Ficlet: Feeling Their Age

[badly_knitted]

 

Title: Feeling Their Age
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Jack.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 719
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: If Jack and Ianto thought running Torchwood was hard work, this is even more exhausting.
Written For: raisedbymoogles’ prompt ‘Any, any, “any, any, I'm much too young to feel this damn old’, at threesentenceficathon.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.



 
Ianto vaguely remembered when evenings at home after a busy day of working for Torchwood had been something to look forward to, a chance to relax and enjoy a few hours of relative normality, Rift and Weevils permitting. He hadn’t appreciated how easy he’d had it back then, and now those days were a distant memory, something from another life. Maybe even something that had happened to someone else since it was hard to imagine being that happy-go-lucky person, the man who’d once had the energy to go out in the evenings on dates, dinner and a movie… Date nights were a thing of the past too.

 
Another thing it was hard to imagine was not feeling almost permanently exhausted; exhaustion had long since become his default setting. Still, he shouldn’t complain, because despite being worn out, he would never want to change his life, not now he had everything he could possibly dream of. So what if he wasn’t getting enough sleep, and hadn’t for as long as he could remember? That was a small price to pay for everything he DID have. Surely it was better to count his blessings rather than his woes.
 

Jack, however, seemed intent on doing the opposite. “I’m much too young and good looking to feel this damned old,” he groaned, collapsing onto the sofa beside his husband with the longest and weariest sigh Ianto had ever heard from his lips, and that was saying something.
 

Although he shared Jack’s sentiment, Ianto couldn’t help but smirk at the older man. “You’re over two hundred years old, Jack. Over two thousand, if you want to count the time you spent buried under Cardiff, more dead than alive. How old are you really expecting to feel?”
 

“I’m immortal,” Jack grumbled, turning to pout at Ianto. “Which is supposed to mean not feeling any older than I did the first time I died, but right now I feel like the oldest man who ever lived!”
 

“You probably are.”
 

Jack pouted harder. “You’re not helping! Look at me! It’s a miracle I haven’t gone prematurely grey, and that I still have all my hair!”

 
“I’ll grant you that one, I’ve been close to tearing my own out a lot recently, but you and I both know this won’t last forever. The day will come, hopefully not too far into the future, when we’ll look back on this period of our lives and laugh, only remembering the good times and not the endless exhaustion, frustration, and fear for our sanity.”
 

Jack groaned, somehow contriving to sag deeper into the sofa cushions. “I never want to remember any of this! All I want is to blot it out of my mind, then maybe I won’t have to live in fear of my own kids. I never knew two-year-old twins could be such monsters! Maybe we should put them up for adoption and get a dog instead. Meriel would love a puppy.”

 
“You wash your mouth out, Jack Harkness! Those little monsters are our own flesh and blood! Besides, how could we be so cruel as to inflict them on some unsuspecting couple who want a family and aren’t able to produce kids as readily as we can? At least we have Nosy and the Flufflets to help us deal with our demonic spawn.”
 

“Demonic is right. Maybe an exorcism is in order.”
 

“Oh, I just had a horrible thought!” Ianto sat up straighter. “Maybe they’re changelings! Or…” Ianto looked at Jack, eyes wide. “You and John Hart were partners for a long time, and we both know the lengths he went to trying to get you back. Perhaps he did something sneaky and they’re HIS kids, not ours! It might explain a few things!”

 
Jack twisted around to look at his husband, an expression of abject horror on his face. “He has a working Vortex Manipulator! First thing tomorrow, we’re doing a paternity test, make sure we’re really the parents.”
 

“And if we are?”
 

Slumping back against the sofa cushions again, Jack managed a weak smile. “I suppose we’ll just have to do our best to love the twins and hope they won’t always be monsters. If they stay like this the rest of their lives, it won’t matter that we’re immortal; they’ll be the death of us.”
 

 
The End