Fic: It's Not a Costume If You Wear It Every Day
Title: It's Not a Costume If You Wear It Every Day
Pairing/Characters: Jack/Ianto, Rhiannon, David, Mica
Warnings/Spoilers: none
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~2,080
Beta: sariagray ♥
Summary: Ianto is the only one at his nephew's costume party without a costume, and Jack is all-too-eager to lend a hand.
Notes: Written for this week’s redisourcolor challenge. Theme = costumes. Many, many thanks to sariagray for convincing me this wasn't awful, and for coming up with the title! Yay! Anyway. I hope you enjoy it. :)
Ianto stands on the steps of Rhiannon’s two-story, his mobile in his hand, finger poised and at-the-ready.
A bloody phone call, he reminds himself, that’s all it is. An absolutely absurd thing to worry about given the big picture of things.
Not to mention the fact that he really needs to get this over with before anyone realizes he’s missing, and, well, starts asking questions. Again.
Ianto stares up at the greying spring sky, and then down at his mobile. He sighs.
And then with a rush of adrenaline, he tunes in to the evil little voice that’s clearly whispering fuck it into his ear, and just presses the damn button.
**
“Harkness,” Jack barks out after one ring, sounding distracted, and a little hostile. Business as usual, really.
Ianto frowns. “Nice to hear your voice, too,” he says cautiously. “Is this a bad time?”
“Ian-to~” Jack says, his voice brightening considerably.
Ianto smiles to himself, fiddling with a loose knob on his sister’s railing for a moment. It’s the horrible American accent, of course, with the odd emphasis on the yan that makes his chest spark with affection every time he hears it, though that’s neither here nor there.
“Sorry, thought you were someone else there for a second,” Jack continues.
“That UNIT commander who’s been trying to reach you for the past three weeks?” Ianto offers, smile still on his lips.
“Maybe,” Jack says, chuckling. “But hey, is everything okay? I thought you were at your sister’s today.”
Jack’s chair creaks in the background, and Ianto imagines Jack sinking into it, his frame filling up the space between the wooden arms. And then, because he just can’t stop himself, he imagines Jack throwing his boots up onto the desk, the very picture of idleness, though of course, it couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Right, well. About that,” Ianto says tentatively.
He ignores the urge to bail on this whole thing right now, thinking of the archives, of Jack’s office, of the hours of productivity he could be logging. He sighs. Damn familial responsibilities.
“I kind of, well… I have a little favor to ask.”
“Oh?” Jack chuckles on the other end of the line. “Go ahead, but I think I’m sold already.”
Ianto rolls his eyes, and is about to pop the question, when the door swings out, flying open to reveal a steady stream of very excited-looking children.
“Argh, somebody, get that thing off of me!” David screeches, pursued by a chubby kid -- Charlie, from next door; Ianto thinks he recognizes him from previous visits -- who happens to be dangling what looks like several strands of spaghetti between his fingers. Charlie is dressed as Spiderman, keeping with the theme today, and while Ianto knows they’re just kids, he can’t help but disapprove (just a bit) of the copious amount of spandex on display.
David--not changed into his party get-up, yet--twists away from his assailant. He almost trips over Ianto’s feet on his way out into the yard, but Charlie manages to land the spaghetti strand on his cheek anyway with a rather sickening slap, just seconds before he's thrown to the ground in an impressive tackle by David. A dog pile-turned-brawl ensues within minutes, as the other boys join in.
Ianto shakes his head, watching the boys coat themselves with grass and mud in front of him. Was he ever like this? He supposes he must have been, growing up in roughly the same neighborhood.
It feels like a lifetime ago, roughhousing with his mates out in the grass, oblivious to the ills of the world, the threats. The rift. A light smile graces his lips, just barely.
Mica isn’t far behind the boys, and to Ianto’s surprise, her bottom half seems to be clad almost entirely in colored tissue paper. A fairy, he’s guessing, from the silvery wings attached to her back, but still... kids. He shakes his head.
“What’s going on over there anyway?" Jack's voice startles him from his thoughts. "You sound like you have your hands full. Need me to come help you babysit?”
Ianto smiles, imagining that for a moment.
“Something like that,” he says. “No, really, I just…” Ianto hesitates. This would be why he’d had a bad feeling about calling Jack with this.
“I need a costume,” he finishes warily.
There's a long moment of silence. Ianto imagines Jack sitting up straight, possibly staring down at the receiver in disbelief.
“Excuse me?” Jack says with mock-concern. “Ianto Jones, right?”
Ianto stifles a laugh. “Jack, I swear--”
But of course, Jack wouldn’t just let this go.
“You told me there was no way in hell you were ever setting foot in the hub again if I so much as thought about asking you to--"
“This is different,” Ianto hisses, his eyes on the scene in front of him, which has rapidly transformed into what appears to be a game of tag. Mica trails behind the boys as they circle round to the back of the house.
“It’s David,” Ianto says. “My nephew,” he clarifies.
“Sure. What about him?”
“It's his birthday. And I promised.” Ianto glances down at his shoes. Kicks a bit of mud off onto the side of the stoop, paces a little. “Well, I promised, and then I forgot, and now I’m here, and I don’t want to let him down.”
“I’m still not following.”
“It’s a costume party, and I’m the only one without a costume,” Ianto admits, sounding disappointed with himself, which, really, he is. It’s not like him to forget things like this. “He’s turning eight,” he offers, as if that makes a difference.
Ianto cringes at the loud bark of laughter from the other end of the line.
“Rhiannon's going to kick your ass, isn't she,” Jack teases. “She’s got you wrapped around her finger.”
Ianto just sighs. “It’s the least I can do, Jack. Even Johnny's got something planned,” he tells him. “And, well, I know there’s some stuff just sitting down there in the archives -- nothing too fancy,” he warns. “And if you’ve got your hands full, I’d probably have time to come and get it, so--”
“Say no more!” Jack chirps. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Thirty-five, tops. Don’t start without me.”
And then the line goes dead.
Bugger, Ianto thinks, and sits down on the steps, wondering what on earth he’s gotten himself into.
**
He spends the next twenty minutes or so fielding what could only be described as a barrage of questions from Rhiannon.
"Who're you talking to, then?" had been the first, immediately upon his return inside.
(Answer: The always ubiquitous no one.)
And after that came, for the second time, "Didn't you read my invitation? I said two o’clock, didn't I? Not that I don't mind you hanging round for lunch, that's not it at all, but..."
Rhiannon is busy with the laundry now, pairing the socks with their mates, and so she doesn’t see Ianto roll his eyes at that.
And then, finally, the one Ianto knew had been coming, "What do you mean, your costume's on the way?"
To this, Ianto sighs, and manages a tight smile. He picks up a long, striped rugby sock --Johnny’s, clearly-- that’s escaped from the basket, and hands it to his sister.
"I told you, I have a friend bringing it round. He’ll be here any second."
This earns him a suspicious look from Rhiannon, one that Ianto can't help but imagine to be something along the lines of since when do you have friends?, but thankfully she’s quickly distracted. Mica, David, and friends tear into the living from the back door, tracking mud in large streaks across the linoleum, and then the carpet.
Between Johnny shouting at David and the other boys, and Rhiannon hauling Mica off to her room, Ianto is able to slip outside again for a bit.
Kids are bloody chaos, he thinks, eyes going a little wide before he shuts the door as quietly as possible behind him.
**
Once outside, he calls Jack, naturally.
"Five minutes," Jack says, and Ianto can hear a horn honking in the background. He cringes. "Nearly there," Jack assures him.
"Maybe this isn't such a--" he starts, but Jack cuts him off, with a clipped, "sorry, gotta go, pedestrians", and Ianto just slumps against the railing, hoping that he hasn't made some sort of glaring error in judgment, bringing Jack in on this one.
And it’s hardly as if he’s invited him over to meet the parents, but still, Ianto can’t deny the tiny knot forming in his stomach anyway.
He waits. A siren, which Ianto really hopes isn’t in pursuit of the SUV, wails off in the distance.
He glances down at his mobile. It's been three minutes since Jack--
And then Ianto’s heart soars a little as the SUV comes into view, screeching around the corner and grinding to a halt on the opposite side of the street.
He swears he’ll never get tired of Jack showing up in the nick of time like this.
Ianto strides over to the SUV, glancing around nervously, half-expecting to see a police cruiser in hot pursuit. Jack is, of course, grinning at him as he opens the driver's door.
"So, did I make it?"
Ianto blinks at him, trying to ignore how ridiculously dashing Jack always manages to appear in situations like this. Crisp blue shirt. Striking red braces. That bloody coat. He swallows.
"Well, yeah,” Ianto says finally, pasting on a blank look. “We've still got about an hour."
Jack looks puzzled.
"I was two hours early. Clerical error," Ianto explains with a small smile.
"I see. Gotta watch out for those,” Jacks says, but he's clearly staring at Ianto's mouth, at his lips, like he wants to--
"You're blushing," Jack says softly, but his eyes look triumphant, another victory.
"Nothing gets past you," Ianto deadpans, but it's all he can do to stop himself from leaning over and snogging Jack silly, right in front of his sister, who should clearly be watching them from the living room window by now, if he knows her at all.
Ianto fixes Jack with a meaningful not right now look, which thankfully Jack reads perfectly, for once. He hops out of the SUV, and Ianto follows him round back.
Ianto looks on expectantly, his hands on his hips, as Jack swings open the back door.
He tries not to stare at the curve of Jack’s shoulders under his coat, at the way the collar accentuates his strong profile, his chin, the curve of his ear.
Despite the knot of desire that’s slowly uncoiling in Ianto’s stomach, Jack’s always-commanding presence sets Ianto as much at ease now as it ever has.
It makes him feel safe, too, which probably couldn’t be further from the truth, but all the same, there it is.
"So, what do we have?" Ianto gestures towards the unfamiliar thick, black garment bag nestled comfortably between their weevil hunting gear on the SUV’s floor.
Jack just grins, batting Ianto's hand away."Oh, no you don't. That's a surprise."
Ianto lowers his eyes, and then sighs. "Fine," he says. "But I have to warn you.” He gives Jack an obvious once over, lingering on his collar, his chest, and then his lips. “I think my sister might have a thing for guys in uniform..."
"You don't say," Jack muses, raising his eyebrows as he grabs the bag, then closes and locks the door to the SUV.
"You might want to lose the coat, that's all I'm saying."
"Who says this isn't my costume?" Jack says, and grins at Ianto as they cross the street together.
Jack’s coat flaps behind him like a cape, and Ianto entertains a quick image of Jack in spandex -- deep red, clinging in all the right places. It’s enough to make his throat go dry, but he dismisses the image quickly, reminding himself that there was always tonight, if he really wanted things to go that way...
He blinks at Jack, expression deliberately blank as they climb the small steps, and he reaches for the doorknob.
“It’s not a costume if you wear it every day, Jack.”
“That,” Jack says coyly, “is open to interpretation, Jones.”
Ianto closes his eyes, and allows himself to smile, just a little, before they step inside.
***
Pairing/Characters: Jack/Ianto, Rhiannon, David, Mica
Warnings/Spoilers: none
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~2,080
Beta: sariagray ♥
Summary: Ianto is the only one at his nephew's costume party without a costume, and Jack is all-too-eager to lend a hand.
Notes: Written for this week’s redisourcolor challenge. Theme = costumes. Many, many thanks to sariagray for convincing me this wasn't awful, and for coming up with the title! Yay! Anyway. I hope you enjoy it. :)
Ianto stands on the steps of Rhiannon’s two-story, his mobile in his hand, finger poised and at-the-ready.
A bloody phone call, he reminds himself, that’s all it is. An absolutely absurd thing to worry about given the big picture of things.
Not to mention the fact that he really needs to get this over with before anyone realizes he’s missing, and, well, starts asking questions. Again.
Ianto stares up at the greying spring sky, and then down at his mobile. He sighs.
And then with a rush of adrenaline, he tunes in to the evil little voice that’s clearly whispering fuck it into his ear, and just presses the damn button.
**
“Harkness,” Jack barks out after one ring, sounding distracted, and a little hostile. Business as usual, really.
Ianto frowns. “Nice to hear your voice, too,” he says cautiously. “Is this a bad time?”
“Ian-to~” Jack says, his voice brightening considerably.
Ianto smiles to himself, fiddling with a loose knob on his sister’s railing for a moment. It’s the horrible American accent, of course, with the odd emphasis on the yan that makes his chest spark with affection every time he hears it, though that’s neither here nor there.
“Sorry, thought you were someone else there for a second,” Jack continues.
“That UNIT commander who’s been trying to reach you for the past three weeks?” Ianto offers, smile still on his lips.
“Maybe,” Jack says, chuckling. “But hey, is everything okay? I thought you were at your sister’s today.”
Jack’s chair creaks in the background, and Ianto imagines Jack sinking into it, his frame filling up the space between the wooden arms. And then, because he just can’t stop himself, he imagines Jack throwing his boots up onto the desk, the very picture of idleness, though of course, it couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Right, well. About that,” Ianto says tentatively.
He ignores the urge to bail on this whole thing right now, thinking of the archives, of Jack’s office, of the hours of productivity he could be logging. He sighs. Damn familial responsibilities.
“I kind of, well… I have a little favor to ask.”
“Oh?” Jack chuckles on the other end of the line. “Go ahead, but I think I’m sold already.”
Ianto rolls his eyes, and is about to pop the question, when the door swings out, flying open to reveal a steady stream of very excited-looking children.
“Argh, somebody, get that thing off of me!” David screeches, pursued by a chubby kid -- Charlie, from next door; Ianto thinks he recognizes him from previous visits -- who happens to be dangling what looks like several strands of spaghetti between his fingers. Charlie is dressed as Spiderman, keeping with the theme today, and while Ianto knows they’re just kids, he can’t help but disapprove (just a bit) of the copious amount of spandex on display.
David--not changed into his party get-up, yet--twists away from his assailant. He almost trips over Ianto’s feet on his way out into the yard, but Charlie manages to land the spaghetti strand on his cheek anyway with a rather sickening slap, just seconds before he's thrown to the ground in an impressive tackle by David. A dog pile-turned-brawl ensues within minutes, as the other boys join in.
Ianto shakes his head, watching the boys coat themselves with grass and mud in front of him. Was he ever like this? He supposes he must have been, growing up in roughly the same neighborhood.
It feels like a lifetime ago, roughhousing with his mates out in the grass, oblivious to the ills of the world, the threats. The rift. A light smile graces his lips, just barely.
Mica isn’t far behind the boys, and to Ianto’s surprise, her bottom half seems to be clad almost entirely in colored tissue paper. A fairy, he’s guessing, from the silvery wings attached to her back, but still... kids. He shakes his head.
“What’s going on over there anyway?" Jack's voice startles him from his thoughts. "You sound like you have your hands full. Need me to come help you babysit?”
Ianto smiles, imagining that for a moment.
“Something like that,” he says. “No, really, I just…” Ianto hesitates. This would be why he’d had a bad feeling about calling Jack with this.
“I need a costume,” he finishes warily.
There's a long moment of silence. Ianto imagines Jack sitting up straight, possibly staring down at the receiver in disbelief.
“Excuse me?” Jack says with mock-concern. “Ianto Jones, right?”
Ianto stifles a laugh. “Jack, I swear--”
But of course, Jack wouldn’t just let this go.
“You told me there was no way in hell you were ever setting foot in the hub again if I so much as thought about asking you to--"
“This is different,” Ianto hisses, his eyes on the scene in front of him, which has rapidly transformed into what appears to be a game of tag. Mica trails behind the boys as they circle round to the back of the house.
“It’s David,” Ianto says. “My nephew,” he clarifies.
“Sure. What about him?”
“It's his birthday. And I promised.” Ianto glances down at his shoes. Kicks a bit of mud off onto the side of the stoop, paces a little. “Well, I promised, and then I forgot, and now I’m here, and I don’t want to let him down.”
“I’m still not following.”
“It’s a costume party, and I’m the only one without a costume,” Ianto admits, sounding disappointed with himself, which, really, he is. It’s not like him to forget things like this. “He’s turning eight,” he offers, as if that makes a difference.
Ianto cringes at the loud bark of laughter from the other end of the line.
“Rhiannon's going to kick your ass, isn't she,” Jack teases. “She’s got you wrapped around her finger.”
Ianto just sighs. “It’s the least I can do, Jack. Even Johnny's got something planned,” he tells him. “And, well, I know there’s some stuff just sitting down there in the archives -- nothing too fancy,” he warns. “And if you’ve got your hands full, I’d probably have time to come and get it, so--”
“Say no more!” Jack chirps. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Thirty-five, tops. Don’t start without me.”
And then the line goes dead.
Bugger, Ianto thinks, and sits down on the steps, wondering what on earth he’s gotten himself into.
**
He spends the next twenty minutes or so fielding what could only be described as a barrage of questions from Rhiannon.
"Who're you talking to, then?" had been the first, immediately upon his return inside.
(Answer: The always ubiquitous no one.)
And after that came, for the second time, "Didn't you read my invitation? I said two o’clock, didn't I? Not that I don't mind you hanging round for lunch, that's not it at all, but..."
Rhiannon is busy with the laundry now, pairing the socks with their mates, and so she doesn’t see Ianto roll his eyes at that.
And then, finally, the one Ianto knew had been coming, "What do you mean, your costume's on the way?"
To this, Ianto sighs, and manages a tight smile. He picks up a long, striped rugby sock --Johnny’s, clearly-- that’s escaped from the basket, and hands it to his sister.
"I told you, I have a friend bringing it round. He’ll be here any second."
This earns him a suspicious look from Rhiannon, one that Ianto can't help but imagine to be something along the lines of since when do you have friends?, but thankfully she’s quickly distracted. Mica, David, and friends tear into the living from the back door, tracking mud in large streaks across the linoleum, and then the carpet.
Between Johnny shouting at David and the other boys, and Rhiannon hauling Mica off to her room, Ianto is able to slip outside again for a bit.
Kids are bloody chaos, he thinks, eyes going a little wide before he shuts the door as quietly as possible behind him.
**
Once outside, he calls Jack, naturally.
"Five minutes," Jack says, and Ianto can hear a horn honking in the background. He cringes. "Nearly there," Jack assures him.
"Maybe this isn't such a--" he starts, but Jack cuts him off, with a clipped, "sorry, gotta go, pedestrians", and Ianto just slumps against the railing, hoping that he hasn't made some sort of glaring error in judgment, bringing Jack in on this one.
And it’s hardly as if he’s invited him over to meet the parents, but still, Ianto can’t deny the tiny knot forming in his stomach anyway.
He waits. A siren, which Ianto really hopes isn’t in pursuit of the SUV, wails off in the distance.
He glances down at his mobile. It's been three minutes since Jack--
And then Ianto’s heart soars a little as the SUV comes into view, screeching around the corner and grinding to a halt on the opposite side of the street.
He swears he’ll never get tired of Jack showing up in the nick of time like this.
Ianto strides over to the SUV, glancing around nervously, half-expecting to see a police cruiser in hot pursuit. Jack is, of course, grinning at him as he opens the driver's door.
"So, did I make it?"
Ianto blinks at him, trying to ignore how ridiculously dashing Jack always manages to appear in situations like this. Crisp blue shirt. Striking red braces. That bloody coat. He swallows.
"Well, yeah,” Ianto says finally, pasting on a blank look. “We've still got about an hour."
Jack looks puzzled.
"I was two hours early. Clerical error," Ianto explains with a small smile.
"I see. Gotta watch out for those,” Jacks says, but he's clearly staring at Ianto's mouth, at his lips, like he wants to--
"You're blushing," Jack says softly, but his eyes look triumphant, another victory.
"Nothing gets past you," Ianto deadpans, but it's all he can do to stop himself from leaning over and snogging Jack silly, right in front of his sister, who should clearly be watching them from the living room window by now, if he knows her at all.
Ianto fixes Jack with a meaningful not right now look, which thankfully Jack reads perfectly, for once. He hops out of the SUV, and Ianto follows him round back.
Ianto looks on expectantly, his hands on his hips, as Jack swings open the back door.
He tries not to stare at the curve of Jack’s shoulders under his coat, at the way the collar accentuates his strong profile, his chin, the curve of his ear.
Despite the knot of desire that’s slowly uncoiling in Ianto’s stomach, Jack’s always-commanding presence sets Ianto as much at ease now as it ever has.
It makes him feel safe, too, which probably couldn’t be further from the truth, but all the same, there it is.
"So, what do we have?" Ianto gestures towards the unfamiliar thick, black garment bag nestled comfortably between their weevil hunting gear on the SUV’s floor.
Jack just grins, batting Ianto's hand away."Oh, no you don't. That's a surprise."
Ianto lowers his eyes, and then sighs. "Fine," he says. "But I have to warn you.” He gives Jack an obvious once over, lingering on his collar, his chest, and then his lips. “I think my sister might have a thing for guys in uniform..."
"You don't say," Jack muses, raising his eyebrows as he grabs the bag, then closes and locks the door to the SUV.
"You might want to lose the coat, that's all I'm saying."
"Who says this isn't my costume?" Jack says, and grins at Ianto as they cross the street together.
Jack’s coat flaps behind him like a cape, and Ianto entertains a quick image of Jack in spandex -- deep red, clinging in all the right places. It’s enough to make his throat go dry, but he dismisses the image quickly, reminding himself that there was always tonight, if he really wanted things to go that way...
He blinks at Jack, expression deliberately blank as they climb the small steps, and he reaches for the doorknob.
“It’s not a costume if you wear it every day, Jack.”
“That,” Jack says coyly, “is open to interpretation, Jones.”
Ianto closes his eyes, and allows himself to smile, just a little, before they step inside.
***