Fic: Perfect
Title: Perfect
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Jack.
Rating: G
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Ianto and Jack have a sunny weekend off from Torchwood. It’s quite astonishingly domestic.
Word Count: 1074
Written For: My own prompt ‘Torchwood, Jack/Ianto, mowing the lawn,’ at fic_promptly.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters. They belong to the BBC.
The roast was in the oven, already starting to fill the kitchen with a delicious aroma; there was just the veg to prepare now. Ianto glanced out the kitchen window as he peeled potatoes and sliced carrots, and then just… stopped, captivated by the view. There was Jack, orange electrical cable slung over one bare shoulder to keep it out of his way as he ambled up and down the back garden, mowing the lawn. As he worked, bits of grass flew up and stuck to the sunscreen slathered all over his bare torso, arms and legs. All he had on was a pair of cargo shorts and sneakers. It was an undeniably pleasant sight, but when had the pair of them become so domesticated? They were acting just like any ordinary couple on a lazy Sunday; have a lie in, enjoy a late breakfast while reading the Sunday paper, get the lawn and hedges tidied up before dinner…
Long ago, with Lisa’s death, Ianto had accepted that he would never have a normal life, never mind a normal relationship. He’d even come to terms with the idea that in all probability his life would be cut short; Torchwood was a dangerous place to work, and few agents survived to their mid-thirties. And yet, here he was with Jack, both of them having the whole weekend off from work, knowing the rest of the expanded team were perfectly capable of running Torchwood without them for a couple of days. It was their great good fortune that their scheduled weekend off happened to coincide with some of the best weather they’d had so far this year.
The rota system Ianto had worked out shortly after the number of team members was increased to ten, and once the newcomers had all gone through the necessary training, meant that everyone got one weekend off in five, barring emergencies, and each team member also got one day off during the week, excluding weekends. All of them also took their turn at manning the Hub overnight, knowing they could call in the others if needed. As a result, they were all better rested than had been the case when Ianto first joined Torchwood Three.
As an additional perk, since Jack no longer had to spend every night at the Hub keeping an eye on the Rift, he’d happily accepted when Ianto had suggested they move in together. Now here they were, just a couple of months later, settling into a far more relaxed and laid back lifestyle than either of them were used to or would have previously imagined they could ever have. To call it surprising would be an understatement; miraculous was closer to the truth, and at moments like this, Ianto couldn’t help but wonder whether it was real or some alien tech induced impossible dream.
Putting the saucepans of vegetables on the stove, Ianto checked on the roast and basted it, feeling sweat break out all over his body thanks to the furnace heat that erupted each time he opened the oven door. Even with it closed, and despite the window and the back door being propped wide open, the kitchen was much too hot for comfort. It was too soon to start cooking the veg, so hanging up his oven glove Ianto went to the fridge, got out the jug of homemade lemonade he’d put in there earlier to chill, and filled two tall glasses, adding ice cubes and a few mint leaves to each before carrying them out into the garden.
A pleasant breeze dried the sweat on Ianto’s forehead as he made this way down the path to join Jack, who was just emptying the lawnmower’s grass box onto their compost heap.
“I don’t know if you’re as hot as I am, but I thought refreshments might be in order anyway. You’ve been working hard; the lawn looks great.”
Jack wiped his forehead with the back of one hand and accepted the glass Ianto handed him, taking a long swallow. “Ahhhh, just what I needed. How’s dinner coming? I’m almost done out here if you need a hand.”
Ianto shook his head. “I’ve got everything under control. I’ll put the veg on in a bit; the roast should be ready in about another forty-five minutes. I was thinking of bringing the small table out onto the patio so we can eat out here instead of being cooped up indoors. Shame to waste the good weather while we’ve got it.”
“Sunday dinner in the sun; sounds like a great idea. I’ll lend a hand with the table as soon as I’ve cleared up out here. It’ll take both of us to carry it. We can bring it out through the French doors. Let’s sit for a bit first.” Jack led the way over to their new garden chairs, sinking gratefully into one as Ianto settled into the other, the wooden slats of the seats warm against the bare backs of their legs. Ianto was dressed the same as Jack, just with the addition of a t-shirt, token protection against hot splashes in the kitchen. Roast lamb tended to spit.
“Days like this make me wonder if I’m dreaming,” Ianto admitted, leaning back with his legs stretched out in front of him, squinting against the sunlight; he should have put his sunglasses on before coming outside but he couldn’t be bothered to go back indoors for them. “Seems too perfect to be true.”
“It is, right down to the smallest detail; that’s how I know it’s real,” Jack said, smiling.
“Oh yeah? Enlighten me.” The corners of Ianto’s eyes crinkled as he smiled back.
“Think about it; have you ever in all your life had a dream this perfect, where you can see, hear, smell, feel, and taste everything?” Jack sipped from his glass, savouring the cold, tart lemonade.
Ianto thought hard then shook his head. “Not that I can remember.”
“And this isn’t the kind of dream anyone could just forget. You’d hang on to it, hold it in your memory and never let it go. This,” Jack waved his free hand lazily, “all of it is too perfect to be just a dream, therefore it obviously has to be real!”
Ianto laughed. He wasn’t entirely sure of Jack’s logic but decided it didn’t matter. Real or not, he was going to make the most of every minute for as long as it lasted.
The End
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Jack.
Rating: G
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Ianto and Jack have a sunny weekend off from Torchwood. It’s quite astonishingly domestic.
Word Count: 1074
Written For: My own prompt ‘Torchwood, Jack/Ianto, mowing the lawn,’ at fic_promptly.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters. They belong to the BBC.
The roast was in the oven, already starting to fill the kitchen with a delicious aroma; there was just the veg to prepare now. Ianto glanced out the kitchen window as he peeled potatoes and sliced carrots, and then just… stopped, captivated by the view. There was Jack, orange electrical cable slung over one bare shoulder to keep it out of his way as he ambled up and down the back garden, mowing the lawn. As he worked, bits of grass flew up and stuck to the sunscreen slathered all over his bare torso, arms and legs. All he had on was a pair of cargo shorts and sneakers. It was an undeniably pleasant sight, but when had the pair of them become so domesticated? They were acting just like any ordinary couple on a lazy Sunday; have a lie in, enjoy a late breakfast while reading the Sunday paper, get the lawn and hedges tidied up before dinner…
Long ago, with Lisa’s death, Ianto had accepted that he would never have a normal life, never mind a normal relationship. He’d even come to terms with the idea that in all probability his life would be cut short; Torchwood was a dangerous place to work, and few agents survived to their mid-thirties. And yet, here he was with Jack, both of them having the whole weekend off from work, knowing the rest of the expanded team were perfectly capable of running Torchwood without them for a couple of days. It was their great good fortune that their scheduled weekend off happened to coincide with some of the best weather they’d had so far this year.
The rota system Ianto had worked out shortly after the number of team members was increased to ten, and once the newcomers had all gone through the necessary training, meant that everyone got one weekend off in five, barring emergencies, and each team member also got one day off during the week, excluding weekends. All of them also took their turn at manning the Hub overnight, knowing they could call in the others if needed. As a result, they were all better rested than had been the case when Ianto first joined Torchwood Three.
As an additional perk, since Jack no longer had to spend every night at the Hub keeping an eye on the Rift, he’d happily accepted when Ianto had suggested they move in together. Now here they were, just a couple of months later, settling into a far more relaxed and laid back lifestyle than either of them were used to or would have previously imagined they could ever have. To call it surprising would be an understatement; miraculous was closer to the truth, and at moments like this, Ianto couldn’t help but wonder whether it was real or some alien tech induced impossible dream.
Putting the saucepans of vegetables on the stove, Ianto checked on the roast and basted it, feeling sweat break out all over his body thanks to the furnace heat that erupted each time he opened the oven door. Even with it closed, and despite the window and the back door being propped wide open, the kitchen was much too hot for comfort. It was too soon to start cooking the veg, so hanging up his oven glove Ianto went to the fridge, got out the jug of homemade lemonade he’d put in there earlier to chill, and filled two tall glasses, adding ice cubes and a few mint leaves to each before carrying them out into the garden.
A pleasant breeze dried the sweat on Ianto’s forehead as he made this way down the path to join Jack, who was just emptying the lawnmower’s grass box onto their compost heap.
“I don’t know if you’re as hot as I am, but I thought refreshments might be in order anyway. You’ve been working hard; the lawn looks great.”
Jack wiped his forehead with the back of one hand and accepted the glass Ianto handed him, taking a long swallow. “Ahhhh, just what I needed. How’s dinner coming? I’m almost done out here if you need a hand.”
Ianto shook his head. “I’ve got everything under control. I’ll put the veg on in a bit; the roast should be ready in about another forty-five minutes. I was thinking of bringing the small table out onto the patio so we can eat out here instead of being cooped up indoors. Shame to waste the good weather while we’ve got it.”
“Sunday dinner in the sun; sounds like a great idea. I’ll lend a hand with the table as soon as I’ve cleared up out here. It’ll take both of us to carry it. We can bring it out through the French doors. Let’s sit for a bit first.” Jack led the way over to their new garden chairs, sinking gratefully into one as Ianto settled into the other, the wooden slats of the seats warm against the bare backs of their legs. Ianto was dressed the same as Jack, just with the addition of a t-shirt, token protection against hot splashes in the kitchen. Roast lamb tended to spit.
“Days like this make me wonder if I’m dreaming,” Ianto admitted, leaning back with his legs stretched out in front of him, squinting against the sunlight; he should have put his sunglasses on before coming outside but he couldn’t be bothered to go back indoors for them. “Seems too perfect to be true.”
“It is, right down to the smallest detail; that’s how I know it’s real,” Jack said, smiling.
“Oh yeah? Enlighten me.” The corners of Ianto’s eyes crinkled as he smiled back.
“Think about it; have you ever in all your life had a dream this perfect, where you can see, hear, smell, feel, and taste everything?” Jack sipped from his glass, savouring the cold, tart lemonade.
Ianto thought hard then shook his head. “Not that I can remember.”
“And this isn’t the kind of dream anyone could just forget. You’d hang on to it, hold it in your memory and never let it go. This,” Jack waved his free hand lazily, “all of it is too perfect to be just a dream, therefore it obviously has to be real!”
Ianto laughed. He wasn’t entirely sure of Jack’s logic but decided it didn’t matter. Real or not, he was going to make the most of every minute for as long as it lasted.
The End