m_findlow

Title: That old magic
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Ianto, Jack
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 500 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for Challenge 507 - Nostalgia at slashthedrabble
Summary: Jack is determined to keep some traditions alive.

Ianto leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees as he gasped for breath. Jack wasn't far behind him, equally out of steam.

Jack doubled over, taking in a few deep lungfuls of air before straightening back up. 'I think it's safe to say this is one of those times when the weevils live to fight another day,' he declared.

'I've never seen one move that fast,' Ianto agreed.

'They're not built for speed, but that guy was like the Usain Bolt of weevils,' Jack agreed.

Ianto picked himself back up right and looked around. 'Where are we anyway?' He'd been so intent on going after the weevil that he'd paid no mind to the doors they'd burst through, nor the actual layout of the building. All he was concerned with was the hope that no one else was inside, who might become prey along the way. His internal map of the city disappeared the instant he became solely focused on their target

Jack stopped and looked around, getting his bearings. Like Ianto, he hadn't taken much notice. 'It's the old Port Authority building.'

'And now it just looks old,' Ianto said, taking in the peeling paper on the walls, the rotted carpet and the general air of decay.

'Wasn't this the one in the papers that they said they were bulldozing for that new apartment block?' Jack asked. 'Oh, what was it called? North Point? Star Point?'

'Sky Point,' Ianto replied.

'A damn shame, too. They should be preserving old places like this, not tearing them down.'

'Yeah, but look at it, Jack. It's literally falling down of its own accord.' A good gust of wind or a proper Cardiff storm would probably be the end of it.

'Don't get me wrong, Ianto, I like progress. But these old buildings still hold memories for those old enough to remember.'

'Old like you, you mean?' he teased.

'Says the man who likes to trawl through ancient files in the archives. Aren't you even the least bit sad that the city you grew up in isn't the same one I grew up in?'

'You never grew up,' Ianto quipped.

'You know what I mean. They used to hold dances here in the sixties, when the Port Authority downsized and the major shipping moved to Newport. You should've seen this place in its heyday with its twelve piece orchestra. All those lovely ladies and those dashing men, dancing like no one was watching.'

'Except you of course.'

'God, I miss those days. No one does social dances anymore. How are you supposed to meet the love of your life these days? Facebook? Tinder?'

Ianto rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 'Some of us managed it just fine. And without the dancing.'

He regretted saying that almost immediately as Jack grabbed his hand and spun him around the floor. 'I don't know, Ianto. We could always try and rekindle the magic of those old days and make sure that it still works.'