The World Isn't Ending Today (Torchwood)

[Jelloicious]

Yeah, I never do this.   But I miss these boys, so...

 

TWTWTWTW

 

Ianto Jones set the kettle on the stove top to heat, measured out his leaves and… just waited, staring dully at the kettle.  He knew, objectively, that head colds were caused by viruses, not by cold weather, or getting one’s feet wet; not even by being thrown in the bay by a blowfish in mid-February.  But still, it had been nearly five hours since he’d been fished, sodden, and shivering from the icy waters.   Even after the hottest shower the old pipes in the hub could muster, and Jack’s best efforts to warm him from the inside out, and several layers warm, dry clothing he still felt chilled; still could feel the sting of salt water in his sinuses.  He could just feel it coming on—a sodding head cold that he did not have time for.  This, surely, was all Jack’s fault, he thought, sniffing slightly.

“You know, a watched pot never boils” Jack murmured into his ear, causing Ianto to jump, startled.  He hadn’t been aware of Jack slipping up behind him at all.  The proper dryly sarcastic reply also escaped his normally ready grasp.  He must really be coming down with something, he thought.   Jack filled the empty space around him, pressing close.   “Are you alright?” Jack scooped Ianto’s icy hands into his warm ones and frowned.   “Still cold?”  Ianto nodded and Jack pulled him in close.  Ianto felt himself relax gratefully into the radiant warmth that was Jack, forgetting for the moment that he was trying to be annoyed with Jack. The whole idea of chasing an alien across Cardiff Bay had been Jack’s, after all.

“You should go home.  Have a nice long hot soak, and get some sleep.”  “ But I…” Ianto’s automatic protest was almost instantly interrupted as he fought to stifle a sneeze.  He gave it up as a lost cause as three more followed in quick succession.  “Bless.” Jack whispered softly.  “No point in protesting.  The rift is quiet.  The world isn’t ending today.  Go home”.   Ianto sniffed again, feeling rumpled and slightly unwell.  

Jack tenderly pressed his lips against Ianto’s forehead and promised to come round later and check on him.  Ianto would have rolled his eyes at this, if he’d been able to muster it.

At first, he felt foolish, calling off sick barely halfway through the day.  After all, he was a Torchwood Agent.  He was tougher than a little head cold.  Never mind that this one was beginning to feel like it was well on its way to kicking his arse, hanging on him like a leaden weight.  Never mind Owen’s surprisingly serious demeanor and insistence on listening to his chest, (despite Ianto’s insistence that he didn’t actually suck any seawater into his lungs during his unplanned morning swim).

Really, Ianto was sure that he could’ve held out the day, and muscled on through, riding the adrenalin of an average day in Torchwood.  But Jack had sent him home, and  once he was in his car, once he was headed home, heater blasting and the rhythmic thunk of the windshield wipers against the steady drizzle, he felt he’d be lucky to just make it home to his flat, and fall into bed before passing out, feeling thick and heavy-limbed. Surely the past few (busy) weeks were just catching up to him.  He sneezed again.  And again.  He reached for the last of the tissues in his coat pocket, wished he’d thought to bring more.  Ugh.

To be fair, he thought, as he let himself sneezing into his flat, it might actually be nice for a change, having a bit of downtime.  Oh, he knew that in Torchwood, “downtime” wouldn’t actually last out a head cold, but just today, maybe, rift-permitting, it might be nice to wallow a bit in his misery and sniffle and sneeze his way through a movie marathon on the telly, while sipping hot tea.  He had even considered a stop at the store on the way home, thinking a slow simmering pot of soup would be just the perfect indulgence for a cold, rainy, miserably sniffly day, but could not quite rally the energy required.  Maybe later.  After a nap.  He sneezed yet again.  Maybe when he could go more than five minutes without sneezing.

[IveGotRedHair]

I am so happy about this!! I love Ianto with all my heart and I miss him. 

[Jelloicious]

Thanks!  I miss him too! Somehow, there's never enough Ianto.

[2SHY222]

Awww poor Ianto. Please write more ?

[Jelloicious]

TWTWTWTWTW

Jack knocked softly on the door to Ianto’s flat, then slid his key out of his pocket, slipped it in the lock and silently let himself in.  He set down his packages on the small table in the kitchenette and slid his greatcoat off.  Ianto was asleep, snoring slightly on the sofa, curled under a duvet.  Used tissues littered the floor and the coffee table, a testament to Ianto’s misery.

Jack was always struck by exactly how young Ianto looked when he was sleeping, but now, he looked even more so, nose pink and skin flushed, his hair wildly untidy.  Jack knelt down to press a soft kiss to Ianto’s forehead, (warm, but not hot), and Ianto stirred sleepily.

“Hey, there,” Jack said softly.  “how are you feeling?”

Ianto blinked, then moved to sit up.  “Jack,” Ianto croaked, back, making Jack wince slightly in sympathy, “what time is it?”

“It’s just gone seven.  I thought you might be hungry, so I picked up something from the place on the corner”.

Ianto closed his eyes and smiled sleepily, before his expression froze and he reached suddenly for the nearly empty box of tissues.  Jack pressed a couple into his hand just in time for Ianto to catch a barrage of powerful sneezes.  HehhCKChiesh;  HeshXTsh!  huhhhNXXTshoo!

Jack settled on the couch next to Ianto, rubbing small circles on his back as he sneezed, and sneezed, until at last the fit settled.  Ianto blew his nose wetly, sneezed twice more, blew again into his sodden tissues, and then sagged back into the sofa.  Jack tugged him close and enveloped him with his arm, pressing a kiss into his hairline.   Ianto made to resist, “Don’t, I’ll get you sick”.  Jack chuckled softly.

“You might.  Probably not.  I’ll take my chances”.  Jack was supremely confident in all things.  At another time, Ianto might have found that annoying.  It might have been a measure of just how bad Ianto felt that he didn’t offer further protest, and instead just allowed Jack to hold him.  “I don’t remember sneezing so much in my entire life.  I’m afraid I have nearly run out of tissues” Ianto noted grimly, rubbing irritably at his still-tickly nose. 

“No worries, I stopped off and picked up a few things. I’ve got you covered.”  Jack disentangled himself  and retrieved one of the bags from the kitchen and spilled the contents across the coffee table for Ianto to inspect.  There were a good half dozen different kinds of cold remedies, capsules, syrups, powders, throat lollies, drops, ointments and a hefty stack of soft cloth handkerchiefs.  Ianto frowned.  “Owen would not approve.  Disposable tissues are far more sanitary.” 

 

If Jack had an observation about the number of germ-laden tissues littered about, he kept it to himself, and instead said, "But not so gentle on your poor chapped nose".  Jack drew a handkerchief out and passed it to Ianto, who accepted it and dabbed tentatively at his nose.  Ianto’s eyes closed in something like bliss.

“Now.  Food:  It’ll take me about 20 minutes to get it all ready.  Why don’t you have yourself a shower while I cook?”

Normally, Ianto wasn’t a fan of leaving Jack unsupervised in his kitchen, but he readily accepted the offer this time, on the theory that a shower might help clear him clear up his sinuses, or would at lease help him get himself more presentable.

[IveGotRedHair]

Yayyy! Loving this ❤️

[Jelloicious]

TWTWTWTWTW

 

Ianto felt decidedly closer to human again after the shower.  The steam from the shower had opened up his sinuses at least temporarily, and he felt more at ease sneezing freely in the shower, without Jack there to watch him.  His head felt a bit clearer, and any rate he felt much more awake, afterwards.  He towel-dried his hair and pulled on a soft pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a long sleeve t-shirt, and joined Jack in the kitchen, where something simmered cheerily on the stove top.

“I thought you’d said you picked up carry out—this looks like a lot more work,” Ianto’s voice, not obviously hoarse, was still a register lower than normal and obviously congested.  He inspected the simmering pot, sniffing at it without much success given the present state of his sinuses. 

 

Jack waived a hand, and explained, “Carryout is just the starting point.   This is a Jack Harkness special, he announced.  One of these days, I’ll show you how I can really cook.” Jack offered Ianto a warm mug of tea, heavily sweetened and curiously spiced.   Ianto puzzled briefly at the unrecognized flavors, but accepted it without question as he felt it soothe the ragged edges of his sore throat, and found himself again able to breathe through his nose.

“Hungry?”  To Ianto’s surprise, he was.  Ravenous, even.  The meal Jack had prepared was clearly Asian, at least in its underpinnings, with soup and noodles, and spices and vegetables both familiar and not.  The flavors, despite being somewhat unfamiliar, were nonetheless excellent, and Ianto savored it, making a mental note that Jack really could cook, even if that was a skill he didn’t pull out often.  The lingering sting of spices, however, set his nose running again, much to his irritation, and he found himself sniffling most of the way through the meal.

Jack did not seem to mind at all, and kept up a running chatter about the day after Ianto had called off sick.  Jack’s stories, as always, were vivid and wild, and Ianto thought it was all rather nice.  After dinner, they tidied up the kitchen, Ianto washing, Jack drying, until Ianto’s nose again got the better of him and he took a step back and sneezed, awkwardly into his elbow, and then several more times into the damp dishtowel Jack offered him.  Hih’TSCHU! Heh’KKSCHHT! ehhh-IHHShhhhh!

“Sorry,” Ianto mumbled into his dishtowel.  Jack took him by the hand “Let’s get you to bed”  Ianto didn’t protest, and wasn’t surprised when jack pulled off his boots and climbed into the bed with him, but he pushed away when Jack leaned in to kiss him.  “Really, Jack, don’t tell me you can’t get sick, I know better.   Remember that round of Verillian Pox?  You came down with it just like everyone else.”

Jack pulled a face—“That was awful!  Owen’s still got a scar from that!”  Jack sighed and laid his head back on the pillow.  Of course, you’re right.  I might be chronologically displaced, and an amazing example of 51^st century genetics, but I’m as human as you are.  But I’ve also been around long enough to have worked my way through most of the several hundred odd viruses that can cause colds.  What are the chances that you’ve found on I haven’t seen before?” 

Ianto considered this, and frowned.  “Viruses mutate.  Immunity wanes over time”.  

 

Jack sighed.  “Does it matter to you that it doesn’t matter to me?  Really?”  Ianto lifted an eyebrow, not quite following.  “I don’t care.  I’m not just playing Russian Roulette, banking on the idea that it’s unlikely that I can catch you cold—I really wouldn’t mind if I did. In fact, I think it’d be kind of nice if I did.”

Ianto rolled his eyes. “You’ve clearly lost your mind, Jack.” 

 

It was Jack’s turn to frown.   He propped himself on one elbow so he could look Ianto in the face.  “Last week, I had to watch you escape having your brains blown out, by the merest accident of a jammed firing pin in an idiot’s handgun.  And then order you to go after him.” 

Ianto swallowed hard.  They had not discussed the incident, not like this, and Ianto had not allowed himself to even think of it, past writing his scant description of the incident in the log.  He’d been terrified, convinced he was a dead man.  He considered the thought for the first time that Jack had thought he’d been a dead man, too—considered that this had mattered to Jack, in a way Ianto had not been quite sure of.  Ianto chose his words carefully, not ready to let what must be a tidal wave of emotion over the incident out.

 

“That’s Torchwood.  That’s any day.  That’s every day.  We face the unknown, and the deadly.  Sometimes we cheat death and sometimes we don’t.”  Ianto was not sure he could name the point at which he’d accepted that his job would one day kill him, and that he’d spend his eternity in a morgue drawer in Jack’s hub, but the thought didn’t bother him.  To the contrary, it just seemed right to him.  Almost comforting.  The thought, though, that Jack would have to see him die, and how that might affect Jack, was a new thought, and Ianto turned it over carefully in his head.

Jack pressed his point.  “Most times, you don’t have a chance to catch your breath, and just…be.  Here, now, isn’t this making up for that, just a little?”  We’re here.  I’ve got you.  I’m glad that bastard didn’t kill you, this time, Ianto translated automatically.

Ianto sniffed wetly.  Even he wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or from emotion.

 Jack wiggled closer, and drew Ianto into his arms.  “Besides have no idea how irresistible you are like this”  Ianto rolled his eyes.   can’t tell me that there isn’t something about this, that you find the least bit appealing,  snuggled close and warm, the feeling of being taken care of when you are ill?” 

“Well,” Ianto conceded, allowing Jack the shift of gears, this has been rather…unexpectedly nice”. 

Jack met his gaze, evenly, “Call it a kink if you want.  I’d love to spend a whole day like this with you.  Just us.  Just…now.”

Jack leaned in to kiss Ianto, and this time Ianto didn’t pull away or protest.