleagues were still raw, and if she didn’t want to talk to him or see his face during the long and uncomfortable process of packing away Owen’s life, that was fine by him. He heard her shift and shove away the packages blocking the stairs and then she was gone. Carefully, Ianto gathered up the torn and crumpled letters and fliers jammed under the door and put them in a bag to be sorted later. Then, he made his way into the kitchen.
Without taking three steps, he could tell the mail was the only untidy thing about the flat. The carpet was crisp and sparkling under his feet, every surface was wiped and polished, and even the clutter was carefully arranged. There were no smells at all, anywhere. The entire flat had been cleaned within an inch of habitation. Ianto imagined a long period of complete abandonment and squalor followed one big tear down. Then came the daily tidying and straightening, and then again, and again, before the residue of life had been given any chance to settle. That’s how he’d done it, at least, during his four week suspension.
There was nothing to box up in the kitchen area. All the food was gone, obviously, but so were the flatware, utensils, the pots and pans - everything. The only things left were a few magnets on the refrigerator. Ianto dropped them into a box, were they sat pitifully on the bottom. There were scattered cleaning products, and a drawer by the sink produced an assortment of old match books, birthday candles, and thumbtacks; he’d keep the placemats but not the plates. In the back of a cupboard Ianto found a half-empty jar of crusty mustard, corresponding to some unspoken universal law that all single men living alone have the stuff regardless of their ability to consume it.
“Ianto! Come look at this.”
He shoved the jar back into the cupboard and was out of the kitchen in a flash, running up the stairs. Gwen was in the bedroom, standing half out of the walk-in wardrobe and looking at something. When he came up beside her and peeked in, he half expected to be confronted with a hideous alien floating in alcohol or some piece of expressly forbidden technology that had long gone missing from the Hub or maybe a cupboard entirely of porn tapes -
Instead, she handed him a box.
“I think it’s for you.”
It was an ordinary box made of cardboard, not very heavy, about the length of his hand and flat. It was wrapped neatly in tasteful blue and silver paper, with a little silver bow on the top. It was clearly not something Owen had wrapped himself, although Ianto’s name was written on the gift tag in the doctor’s blocky scrawl.
“Some other things up here,” said Gwen, indicating a high shelf crammed with shirt boxes and paper shopping bags. “Marks & Spencer, Next, Moss- he must have spent a fortune. Aren’t you going to open it?”
Ianto had been turning the box over in his hands. If he had come across the parcel by himself he wasn’t sure if he’d open it or not. But Gwen was peeping slyly at him, practically vibrating with curiousity - what other choice did he have? Carefully, he slit the tape where it joined the folds together, and took off the wrapper. Beside him Gwen fidgeted with excitement, watching him as eagerly as if it was her present he was unpacking. Ianto wondered, perhaps, if she was expecting it to explode or spray him with ink, like a gag flower. He lifted the lid. Inside, carefully folded and wrapped in tissue, was the most lurid pink necktie Ianto had ever seen. Its color reminded him of a neon sign, or one of those plastic flamingos people use to stir tropical drinks. It looked like a tropic drink. He could tell when he lifted it out of the box that it was ridiculously expensive. Pure silk, and he could feel the hand-sewn label on the inner side. But why, how, anyone could proudly attach their name to this… thing confounded him almost as greatly as how it was even made in first place.
Beside him, Gwen made a sputtering sound which she tried to smother behind her hand.
“I’m sorry,” she choked. “I’m sorry, that’s just…”
Ianto looked at her, bewildered and she just couldn’t resist it. She burst into helpless, hysterical laughter. “That’s just really, really gay.”
For someone who hadn’t had anything to laugh about in a good long week, the emotion came back to Ianto surprisingly fast. Soon they were both slumped over on the floor clutching between them the most ridiculous, hideous necktie that had obviously been picked out with love and the best of intentions by someone who had no business going anywhere near a menswear shop, laughing until tears were streaming down their faces.
Later, that night, Ianto ordered a pizza and some beer, and they opened every one of Owen’s packages. Inside they found DVDs, CDs, kitchen gadgets, bath towels, and dozens of books. There were cookbooks, books how to play an instrument, how to care for the exotic snake Owen obviously didn’t own (Ianto resolved to keep checking the mail for another few weeks, just in case), books on gardening that included free packets of seeds. There was a whole box of tattered paperback novels with titles like Terrors from Space!, Star Quest, and Enemy Coast Ahead. Gwen’s rummage produced, in addition to the necktie, half a dozen dress shirts of superior quality, a wristwatch, several sets of earrings, more shirts, an evening dress in Tosh’s size and a pair of leather high-heeled boots that matched exactly the pair Gwen had worn on the anniversary of her first day at Torchwood and which had been ruined when Myfanwy vomited the cupcake Owen had left on his desk all over them.
There were boxes of computer games, and boxes of computer parts. But the best discovery came when Ianto opened the biggest package in the pile. It was a beer box so wrapped in packing tape he’d had to cut it open from the side with a kitchen knife; the title ‘Foster’s’ was still visible beneath the homemade shipping label. Inside, they found dozens of plastic figurines. Each articulated ninja, commando and spaceman was carefully wrapped in newspaper by someone who had loved them a great deal and knew they were going to a good home.
What had Owen been planning to do with all this stuff? It was clear from his credit statements that he’d been started his shopping spree even before his resurrection, but he’d squirreled away everything. Even the items obviously meant as gifts had been held onto lost past birthdays and Christmas. Ianto shifted his sore knees as he carefully arranged the action figures on the coffee table. Chewing his pizza thoughtfully, he tried not think about Owen sitting here every night, watching chatter and infomercials stream by, until it was time to get up and go to work again. He knew that species of loneliness, had felt its unrelenting tide washing over him, pulling him under, until he’d resolved one day to get up and cast out his line.
He stood the plastic astronaut in the orange jumpsuit beside the pirate in the red bandana, careful not to get pizza grease from his fingertips on either. There, that looked about right, to him. On the couch, Gwen was laughing around a mouthful of crust at a DVD they had discovered. Empty beer bottles and bubble wrap littered the floor around them. It would all have to be cleaned up and they would have to finish packing, but for now, Ianto climbed up onto the cushion beside her.
Epilogue
Jack pulled eagerly at Ianto’s shirt, trying to both undo the buttons and walk backwards towards the bedroom without breaking the kiss or banging into the doorjam. As it was he nearly tripped over the rug, just managing to fall backwards onto the bed and dragging Ianto down with him. They kissed leisurely for a while, intent only on each other, but when Ianto sat back to strip off his shirt Jack found his attention diverted from his partner for the first time since arriving at the flat.
“What’s this?”
Ianto struggled to get his dress shirt off faster, if only to free his hands so he could shove the pink necktie in the nightstand drawer, where he should have put it in the first place. But too late, Jack had already picked up the offending article and was examining it with interest.
“Did you buy this?”
Ianto tried to distract him by pulling off his undershirt.
“It was a gift,” he said lamely. “… from Owen.”
Jack burst into spasms of mirth. “Oh God, oh that’s really -“
Ianto swallowed any observations he was about to make with a kiss. As they settled back into each other, Ianto tugged the necktie from Jack’s hand, sending a silent prayer of thanks to Owen for giving them something to laugh at.
‘I’ll miss you, you prat’.
He carefully stuffed it under the bed.