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m_findlowTitle Home for Christmas - Part 12
Author/Artist m_findlow
Length/Size of work 641 words
Summary Ianto wanted Jack home for Christmas, but got Jack’s home instead.
Rating PG
Warnings None
Other content notes Using Prompt #8 - Candle
Fandom Torchwood
Pairing Jack/Ianto
Disclaimer Torchwood sadly doesn’t belong to me, but I treat it better.
Jack made a slow circle of the front living room, illuminating various dust covered furnishings by the beam from his phone. Just their presence here was kicking up motes that glowed in the narrow beam, resurrecting memories of things he’d forgotten he’d left behind. He wasn’t expecting anything to have changed, which was rather the point. He’d planned on coming here, taking a quick circuit of the place, and then heading on home, safe on the knowledge that nothing was amiss.
The light shone through the doorway into the hall and then blinked out like a candle snuffed. Jack turned the phone in his hand and swiped a finger across the screen from bottom to top. ‘Damn that was the last of my phone battery.’
‘You remembered to put it on the charger last night, didn’t you?’ Ianto asked.
‘Um…’
Ianto heaved a nasally sigh, pausing to blow his nose before carrying on. ‘I told you that new phone doesn’t last like your old one.’
‘But I thought you said this was meant to be better.’ His old phone went days without him having to consider whether it indeed plugging in.
‘It is. Just that being better takes a lot more energy, rather like dealing with you takes a lot more energy than dealing with most normal people.’
‘Hey, I'm totally normal.’
‘So many valid arguments I could make to that. I did ask if you wanted me to bring a torch.’
Ianto was always nagging him about practical things like that. So much so that Jack ignored half of them and forgot to reply to the rest. ‘It’s fine, it's a moonlit night. Just look at it out there,’ he said, pointing towards a window caked in so much salt that it was nearly opaque.
‘But better if we didn't have to rely on what’s coming through the windows.’ He peered judiciously through one, attempting to make out anything beyond. ‘Or not coming through.’ He didn’t wait for Jack to respond, shuffling around through the unfamiliar space and headed off in the general direction of the kitchen as best Jack could recall.
Jack gave it a few minutes, pausing to flip open his wrist strap and check for any strange rift readings like the ones he’d spotted earlier that morning at the hub. There really shouldn’t be any residual rift energy hanging around. He and Ianto would be the only things likely to light up any readings. Being soaked in rift energy – even small amounts – was an occupational hazard. He was so focused on the tiny display from his wrist that he nearly jumped out of his skin as a sudden ambient glow appeared in the doorway, and the spectre of Ianto's face appeared out of the darkness.
‘Where the hell did you find a candle, let alone a match to light it?’ he asked, spotting the white object in his hand.
Ianto gave him a quizzical look. ‘I take it you never kept candles in the kitchen cupboard when you lived here?’
‘It was the eighties, as in 1980, not 1880.’
‘Well, you must have thought it was a good idea anyway and simply forgotten about them. Trust you to think that having backup candles was preferable to a spare torch and a few batteries. I didn't expect much from my search of the drawers but sometimes you just get lucky.’
Jack grumbled something inaudible as if he scarcely believed in luck.
‘Here we are,’ Ianto said, handing it to Jack and lighting a second for himself that had been temporarily tucked into a coat pocket. Jack was forced to hold it at a slight angle so that the melted wax didn't run straight down its tapered length, burning his hand. ‘Not quite what I imagined for a candlelit night together,’ Ianto said. ‘That’s Torchwood for you, I suppose.’
Author/Artist m_findlow
Length/Size of work 641 words
Summary Ianto wanted Jack home for Christmas, but got Jack’s home instead.
Rating PG
Warnings None
Other content notes Using Prompt #8 - Candle
Fandom Torchwood
Pairing Jack/Ianto
Disclaimer Torchwood sadly doesn’t belong to me, but I treat it better.
Jack made a slow circle of the front living room, illuminating various dust covered furnishings by the beam from his phone. Just their presence here was kicking up motes that glowed in the narrow beam, resurrecting memories of things he’d forgotten he’d left behind. He wasn’t expecting anything to have changed, which was rather the point. He’d planned on coming here, taking a quick circuit of the place, and then heading on home, safe on the knowledge that nothing was amiss.
The light shone through the doorway into the hall and then blinked out like a candle snuffed. Jack turned the phone in his hand and swiped a finger across the screen from bottom to top. ‘Damn that was the last of my phone battery.’
‘You remembered to put it on the charger last night, didn’t you?’ Ianto asked.
‘Um…’
Ianto heaved a nasally sigh, pausing to blow his nose before carrying on. ‘I told you that new phone doesn’t last like your old one.’
‘But I thought you said this was meant to be better.’ His old phone went days without him having to consider whether it indeed plugging in.
‘It is. Just that being better takes a lot more energy, rather like dealing with you takes a lot more energy than dealing with most normal people.’
‘Hey, I'm totally normal.’
‘So many valid arguments I could make to that. I did ask if you wanted me to bring a torch.’
Ianto was always nagging him about practical things like that. So much so that Jack ignored half of them and forgot to reply to the rest. ‘It’s fine, it's a moonlit night. Just look at it out there,’ he said, pointing towards a window caked in so much salt that it was nearly opaque.
‘But better if we didn't have to rely on what’s coming through the windows.’ He peered judiciously through one, attempting to make out anything beyond. ‘Or not coming through.’ He didn’t wait for Jack to respond, shuffling around through the unfamiliar space and headed off in the general direction of the kitchen as best Jack could recall.
Jack gave it a few minutes, pausing to flip open his wrist strap and check for any strange rift readings like the ones he’d spotted earlier that morning at the hub. There really shouldn’t be any residual rift energy hanging around. He and Ianto would be the only things likely to light up any readings. Being soaked in rift energy – even small amounts – was an occupational hazard. He was so focused on the tiny display from his wrist that he nearly jumped out of his skin as a sudden ambient glow appeared in the doorway, and the spectre of Ianto's face appeared out of the darkness.
‘Where the hell did you find a candle, let alone a match to light it?’ he asked, spotting the white object in his hand.
Ianto gave him a quizzical look. ‘I take it you never kept candles in the kitchen cupboard when you lived here?’
‘It was the eighties, as in 1980, not 1880.’
‘Well, you must have thought it was a good idea anyway and simply forgotten about them. Trust you to think that having backup candles was preferable to a spare torch and a few batteries. I didn't expect much from my search of the drawers but sometimes you just get lucky.’
Jack grumbled something inaudible as if he scarcely believed in luck.
‘Here we are,’ Ianto said, handing it to Jack and lighting a second for himself that had been temporarily tucked into a coat pocket. Jack was forced to hold it at a slight angle so that the melted wax didn't run straight down its tapered length, burning his hand. ‘Not quite what I imagined for a candlelit night together,’ Ianto said. ‘That’s Torchwood for you, I suppose.’
