Disclaimer: As usual, I don't own 'em, or the setting. The Beeb and their lovely, handsome, forgiving lawyers do. This is all homage, please don't sue, etc. Also per usual, feedback is appreciated but not expected.
For whatever reason, this fell into my head as a third-person thing, but as I want to use it for this character, it's staying here, rather than going on ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
fangrrl_squees. I apologize for the punctuation and lack of things like adjectives, but what can you expect from fic written over a lunchbreak?
***
(Un)Pop Music
Ianto once again thanked Providence for the existence of good tailoring, as running flat-out was a hell of a lot easier in trousers cut for it. As long as I don't drop this bloody bottle, he fretted. Good vodka wasn't cheap, and the brand Ianto carried was excellent.
Somewhere in the shadows above, the pterodactyl squawked unhappily. Ianto spared it a sympathetic thought as he looked for the source of the crackling white noise that filled the area. For a prehistoric predator, it was rather timid, and particularly didn’t like loud noises. That’s what I get for letting Tosh raise it, I suppose, Ianto thought as he neared his objective.
Arriving at Jack’s desk, Ianto found the things much as he feared they might be. Several wall-mounted speakers in the area had been torn from their moorings and, to judge by Jack’s slightly mournful regarding of his shoes, stamped to pieces by the American.
The attention being paid by Jack to his shoes was just a little too deliberate, and Ianto decided to err on the side of caution. Jack's worst moods invariably occurred during the small hours such as these. Fortunately, Tosh, Gwen and Owen had long since gone home.
“Am I to take it that Unchained Melody is off the playlist from now on?” Ianto asked, his tone neutral.
Jack looked at the wreckage that had recently been several quite-sturdy pieces of equipment, but reached automatically for the bottle already being offered. Ianto wondered if he was becoming a tad too predictable as he handed the vodka over. Well, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing at the moment, was it?
Jack took a large swig straight from the bottle and pretended not to notice Ianto's wince. “Yeah,” he said, quietly. “It is.”
“Fair enough.” Ianto finished what Jack had started by pulling some wires out of the wall. I might have to rethink the merits of oppressive silence. Jack's done this four times, now. I suppose I could just let him pick the background noise for the off hours. He's usually the only one here to listen to it, as it is.
With timing so coincidental as to make Ianto suspicious - and not for the first time - Jack asked, "Who queued that up, anyway?"
Ianto shrugged. "I'm not sure. I can look it up if you like."
"Don't bother," out of deference to Ianto's presence, Jack poured his next drink into an empty tea mug, first. "It was probably Owen's idea of a joke. He looked smugger than usual when he left." Jack emptied the mug and pulled a face. Tea dregs did awful things to fine spirits.
"It seems like his style. Want me to feed him to Myfanwy?" It was the usual offer and Ianto was glad to see it still got a smile.
"No. I don't want him getting indigestion. Imagine the mess." And that's the usual response, Ianto relaxed, marginally. All might not be right in the world at large, but at least the worst of Jack's fit of bad temper had passed...
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Torchwood Diary (Sort Of - It's a Ficlet)
Interesting fic, you should expand on it a bit. I do like the Ianto/Jack dynamic, though I admit it seems a bit one-sided to me. I love how Ianto's there to care for him, an aspect I was working into my new fic! *grins* Hence the caveat that it's a) a mere "ficlet" (I tried to get it down to drabble length, but it wasn't happening) and b) that it fell into my head over lunch. I literally slammed it out whilst eating my sandwich at my desk. But you know how it is, some days you just gotta get that stuff out of your head *somehow*. ;) *chortle* no promises. I've so much outlined fic that's already waiting to be written. this show is begging for it - I'd started a long Rose-centred fic which has been ruthlessly shoved aside for some fluffy Gwen/Jack Well, it was Pterry or Ptracy - those are the traditional names for pterodactyls, surely? After Pyramids, where the Djelibeybian accent was shwon by adding a silent P to most words beginning with T, Terry Pratchett has sometimes been referred to as Pterry by fans. Or amongst my crowd he has, anyway! *blink* oh yeah, I've seen that a lot. Never really registered, though. Strange! *ahem* Indeed, the thought had crossed my mind. 'Scuse me, I have to go have a little lie down for a minute... What, the chocolate frosting story? Maaaaaaybe someday, but darnit, I really *stink* at writing smut, even the mildest sort (of which this idea currently is) so I wouldn't hold my breath, if I were you. :) Thanks! |