Title: Earning your keep
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 1,479 words
Content notes: None
Author notes: Written for Challenge 424 - Guest
Summary: The Doctor is having a hard time adjusting to his new guests.


Jack was lying on his stomach on the bed in their quarters. He was enjoying a quiet hour where he could indulge in his favourite guilty pleasure, which was to lose himself in his collection of comic books. He'd started the collection when he'd first joined the Doctor and Rose, and it had grown during their travels together. The TARDIS had carefully kept it all for him on the assumption that one day he'd no doubt be back, and she'd even added a few new titles whilst he'd been away, giving him even more reason to want to spend some time alone with them.

Who didn't love a good superhero? It was a lot easier than being one, that was for sure. No one ever lumped Spiderman with a mountain of paperwork, or told Batman he'd have to think about workplace laws when taking on a sidekick or two. Torchwood hadn't lived up to comic book simplicity, though neither had it hadn't lacked in Blam! and Kapow! and Zing!

Ianto had left him to have a few hours on his own. That was the beauty of travelling on the TARDIS. They could both do their own thing when they wanted and not be in each other’s pockets all of the time. Not that Jack minded having Ianto close by as often as possible, but even lovers needed their own space occasionally.

Right now, Ianto was somewhere halfway through his determined fifty laps of the TARDIS’ olympic sized swimming pool that he insisted on doing regularly to keep fit, before stating that he’d retire to the library. In all likelihood he'd instead be napping in one of the library’s many comfy armchairs after his exhausting swim, and a whole universe of unread books would become long forgotten. Well, Jack supposed it wasn’t like they didn't have a whole lot of time on their hands. There'd always be time for more books later.

Jack flipped the page, engrossed in the latest mystery facing The Phantom, when the door to the room suddenly flung open and the Doctor was standing there looking frazzled, with wisps of his manic grey hair sticking out horizontal to his ears, giving his slightly scary appearance in this regeneration even more clout as a Scottish mad scientist lunatic.

‘I can't take it any more!’ he declared.

Jack rolled onto his side on the bed. ‘Can't take what?’

‘Our guest,’ he replied.

It took Jack a moment to understand who they were talking about until he realised that the Doctor was referring to Ianto, since the two of them were the only other two people aboard. Jack frowned. What had Ianto done wrong? ‘What?’

‘I thought he'd be like you, all…’ the Doctor waved his hand in the air arbitrarily, unable to find the words that described Jack, and which clearly weren't the same words Jack would have come up with. Charming, charismatic, funny, dashing… ‘Instead he's… He's…’

Jack stayed silent, curious to see where this was going. The Doctor picked up strays all the time and rarely ever took issue with anyone. Everyone was welcome aboard the TARDIS, even the obnoxious ones. Ianto couldn't have been less like that if he'd tried.

‘He’s been cleaning my flight deck again,’ the Doctor finally said, unable to wrap his tongue around better descriptors.

‘So don't leave brown sauce on it,’ Jack replied, remembering the flustered look when Ianto had extracted his handkerchief mid bacon buttie and began polishing it off one of the dials much to the Doctor's horror. No one touched the TARDIS flight deck without permission, not even Jack. Apparently that extended to removing drippings of breakfast, even if it was the Doctor doing the dripping.

The Doctor began pacing at the end of the bed. ‘He wants to cook and clean and do laundry, the Doctor carried on ranting.’ He paused his laps of the room and confronted Jack. ‘I've never done laundry! I don't even have a tumble dryer!’

‘Actually, you do.’ Or he did now. The TARDIS had magiced one up before Ianto had even had to think about it. There was a whole room for laundry, and another that replicated a sunny backyard complete with a clothesline for hanging things out to dry. There was an ironing board and a steam press and multiple hampers for reds and darks and whites. Probably best not to mention any of it lest the Doctor lose his mind. The TARDIS had dozens of rooms created for very specific purposes, many totally bizarre and unused, but mostly created at the whims of her owner. That she was starting to accommodate the needs of her regular companions was possibly overstepping some invisible line. At least she hadn't made a dedicated coffee room yet, and though if Jack or Ianto dreamt one up, she would no doubt oblige.

‘And there's the dalek he ruined!’ the Doctor carried on complaining. ‘It's covered in morning glory and pansies!’

‘It was an eyesore,’ Jack argued, hating the fact that a beheaded shell of a dalek even resided on the TARDIS, let alone in a hallway that led to their private quarters. Ianto had put it to good use as a planter pot, removing many of the round nodules and shoving dirt and flowering seedlings into the holes which had flourished in just a few short weeks and was watered daily. It was much better now as a garden feature than as a rusting threat to their very existence.

The Doctor ran a hand back through his hair. ‘I don't know how you stand it.’ He gave Jack a penetrative look, leaning forward like he was trying to inspect the inner workings of Jack's mind via his nasal passage. ‘How do you stand it?’

Jack wanted to laugh. Ianto's many quirks were endlessly endearing to Jack who treasured all of his quaint obsessions and fixations. It was amusing to think that some who didn't see him with those same rose coloured glasses might find them unsettling or irritating. ‘It's just who Ianto is,’ he explained. ‘He likes things to be a certain way. He's not me.’ And Jack would never want him to be. He was perfect, just as he was.

‘That’s an understatement!’

‘I thought you'd prefer that,’ Jack said with no small amount of amusement. He'd never expected Ianto to be an acquired taste.

‘So did I. I keep worrying that the next time I walk into my trophy room I’m going to find him there polishing everything until I'm blinded by the shine.’

Jack raised two curious eyebrows. ‘You have a trophy room?’

There was a huff and much crossing of those buggy grey eyebrows that looked like angry caterpillars sparring. ‘A time lord needs a place to keep his trophies! Doesn’t everyone?’ He raised an authoritative finger at Jack. ‘And I happen to like them dusty and tarnished, not all new and shiny and…’ He gave a shudder at the thought of them all glistening and the faint scent of silver polish filling the room.

‘Give it time,’ Jack said. ‘You're just not used to having someone organised around here. So what if we stay in for a home cooked meal when there's a whole planet full of places out there to go and eat.? Not to mention the money we save just by washing our own clothes.’

‘Makes me wonder why you wanted to travel if all you're going to do is what all those boring Earthlings do back home. Look at you, sitting there reading your comic books.’

‘I happen to love what those boring Earthlings do back home. And so do you, deep down. You think they're quaint.’

‘In small doses,’ the Doctor replied, unable to deny it.

‘Oh, c’mon. Admit it. You love them, and you'll love Ianto once you stop trying to not let him organise your life. It's what makes him happy.’ And anything that made Ianto happy, made Jack happy.

The Doctor groaned. ‘He's not going to want to start polishing my shoes, is he?’

‘Only if you ask nicely,’ Jack teased.e

The Doctor harrumphed and left Jack to return to his comic books. Then he was back at the door a second later. ‘No washing my underwear! I draw the line there. Touch those and I’m dumping you both on the next backwater planet we pass.’

Jack nodded solemnly. ‘Duly noted. Now, go back to whatever it was you were doing and don't be late for tea. Ianto's cooking up his famous chicken pot pie and you won't want to miss it.’

There was another grunt and Jack heard muffled and fading mutterings of "domesticated" and ‘“house trained” and “ridiculous” drifting down the corridor. Jack smiled and went back to his comic book. Not all heroes wore spandex and flashy capes. Some just wanted a full drawer of clean socks.