Oh To Be Young Again

This is set early in Season 2, after Kiss Kiss Bang Bang and before Meat, but doesn't relate to any of the episodes. All characters are here, interacting in various ways, but lots of Ianto and Jack. Told from Ianto's point of view. Enjoy.

-ooOoo-

I am often woken by my mobile phone in the early hours of the morning so I was not too surprised to hear it beeping as I surfaced from a dreamless sleep. I had got to bed late, after an evening spent with Jack and that always left me tired – but happy. I eyed the clock as I reached for the phone: it was 4.24am. I fumbled the phone and it dropped to the floor with a clatter. I don't know why I was persuaded to give up my carpets for laminate floors; they're cold, dusty and make a hell of a racket when anything's dropped on them. I needed the light to find the wretched phone so switched it on and blinked in the glare. No sign of the phone. Reluctantly, I climbed from my warm bed and felt the cold surface of the floor.

I looked around and finally spotted the elusive phone, just peeping out from under the chest of drawers. I picked it up and sat on the bed, opening it. It was text message, a rather rum one even for this time of the day. I wondered vaguely why anyone would send me a text; if it was urgent – and contacting me at ... 4.26, I noticed, it damn well better be – why not ring? I focussed on the display. 'Come to the Hub, urgent. Bring clothes for 10 year old boy. J '

My foggy brain read it again. Why did Jack need clothes for a 10 year old boy? More to the point, where did he expect to get them at this time of the morning? Typical Jack. I wondered if it was a wind-up, whether he was setting me up for some stupid stunt. I quickly checked the date – not 1 April. Nevertheless, he could be bored and wanting to torment someone and I was his easiest victim; I always believed him, gave him the benefit of the doubt. And that's what I did now. We had had a lot of Rift activity with people falling through time. There was the Egyptian pyramid builder, a 1920s flapper, an 18th century French aristocrat (who was a real pain) and a Crusader all in the last month. Maybe this message was genuine and a boy had come through this time.

I stood, pulled the bed together into something like order and showered, shaved and dressed. Twenty minutes later I was out of the flat and shivering in the cold, wet and dark November morning. I had not had breakfast or coffee and was off on a strange shopping expedition. I was not a happy bunny.

Having decided the 24 hour superstore was my only chance of getting clothes at this hour, I set off in the car. I wandered round and picked up jeans, a pack of two T-shirts, sweat shirt, underwear and socks. I made a detour to the bakery that was just opening and bought muffins (for the others) and a bacon buttie (for me.) Munching the buttie, I got back in the car and drove to the Hub. It was close to 6am as I rode down in the lift and walked through the cog door.

All was quiet. I walked up to the work area, looking round for signs of life. Nothing. I deposited the shopping and muffins on the sofa and peered into the Medical Bay. Still nothing.

"Jack?" I called.

No answer. Then I heard scrabbling from his office and a head peered round the door. It was a good 18 inches lower than where Jack's head should be and it looked both furtive and relieved; quite a difficult combination to pull off. The head was joined by a body, a stark naked body except for Jack's coat, which was open at the front and dragging on the ground.

"Ianto! What took you so long!?"

The boy – it was a boy as was all to obvious as the coat had now been discarded and he stood, hands on hips only a couple of paces away from me – spoke with an American accent. I did not know any American boys and so drew my gun and trained it on him. Where the hell was Jack? Why had he left this boy alone? How did the boy know my name?

"Stop right there," I ordered, in my most authoritative tone. "Jack?" I called into the comms, hoping he would appear and tell me what the hell was going on.

The boy stood and looked at me with something akin to pity and disbelief. Whoever he was, he had a very expressive face. "For God's sake, Ianto, it's me!"

I looked harder at this sandy haired, small but sturdy boy. He looked nothing like Jack. It was a trick, some shape shifter or other malevolent alien was trying to gain my sympathy by assuming the form of a child. He must have captured Jack or killed him.

"Right and I'm Madonna," I sneered, peering past him to see if Jack was lying bound and gagged in his office.

"Nah, you haven't got the legs." The boy looked exasperated. "I'm freezing my balls off here, Ianto. Stop playing silly buggers." He made to walk past me.

I stood my ground, gun trained on him. "One more move and I'll shoot," I warned.

"Go ahead. What do I care, you're the one who'll have to clean up afterwards."

The boy took another step towards me, raised an eyebrow as if to say 'Go on then' and when I did nothing – how could I shoot an unarmed boy? – he pushed past and went straight to the shopping bags I'd abandoned and got out the clothes.

"Not bad," he said. He put on the underwear, socks, jeans, a T-shirt and the sweat shirt. He stood in his socked feet looking in the bags, searching for something. "Where're the shoes, Ianto? Don't tell me you forgot shoes?" He looked pityingly at me again.

I was not paying much attention. This boy looked nothing like Jack but he was acting like him. The lack of embarrassment about his naked body, the mess he'd created with all the shopping bags and wrappings and the tone of his voice, the words he used. Of course, his voice was a couple of octaves higher than where it should be but I was coming to believe this might be him. But if it was him, what the hell had happened?

"Jack," I ventured tentatively, "is it really you?"

"Yes. Now where's the shoes?"

"You said clothes. I didn't ..."

"Oh God, Yan. Do you need a list!?" He reached into the bag of muffins and helped himself to a blueberry one. He sat on the sofa and wriggled about until he was leaning against the back of it; his feet stuck out as his legs weren't long enough to bend at the edge of the seat cushion. He took a large bite and crumbs dropped down the front of his new clothes – more and more like Jack. "Well, don't just stand there. Go and get me some shoes." He continued to stuff his face with huge bites just like the Jack Harkness I knew so well.

Hope you liked. More to come idc. Review always appreciated.