Characters: Gwen, Ianto, Jack.
Summary: Ianto is not having a good day, and unfortunately for him, Tosh isn’t there to fix things.
Word Count: 500
Content Notes: None necessary.
Written For: Prompt 89: Little at anythingdrabble.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
“Oh, what an adorable little boy!” Gwen gushed, delighted.
Ianto gritted his teeth and refrained from speaking, knowing his voice would be that of four- or five-year-old. It wouldn’t be so bad if he were mentally the age he now looked, but he still had his adult mind, albeit in the body of his much younger self. Being de-aged was only fun if you didn’t remember being an adult. Instead, he was half-and-half, only Gwen either didn’t realise or didn’t care.
“Would you like a nice glass of milk, pet?”
“No, thank you, Gwen. What I would LIKE is a cup of coffee and for this to be a bad dream. I’ve got a lot to do today and how am I supposed to do my job like this?” The worst part was, Tosh would be away for another three days at a very important inter-agency scientific conference, so in all likelihood he’d be stuck like this until she got back and could reverse the effects of whatever had done this to him.
Gwen recoiled as if she’d been struck. “Ianto?”
“Who did you think you were talking to? Some random kid who happened to escape his parents and find his way into the Hub by accident?”
“Well, I don’t know. I mean… I thought… I know Jack has a grandson…”
“Steven is ten, Gwen, and Jack would never bring him to the Hub except in a dire emergency.”
Speaking of Jack… The cog door alarms started to blare, announcing the arrival of a very out of breath Jack Harkness, laden down with shopping bags.
“Sorry I took so long,” he panted. “I ran all the way back.”
“So I see. What exactly did you do with my car? I’m pretty sure you were driving it when you left.”
Jack’s mouth fell open, then snapped shut and he winced. “Oops! I was in such a hurry to get back with clothes for you I forgot it.”
“Twpsyn.” Little Ianto rolled his eyes just as effectively as when he was full-sized.
“You went shopping for clothes for him without me?” Gwen asked, clearly disappointed.
“Yes, because Jack knows what I’ll wear and what I wouldn’t be seen dead in. You, however, tend to get carried away by cuteness. I’ve seen what you dress Anwen in.” Hands on hips, little Ianto glared up at Gwen, who had the decency to blush.
“Um, do you want to see what I got you?” Jack asked diffidently.
“Yes, please, and then Gwen can take you to pick up my car.”
“Right, good idea.” Jack started emptying his shopping bags onto the coffee table: socks, sneakers, pinstriped pyjamas, jeans, smart little shirts and trousers, and t-shirts with Marvel characters on them. “Sorry about the underwear; apparently they don’t make boxers for four-year-olds.”
“If they’re too uncomfortable I’ll just have to go commando.”
Gwen made an odd, strangled sound and hurried away.
Ianto sighed; the next few days were going to test his patience to the limit.