TW fic: "Ducks in a Row" (1,552 words, post S2, PG, Jack and Ianto)
Title: Ducks in a Row
Word Count: 1,552
Setting: Post-S2
Characters: Jack, Ianto
Rating: PG
Summary: Jack and Ianto have a run-in with a flock of metaphors and experience a difference of opinions.
Teaser: They are nothing more than black-and-yellow puffs in the big hands, and Ianto almost understands when Jack gives him a devastated look. "They're so fragile," Jack murmurs.
Ducks in a Row
"The symbolism is a little too obvious for me to be comfortable with this," Jack says.
"Hmm?" says Ianto, eyes closed. He feels at liberty to linger, polished by the wind and the soft snarl of smells from the lake. He doesn't want to go back to the Hub where it always feels like his skin is on too tight.
"It doesn't strike you as being a little odd?" Jack asks. The shore gravel crunches underfoot and Ianto opens his eyes. Jack is wandering in figure-eights, casting a careful eye behind him. "I'm in the wrong place at the wrong time," Jack explains, "and now I've got these people depending on me for their every need and following my every move." He glances at Ianto a little helplessly, fists jammed into his pockets.
"I think you're overreaching, to be honest," Ianto says, and looks at Jack's boots. "Gwen and I aren't so bad, surely. I seem to recall we spend a lot of time not following you, much to your frustration."
Jack chuckles at that, at least, so Ianto turns his face back into the breeze with one hand pressed against his tie to keep it from flapping about.
"We'll have to take them back with us," Jack says after a moment.
"Gwen will never let us hear the end of it otherwise," Ianto agrees. "Unless she isn't fond of ducks, due to a traumatic childhood incident." Jack is still wearing his serious face and doesn't respond so Ianto adds, "Perhaps I should drive? It wouldn't do to have your feet smashing at the pedals under the circumstances."
"Right," says Jack, and tosses the keys.
Ianto takes a few steps before he realizes that Jack hasn't. He wavers back and touches two fingers to the folds in the elbow of Jack's coat.
"Yeah," says Jack, and moves to follow. He treads carefully over the shallow crests and dips of gravel, looking backwards every other step. The terrain is difficult but his charges are determined to maintain their single-file formation at his heels.
At the SUV, Jack opens the passenger door and stares at the high lip of the footboard. The ducklings bumble against his boots before he bends (greatcoat nearly sweeping them over) and lifts them, two or three at a time, into the footwell. They are nothing more than black-and-yellow puffs in the big hands, and Ianto almost understands when Jack gives him a devastated look. "They're so fragile," Jack murmurs.
"We'll set them up in a box or something," Ianto says cheerfully. "I'll get some grass while we're here. Make them feel at home." He opens up the back to grab a bag and root around in the tool box for suitable shears. When he comes back round to the passenger side Jack has settled in the seat, carefully nudging aside the flock to set his boots in the footwell.
"How long do you think they'll last?" Jack asks. "They're not even supposed to live in the middle of cities. I doubt the standing water in the Hub is a decent replacement for a lake."
"I've heard this species is fairly adaptable," Ianto says and bends down to steer one of the ducks away from the door. The entire brood is dancing around, scraping their beaks against the plastic linings and nipping at the cuffs of Jack's trousers.
"Adaptable to alien pathogens?" Jack asks, voice growing more forceful. "Residual Rift energy? I'm sure Janet would love to have them as a snack."
"I'm not sure Weevils eat fowl," Ianto muses. "They seem to prefer bovine."
Jack shoots a quick glare at Ianto and steamrolls on: "I'm exposing them to insane dangers but I can't possibly convince them to stop following me, can I? They won't listen."
Ianto sighs and puts his hand on the edge of the door. "Jack," he says sternly. "They're ducks. Not metaphors."
"That's the beauty of metaphors, Ianto," Jack drawls and leans down to rub his thumb against the beak of the yellowest duckling. "They can be literally one thing and yet at the same time stand in for another." His grin holds just the hint of an edge. "Neato, huh?"
Ianto rolls his eyes and swings the door shut.
___
Jack is leaning across the driver's seat when Ianto gets back, pulling a duckling from under the pedals.
"That bodes well," Ianto says.
"Little bastard jumped the gear shift," Jack growls, and deposits said little bastard back with its siblings. Ianto does two cursory scans before sliding in: one to check for errant fowl, and another to check on Jack's mood. The driver's footwell is clear and Jack is scowling at the ducklings but not at Ianto. Ianto decides to count that as progress.
The lake road opens quickly to the passway and Ianto sets the cruise control, still nervous about fuzzballs sneaking underfoot. Jack's got his feet firmly planted but cannot stop fidgeting otherwise. Ianto looks over at some point and sees a duck hidden halfway in a shirt cuff, nibbling at the bump of Jack's wrist.
"I think we lost one," Jack says suddenly.
"We'll turn out your pockets as soon as we get back to the Hub," Ianto answers, but Jack is peering in the gap between the seat and the door. "It'll turn up eventually," Ianto amends. "Gwen's ginger beer cans always do."
"No, seriously," says Jack, and plunges his hand down. "Didn't we misplace a vaporizer coin last month?"
"I never misplace anything," Ianto says. "I've never even heard of a vaporizer coin."
"It's a coin," Jack says. "It vaporizes things."
"And it's been misplaced," Ianto says. "That's brilliant. Why wasn't this reported to me, exactly?"
Jack gives Ianto a smile-that-really-isn't. "Because I'm the boss," he says significantly.
"And I'm the general administrator," Ianto says, even more significantly. "It is standard protocol that all misplaced items-especially those which are potentially harmful-are to be reported to the general administrator."
"Fine, so I don't follow every little rule," Jack says, plucking one of the fuzzballs from the folded leather at the base of the gear-shift. "It's not a big deal."
"Good thing I haven't cleaned out the SUV lately; I might have been vaporized." Ianto says. "We've already lost a duck. Likely Gwen'll be next."
"See?" says Jack. "Perfect metaphor. I make a stupid mistake, and somebody dies." He jabs his hand in a useless gesture to the air, and the duckling falls out of his cuff. "Whoops."
Ianto's mouth silently tangles itself in the beginning syllables of about four different swear words. "At least you admit you should've followed procedure," he mutters finally.
"Kids, listen to that guy," Jack says, scooping up a handful of ducklings. "I'm a very bad role model. Terrible." He spreads out a pinky finger to keep a restless duck from nose-diving to his lap and adds with a wistful tone, "it's too bad you didn't imprint on him. We could use a few good men in the archives." He glances over and Ianto makes the mistake of meeting his gaze. The resulting smirk is small but Jack will count it as a victory, he's sure.
Ianto has to look to the road but he gives a quick glance to the back seat, then another to be sure. "Your duck's in the back," he says.
Jack twists all the way around in his seat to check and jostles Ianto, who has to yank his left hand from the steering wheel to keep them from swerving off the road. Jack turns back, knocking into Ianto's elbow again. "I don't see it," he says.
"It's just under the seat," Ianto answers. "One of the brown ones. Don't step on them!" he cries as Jack shifts his feet alarmingly.
Jack looks back to the footwell and bends down to check that no-one got squished. "I can't get back there. We'll just have to find it once we're back in the Hub."
"Assuming it doesn't get vaporized first," Ianto says sourly.
Jack rolls his eyes. "One little rule-"
"It would've taken you all of two seconds to tell me," Ianto snaps, and glances to the side-view mirror to keep himself from looking at Jack. He feels churlish and strung-out. The calmness he felt at the lake has snapped away like an old rubber band.
There's a long moment of silence, then Jack is reaching over to tug at his wrist.
Ianto startles. "What are you-"
"Have a duck," says Jack, and plops a fuzzball into Ianto's palm. "It'll make you feel better."
Ianto has to keep his eyes on the road, but manages a glance of incredulity in Jack's direction. The glimpse is quick but Jack is smiling, he thinks. Ianto cups the duckling against his waistcoat. The duckling is so light he'd think he were holding a puff of air if not for the dry-cool prod of its webbed feet against his fingers. Ianto knows it's a bad idea but can't keep himself from asking, "How does that fit into the metaphor, exactly?"
Jack hovers his hand over Ianto's to stroke his forefinger down the duckling's back. "It fits," he murmurs, and his fingertips slide hot on Ianto's skin.
"You're still being ridiculous," Ianto says, but his lips are curling with the shadow of a smile.
.
Word Count: 1,552
Setting: Post-S2
Characters: Jack, Ianto
Rating: PG
Summary: Jack and Ianto have a run-in with a flock of metaphors and experience a difference of opinions.
Teaser: They are nothing more than black-and-yellow puffs in the big hands, and Ianto almost understands when Jack gives him a devastated look. "They're so fragile," Jack murmurs.
Ducks in a Row
"The symbolism is a little too obvious for me to be comfortable with this," Jack says.
"Hmm?" says Ianto, eyes closed. He feels at liberty to linger, polished by the wind and the soft snarl of smells from the lake. He doesn't want to go back to the Hub where it always feels like his skin is on too tight.
"It doesn't strike you as being a little odd?" Jack asks. The shore gravel crunches underfoot and Ianto opens his eyes. Jack is wandering in figure-eights, casting a careful eye behind him. "I'm in the wrong place at the wrong time," Jack explains, "and now I've got these people depending on me for their every need and following my every move." He glances at Ianto a little helplessly, fists jammed into his pockets.
"I think you're overreaching, to be honest," Ianto says, and looks at Jack's boots. "Gwen and I aren't so bad, surely. I seem to recall we spend a lot of time not following you, much to your frustration."
Jack chuckles at that, at least, so Ianto turns his face back into the breeze with one hand pressed against his tie to keep it from flapping about.
"We'll have to take them back with us," Jack says after a moment.
"Gwen will never let us hear the end of it otherwise," Ianto agrees. "Unless she isn't fond of ducks, due to a traumatic childhood incident." Jack is still wearing his serious face and doesn't respond so Ianto adds, "Perhaps I should drive? It wouldn't do to have your feet smashing at the pedals under the circumstances."
"Right," says Jack, and tosses the keys.
Ianto takes a few steps before he realizes that Jack hasn't. He wavers back and touches two fingers to the folds in the elbow of Jack's coat.
"Yeah," says Jack, and moves to follow. He treads carefully over the shallow crests and dips of gravel, looking backwards every other step. The terrain is difficult but his charges are determined to maintain their single-file formation at his heels.
At the SUV, Jack opens the passenger door and stares at the high lip of the footboard. The ducklings bumble against his boots before he bends (greatcoat nearly sweeping them over) and lifts them, two or three at a time, into the footwell. They are nothing more than black-and-yellow puffs in the big hands, and Ianto almost understands when Jack gives him a devastated look. "They're so fragile," Jack murmurs.
"We'll set them up in a box or something," Ianto says cheerfully. "I'll get some grass while we're here. Make them feel at home." He opens up the back to grab a bag and root around in the tool box for suitable shears. When he comes back round to the passenger side Jack has settled in the seat, carefully nudging aside the flock to set his boots in the footwell.
"How long do you think they'll last?" Jack asks. "They're not even supposed to live in the middle of cities. I doubt the standing water in the Hub is a decent replacement for a lake."
"I've heard this species is fairly adaptable," Ianto says and bends down to steer one of the ducks away from the door. The entire brood is dancing around, scraping their beaks against the plastic linings and nipping at the cuffs of Jack's trousers.
"Adaptable to alien pathogens?" Jack asks, voice growing more forceful. "Residual Rift energy? I'm sure Janet would love to have them as a snack."
"I'm not sure Weevils eat fowl," Ianto muses. "They seem to prefer bovine."
Jack shoots a quick glare at Ianto and steamrolls on: "I'm exposing them to insane dangers but I can't possibly convince them to stop following me, can I? They won't listen."
Ianto sighs and puts his hand on the edge of the door. "Jack," he says sternly. "They're ducks. Not metaphors."
"That's the beauty of metaphors, Ianto," Jack drawls and leans down to rub his thumb against the beak of the yellowest duckling. "They can be literally one thing and yet at the same time stand in for another." His grin holds just the hint of an edge. "Neato, huh?"
Ianto rolls his eyes and swings the door shut.
___
Jack is leaning across the driver's seat when Ianto gets back, pulling a duckling from under the pedals.
"That bodes well," Ianto says.
"Little bastard jumped the gear shift," Jack growls, and deposits said little bastard back with its siblings. Ianto does two cursory scans before sliding in: one to check for errant fowl, and another to check on Jack's mood. The driver's footwell is clear and Jack is scowling at the ducklings but not at Ianto. Ianto decides to count that as progress.
The lake road opens quickly to the passway and Ianto sets the cruise control, still nervous about fuzzballs sneaking underfoot. Jack's got his feet firmly planted but cannot stop fidgeting otherwise. Ianto looks over at some point and sees a duck hidden halfway in a shirt cuff, nibbling at the bump of Jack's wrist.
"I think we lost one," Jack says suddenly.
"We'll turn out your pockets as soon as we get back to the Hub," Ianto answers, but Jack is peering in the gap between the seat and the door. "It'll turn up eventually," Ianto amends. "Gwen's ginger beer cans always do."
"No, seriously," says Jack, and plunges his hand down. "Didn't we misplace a vaporizer coin last month?"
"I never misplace anything," Ianto says. "I've never even heard of a vaporizer coin."
"It's a coin," Jack says. "It vaporizes things."
"And it's been misplaced," Ianto says. "That's brilliant. Why wasn't this reported to me, exactly?"
Jack gives Ianto a smile-that-really-isn't. "Because I'm the boss," he says significantly.
"And I'm the general administrator," Ianto says, even more significantly. "It is standard protocol that all misplaced items-especially those which are potentially harmful-are to be reported to the general administrator."
"Fine, so I don't follow every little rule," Jack says, plucking one of the fuzzballs from the folded leather at the base of the gear-shift. "It's not a big deal."
"Good thing I haven't cleaned out the SUV lately; I might have been vaporized." Ianto says. "We've already lost a duck. Likely Gwen'll be next."
"See?" says Jack. "Perfect metaphor. I make a stupid mistake, and somebody dies." He jabs his hand in a useless gesture to the air, and the duckling falls out of his cuff. "Whoops."
Ianto's mouth silently tangles itself in the beginning syllables of about four different swear words. "At least you admit you should've followed procedure," he mutters finally.
"Kids, listen to that guy," Jack says, scooping up a handful of ducklings. "I'm a very bad role model. Terrible." He spreads out a pinky finger to keep a restless duck from nose-diving to his lap and adds with a wistful tone, "it's too bad you didn't imprint on him. We could use a few good men in the archives." He glances over and Ianto makes the mistake of meeting his gaze. The resulting smirk is small but Jack will count it as a victory, he's sure.
Ianto has to look to the road but he gives a quick glance to the back seat, then another to be sure. "Your duck's in the back," he says.
Jack twists all the way around in his seat to check and jostles Ianto, who has to yank his left hand from the steering wheel to keep them from swerving off the road. Jack turns back, knocking into Ianto's elbow again. "I don't see it," he says.
"It's just under the seat," Ianto answers. "One of the brown ones. Don't step on them!" he cries as Jack shifts his feet alarmingly.
Jack looks back to the footwell and bends down to check that no-one got squished. "I can't get back there. We'll just have to find it once we're back in the Hub."
"Assuming it doesn't get vaporized first," Ianto says sourly.
Jack rolls his eyes. "One little rule-"
"It would've taken you all of two seconds to tell me," Ianto snaps, and glances to the side-view mirror to keep himself from looking at Jack. He feels churlish and strung-out. The calmness he felt at the lake has snapped away like an old rubber band.
There's a long moment of silence, then Jack is reaching over to tug at his wrist.
Ianto startles. "What are you-"
"Have a duck," says Jack, and plops a fuzzball into Ianto's palm. "It'll make you feel better."
Ianto has to keep his eyes on the road, but manages a glance of incredulity in Jack's direction. The glimpse is quick but Jack is smiling, he thinks. Ianto cups the duckling against his waistcoat. The duckling is so light he'd think he were holding a puff of air if not for the dry-cool prod of its webbed feet against his fingers. Ianto knows it's a bad idea but can't keep himself from asking, "How does that fit into the metaphor, exactly?"
Jack hovers his hand over Ianto's to stroke his forefinger down the duckling's back. "It fits," he murmurs, and his fingertips slide hot on Ianto's skin.
"You're still being ridiculous," Ianto says, but his lips are curling with the shadow of a smile.
.