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songspinnerTitle: Comforting Sound
Author: Songspinner9
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The boys and their world belong to the BBC, of course.
Spoilers: vague ones for "Exit Wounds" and "The Last of the Timelords"
Summary: A quiet conversation about accents and sounds as a storm passes by...
***
prompt:
Vivaldi's Four Seasons
"Winter"
Largo
Before the fire to pass peaceful,
Contented days while the rain outside pours down.
***
With a sigh of relief, Ianto typed in the detail into the schedule and shut down his laptop. Rain tapped against a window as the wind blew it sideways, and made it seem all the most lovely that they were inside. That was once difference, he mused, between sleeping at the Hub and the flat...they couldn't hear rain underground, and he'd missed it. Somehow, it didn't matter particularly that it wasn't quite night yet, and Jack had insisted on starting a fire in Ianto's fireplace before they even considered dinner. It was, after all, a rare afternoon when the Rift let them spend a quiet hour or three.
"The call is set for tomorrow morning. The UNIT general, according to Martha, refers to me as "the Welshman" and to you as "that damned American at Torchwood 3." He handed Jack the file, settling down on the floor next to the other man.
Jack tried to look offended as he put the file out of the way on a low table, but grinned instead. "Well, you probably were more polite to him on the phone in the weeks I was gone than I'd ever been. We...don't precisely see eye to eye on most things, the General and I. I'm sure he calls me worse things that 'that damned American'..." He held out his hands to the warmth of the flames in Ianto's fireplace, letting tense muscles slowly relax.
"Your accent. It's not actually contemporary American, is it?" Ianto propped himself up on one elbow with a look brimming with curiosity. It wasn't often that he asked Jack questions like that one, and he was always honestly interested in the answers.
"Nope. It's how I learned the language. Sound shift, I suppose." He rested his chin on steepled fingers, something Ianto had noticed him do before when he was trying to explain something related to his own history. "Right now, in your time, Elizabethan English has its last remnants in the Appalachian Mountains in America. Sounds come around again, or stay hidden and then pop back. I suppose that set was due for a repeat when the colony was going at Boeshane."
"So somewhere, far in the future, on a far away planet, there's a place where everyone speaks some future version of English with Welsh-sounding accents, then?"
"Now that I think about it," Jack mused with a smile, "yeah. There is. A really sweet little province on a rather busy planet, if I remember correctly. Not truly English, but bits of it survive, and with a distinctly Welsh set of vowels."
"There's something comforting about knowing that. Well, then, you'll have to go there in a few thousand years and remember me, and Gwen and Rhys." Ianto tugged at the blanket around Jack's shoulders until it was around his own as well. They sat in comfortable silence, letting the combined heat of their bodies warm the air under the knitted wool and the sounds of the passing storm fade with the daylight.
Author: Songspinner9
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The boys and their world belong to the BBC, of course.
Spoilers: vague ones for "Exit Wounds" and "The Last of the Timelords"
Summary: A quiet conversation about accents and sounds as a storm passes by...
***
prompt:
Vivaldi's Four Seasons
"Winter"
Largo
Before the fire to pass peaceful,
Contented days while the rain outside pours down.
***
With a sigh of relief, Ianto typed in the detail into the schedule and shut down his laptop. Rain tapped against a window as the wind blew it sideways, and made it seem all the most lovely that they were inside. That was once difference, he mused, between sleeping at the Hub and the flat...they couldn't hear rain underground, and he'd missed it. Somehow, it didn't matter particularly that it wasn't quite night yet, and Jack had insisted on starting a fire in Ianto's fireplace before they even considered dinner. It was, after all, a rare afternoon when the Rift let them spend a quiet hour or three.
"The call is set for tomorrow morning. The UNIT general, according to Martha, refers to me as "the Welshman" and to you as "that damned American at Torchwood 3." He handed Jack the file, settling down on the floor next to the other man.
Jack tried to look offended as he put the file out of the way on a low table, but grinned instead. "Well, you probably were more polite to him on the phone in the weeks I was gone than I'd ever been. We...don't precisely see eye to eye on most things, the General and I. I'm sure he calls me worse things that 'that damned American'..." He held out his hands to the warmth of the flames in Ianto's fireplace, letting tense muscles slowly relax.
"Your accent. It's not actually contemporary American, is it?" Ianto propped himself up on one elbow with a look brimming with curiosity. It wasn't often that he asked Jack questions like that one, and he was always honestly interested in the answers.
"Nope. It's how I learned the language. Sound shift, I suppose." He rested his chin on steepled fingers, something Ianto had noticed him do before when he was trying to explain something related to his own history. "Right now, in your time, Elizabethan English has its last remnants in the Appalachian Mountains in America. Sounds come around again, or stay hidden and then pop back. I suppose that set was due for a repeat when the colony was going at Boeshane."
"So somewhere, far in the future, on a far away planet, there's a place where everyone speaks some future version of English with Welsh-sounding accents, then?"
"Now that I think about it," Jack mused with a smile, "yeah. There is. A really sweet little province on a rather busy planet, if I remember correctly. Not truly English, but bits of it survive, and with a distinctly Welsh set of vowels."
"There's something comforting about knowing that. Well, then, you'll have to go there in a few thousand years and remember me, and Gwen and Rhys." Ianto tugged at the blanket around Jack's shoulders until it was around his own as well. They sat in comfortable silence, letting the combined heat of their bodies warm the air under the knitted wool and the sounds of the passing storm fade with the daylight.
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Date: 2009-01-08 11:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-18 02:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-08 11:58 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2009-01-18 01:38 am (UTC)Catherine
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Date: 2009-01-18 02:51 am (UTC)That's been simmering in a file for about four months now, and finally got itself finished. :) I'm glad you liked it!
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Date: 2009-01-18 03:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-18 07:11 am (UTC)