Fic: End Of The Party
Jan. 1st, 2026 05:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
badly_knittedTitle: End Of The Party
Author:
badly_knittedCharacters: Ianto, Jack.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1188
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: The New Year Party is over, but Jack and Ianto can’t go to bed yet.
Content Notes: None needed.
Written For: Weekend Challenge Ring In The New at
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1_million_words.Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
New Year’s Eve parties were great! Who didn’t love them? Friends and family gathered together, good food, plenty to drink, music, dancing, laughter, conversation, celebratory fireworks… Jack and Ianto had made sure to have it all, wanting to ring the new year in with style, get it off to a good start since the previous year hadn’t been so great.
At the start of last year, they’d been struggling to keep going without two of their closest friends, and everything had gone downhill from there. Aliens wanting to take ten percent of earth’s children. Jack being blown apart then encased in quick drying cement even as his body regenerated. Ianto dying in Jack’s arms in Thames House only to come back to life. Okay, the coming back to life bit had been good, but the rest of it hadn’t.
And then the Hub had needed rebuilding, so Torchwood had been operating out of a rundown warehouse ever since, because Ianto had drawn the line when Jack had suggested working from home. Even now he wasn’t sure whether his lover had been serious, but it hadn’t mattered because there wasn’t room in his little one-bedroom end of terrace house, and the garden shed was in no way suitable for housing rogue Weevils, or other stray aliens. It was too small, not secure enough, and besides, it was already occupied. He wasn’t having his garden tools evicted.
Anyway, with all that in mind, and the Hub’s reconstruction still ongoing, it had seemed like a good idea to throw the biggest and best New Year’s Eve party they could manage. They’d wanted to celebrate their victory over the 456, the fact that the remaining members of the team were still alive and in one piece, and to herald the start of what would hopefully be a less traumatic year. It couldn’t hurt to start the year off on a positive note.
They’d chosen Torchwood’s temporary base of operations as the venue, since there was plenty of room there for all their guests. It also meant they could keep an eye on the Rift, just in case. It didn’t take time off for new year any more than it did for Christmas, so if anything happened, they’d have everything they needed close at hand to deal with it.
Miraculously, the festivities hadn’t been interrupted, and a great time had been had by all, but now it was nearly two in the morning, most of the guests had already left, heading home or to a hotel for what was left of the night, and as Ianto looked around the big room with its computer terminals and other equipment, he suddenly felt deflated.
The place was in a horrendous mess; cups, glasses, plates, empty bottles, and the remains of the buffet were scattered across every conceivable surface, and many of the Christmas decorations were falling down. To make matters worse, there were crumbs and spilled drinks all over the floor, mingling with bits of tinsel, party hats, streamers, and the remains of Christmas crackers, and guess who would have to clean it all up? Torchwood Three’s General Support Officer, of course.
“Is there any champagne left?” Jack asked, wandering back in after seeing Gwen and Rhys off. “I thought we could toast to our future.”
Ianto dragged his mind back from gloomy thoughts of drudgery and shook his head. “No more champagne. Sorry. I think there might still be some sparkling apple juice somewhere though.”
“No, Gwen took the last of that with her.” Being pregnant, she hadn’t been allowed alcohol.
“Oh. Well, I could make coffee.” Ianto felt he could do with a cup; it might give him the energy to tackle the clean-up.
“We can’t toast the future with coffee, Ianto!” Jack slumped into a chair. “No champagne, no more fireworks…” He trailed off with a sigh. “Parties are fun while they last, but once they’re over, everything feels sort of flat.”
“I know. I was just thinking the same thing.” Ianto wandered over, dragging a chair from one of the workstations, and sat down beside his lover. “And look at this mess! It’s going to take me hours to get the place organised again so we can do our jobs.”
“Doesn’t have to be done tonight though, does it?”
Ianto rolled his eyes. “We could be dealing with wall-to-wall Rift alerts come morning, or rogue Weevils, or an invasion, while the remains of the food, and everything on the floors, congeal, turn mouldy, and develop sentience.”
Jack cast his gaze around the spacious room with its air of urban grunge, lopsided Christmas tree, and wilting decorations, all lit by stark fluorescent lighting. “Maybe we could sell the mess to a gallery as a modern work of art. It makes a statement. We could call it ‘After the Party’ or something. Evidence of the fun that was had.”
“Fun in the past tense.” Ianto leaned back in his chair and stared up towards the shadowy ceiling, beyond the lights.
“All good things come to an end. Except for us. Come on.” Jack slapped Ianto’s knee. “We shouldn’t be so gloomy. This is the start of a whole new year, a new decade even! Go make that coffee and we’ll toast our future.”
“Thought you said we couldn’t toast the future with coffee.”
“I was wrong. We’re Torchwood; your coffee fuels everything we do, so what could be better? We’d get nothing done without it.”
“That’s true. What about this mess though?”
“Coffee first, then we’ll clean up the worst of it.”
“We? You’re volunteering to help with clean-up?” Ianto raised a dubious eyebrow.
“Strictly under your guidance, Mr Jones. You’re the expert here. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
“Right, that’s an offer I’m not going to refuse. While I make the coffee, you can start by taking all the empty glasses, plates, and cups into the kitchen. Any leftover food can be taken to the cells and distributed among the inmates. Do NOT give the Hoix or the Weevils leftover drinks though. Pour those down the sink. We don’t need the inmates getting drunk, they’re fractious enough sober.”
“Maybe they’d be more mellow if they were drunk.”
“Or maybe they’d become psychotic. Somehow that’s not a chance I’m willing to take. We want this year getting off to a good start, and drunken aliens don’t qualify, so dispose of any leftover drinks SENSIBLY.”
“Yes Sir!” Jack saluted smartly before scurrying off to do as he was told.
Shaking his head, Ianto made for the kitchen, and the state-of-the-art coffee machine Jack had bought for him after they got back to Cardiff as an ‘I’m so glad you’re not dead’ gift.
Coffee, then clean-up; as long as he didn’t have to do it all himself, it wouldn’t be so bad. Afterwards, they might even have time to grab a couple of hours’ sleep on the sofa bed in the warehouse’s break area before they had to get on with protecting Cardiff from aliens and the Rift. All in all, maybe the year wasn’t getting off to a bad start.
The End
At the start of last year, they’d been struggling to keep going without two of their closest friends, and everything had gone downhill from there. Aliens wanting to take ten percent of earth’s children. Jack being blown apart then encased in quick drying cement even as his body regenerated. Ianto dying in Jack’s arms in Thames House only to come back to life. Okay, the coming back to life bit had been good, but the rest of it hadn’t.
And then the Hub had needed rebuilding, so Torchwood had been operating out of a rundown warehouse ever since, because Ianto had drawn the line when Jack had suggested working from home. Even now he wasn’t sure whether his lover had been serious, but it hadn’t mattered because there wasn’t room in his little one-bedroom end of terrace house, and the garden shed was in no way suitable for housing rogue Weevils, or other stray aliens. It was too small, not secure enough, and besides, it was already occupied. He wasn’t having his garden tools evicted.
Anyway, with all that in mind, and the Hub’s reconstruction still ongoing, it had seemed like a good idea to throw the biggest and best New Year’s Eve party they could manage. They’d wanted to celebrate their victory over the 456, the fact that the remaining members of the team were still alive and in one piece, and to herald the start of what would hopefully be a less traumatic year. It couldn’t hurt to start the year off on a positive note.
They’d chosen Torchwood’s temporary base of operations as the venue, since there was plenty of room there for all their guests. It also meant they could keep an eye on the Rift, just in case. It didn’t take time off for new year any more than it did for Christmas, so if anything happened, they’d have everything they needed close at hand to deal with it.
Miraculously, the festivities hadn’t been interrupted, and a great time had been had by all, but now it was nearly two in the morning, most of the guests had already left, heading home or to a hotel for what was left of the night, and as Ianto looked around the big room with its computer terminals and other equipment, he suddenly felt deflated.
The place was in a horrendous mess; cups, glasses, plates, empty bottles, and the remains of the buffet were scattered across every conceivable surface, and many of the Christmas decorations were falling down. To make matters worse, there were crumbs and spilled drinks all over the floor, mingling with bits of tinsel, party hats, streamers, and the remains of Christmas crackers, and guess who would have to clean it all up? Torchwood Three’s General Support Officer, of course.
“Is there any champagne left?” Jack asked, wandering back in after seeing Gwen and Rhys off. “I thought we could toast to our future.”
Ianto dragged his mind back from gloomy thoughts of drudgery and shook his head. “No more champagne. Sorry. I think there might still be some sparkling apple juice somewhere though.”
“No, Gwen took the last of that with her.” Being pregnant, she hadn’t been allowed alcohol.
“Oh. Well, I could make coffee.” Ianto felt he could do with a cup; it might give him the energy to tackle the clean-up.
“We can’t toast the future with coffee, Ianto!” Jack slumped into a chair. “No champagne, no more fireworks…” He trailed off with a sigh. “Parties are fun while they last, but once they’re over, everything feels sort of flat.”
“I know. I was just thinking the same thing.” Ianto wandered over, dragging a chair from one of the workstations, and sat down beside his lover. “And look at this mess! It’s going to take me hours to get the place organised again so we can do our jobs.”
“Doesn’t have to be done tonight though, does it?”
Ianto rolled his eyes. “We could be dealing with wall-to-wall Rift alerts come morning, or rogue Weevils, or an invasion, while the remains of the food, and everything on the floors, congeal, turn mouldy, and develop sentience.”
Jack cast his gaze around the spacious room with its air of urban grunge, lopsided Christmas tree, and wilting decorations, all lit by stark fluorescent lighting. “Maybe we could sell the mess to a gallery as a modern work of art. It makes a statement. We could call it ‘After the Party’ or something. Evidence of the fun that was had.”
“Fun in the past tense.” Ianto leaned back in his chair and stared up towards the shadowy ceiling, beyond the lights.
“All good things come to an end. Except for us. Come on.” Jack slapped Ianto’s knee. “We shouldn’t be so gloomy. This is the start of a whole new year, a new decade even! Go make that coffee and we’ll toast our future.”
“Thought you said we couldn’t toast the future with coffee.”
“I was wrong. We’re Torchwood; your coffee fuels everything we do, so what could be better? We’d get nothing done without it.”
“That’s true. What about this mess though?”
“Coffee first, then we’ll clean up the worst of it.”
“We? You’re volunteering to help with clean-up?” Ianto raised a dubious eyebrow.
“Strictly under your guidance, Mr Jones. You’re the expert here. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
“Right, that’s an offer I’m not going to refuse. While I make the coffee, you can start by taking all the empty glasses, plates, and cups into the kitchen. Any leftover food can be taken to the cells and distributed among the inmates. Do NOT give the Hoix or the Weevils leftover drinks though. Pour those down the sink. We don’t need the inmates getting drunk, they’re fractious enough sober.”
“Maybe they’d be more mellow if they were drunk.”
“Or maybe they’d become psychotic. Somehow that’s not a chance I’m willing to take. We want this year getting off to a good start, and drunken aliens don’t qualify, so dispose of any leftover drinks SENSIBLY.”
“Yes Sir!” Jack saluted smartly before scurrying off to do as he was told.
Shaking his head, Ianto made for the kitchen, and the state-of-the-art coffee machine Jack had bought for him after they got back to Cardiff as an ‘I’m so glad you’re not dead’ gift.
Coffee, then clean-up; as long as he didn’t have to do it all himself, it wouldn’t be so bad. Afterwards, they might even have time to grab a couple of hours’ sleep on the sofa bed in the warehouse’s break area before they had to get on with protecting Cardiff from aliens and the Rift. All in all, maybe the year wasn’t getting off to a bad start.
The End
