m_findlow

Title: Post party clean-up
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack, Ianto
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 764 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for oneill's prompt "any, any, New Year's cleaning" at fic_promptly
Summary: Ringing in the new year is more work than expected

Ianto enjoyed New Year's Eve. After all, not too many people could say that they had an uninterrupted view from the top of the Millennium Centre of the fireworks exploding in a wash of glittering colour over the bay. They also couldn't say that they'd enjoyed said view whilst sipping on very expensive champagne, and exchanging kisses at midnight with their very handsome boyfriend. Jack's NewYear's resolution had been to spend more time with Ianto. They'd spent the remainder of the night making sure that Jack kept to his resolution.

But now in the harsh light of morning, the consequences of celebrating had made themselves known. It wasn't the clothing strewn all about the hub, that was almost becoming the norm. Nor was it the slight buzzing in his head that signalled he'd had a glass too many last night, or was it a bottle? No, it was the state of the entrance to the tourist information office.

The council had done a bang up job of tidying the plass in the wee hours of the morning. After all, it was a major tourist drawcard, and after all the money that had been spent revitalising the bay precinct, giving it an attractive modern facade, they were determined to keep it that way.

But the poor little quayside that led directly to the hub had been sadly neglected. Clearly it didn't warrant the same loving care. Whilst Jack might be glad for the lack of attention it garnered, since they were the most unsecret secret organisation in all of Britain, Ianto was now left with the task of getting it sorted.

It was a bitterly cold NewYear's Day, and the wind kicking up off the water was icy, so he rugged up in coat, mittens and scarf before heading out.

He stared sadly at the state of things. The ground was littered with bits of streamers, party poppers, glitter and bits of tinsel, miscellaneous detritus, bottles and cans. The latter went into a bucket which would later be dropped off for recycling.

Odd items were picked up and placed into another bucket, including a fairy wand, someone's mobile phone, he'd trace the owner later, a t-shirt with the phrase 'awesome' and an upward pointing arrow, indicating the wearer, several glowsticks, a pair of sunglasses, odd considering it was winter and this was Cardiff, and a clown wig striped in red, white and green. A small amount of Welsh pride surged through him. At least they hadn't been Englishmen wrecking the place.

Ianto then grabbed a broom and began sweeping up the remaining glitter and streamers. In one corner he discovered a pile of something that had been partially digested. He didn't waste any further time speculating on what it might once have been. He replaced the broom with a mop and cleared the offensive contents from the deck. He supposed he should be grateful it was the only pile, or perhaps the rest of them simply had the good sense to at least hurl into the bay. It wasn't a pleasant thought, but then he recalled doing much the same thing one night on a bender in London years ago, and the Thames was hardly the cleanest of waterways to begin with.

He quickly inspected the lapping waters for anything else that might require retrieval, and fished it out with a small net, adding it to the bucket. That included a beach ball, now deflated, a few more bottles, and a blue boilersuit that looked distinctly weevilish. Hmm, he'd ponder that later.

Posters that had been glued on the walls a week ago were now wrinkled with damp, some peeling away and hanging where the wind would catch them, causing them to flap up and down, waving at him. Others were already partly torn away, either for the sake of vandalism or to be taken as a memento. Ianto retrieved a spackle knife and diligently began stripping them away, finishing the job with a scowering brush to scrub away the last remnants of sticky paper.

He stood back and admired his handiwork, always pleased by a job well done. The tourist entrance now scrubbed clean, the only indications of the night's festivities now the three black bin liner bags worth of rubbish, and the bucket of lost and found items.

Jack came and joined him, also surveying the work. He looked refreshed, without the slightest trace of any hangover.

'I thought you resolved to spend less time cleaning up after the rest of us?'

'I also resolved to stop believing in fairy tales.'