Title: Mr Muscle
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 2,240 words
Content notes: None
Author notes: Written for Challenge 454 - Clean
Summary: Ianto finds himself incapable of keeping his flat in order until a magic cleaning fairy comes along.


Jack might have been defying orders but he didn't care. He was the boss after all and wasn't he the one who was meant to be handing out orders? Why should he have to listen to the advice of their medic, even if it all sounded perfectly reasonable at the time?

The fact was that Jack hated any of his team being injured or unwell. It didn't sit well with him, knowing there was little he could do other than be supportive, and review their procedures to hopefully prevent a repeat. Sometimes however there was no amount of procedural overhaul that was going to make any difference whatsoever. Sometimes someone just got sick of their own accord and, as Owen had rightly put it, all they needed was a bit of time off work to rest and recuperate.

That didn't stop Jack from feeling distracted. It was difficult to just carry on with a team member missing. Given how small the team was, any absence was highly noticeable, and none more noticeable than when Ianto wasn't around. For a man that made it his life's work to be inconspicuous, his absence was very, very conspicuous. There was only so much store-bought takeaway coffee that could appease the natives, and even more angst when they came back from a gruelling morning's work only to find that no, lunch wasn't just magically there when they returned. Someone would have to think about it, and then go and get it.

Jack took one last look around the hub before grabbing his car keys. At least the place didn't look too bad, he thought. It wouldn't be up to the standard of tidiness that Ianto kept it in, spotting the odd dirty mug and a few reports left open and abandoned on the sofa, but it was far from the worst he'd ever seen it. At least people were making some effort to tidy up after themselves. Satisfied that things weren't falling apart, he decided to ignore Owen's imploring to leave Ianto alone to rest, planning on making the short trip just to check in and say hello. That was all, he told himself. He wasn't going to harangue Ianto with details of ongoing investigations or things that would need to be dealt with once he was back to full health. He didn't even want to check if Ianto was up for a bit of something more vigorous. Patience was the kind of virtue Jack was only slowly beginning to master, and master it he would, no matter how much his mind drifted during the day towards unbuttoning pinstripe jackets and loosening silk ties.


By the time he'd arrived and parked out the front of Ianto's block of flats he knew he had made the right decision. It had been nearly a week since any one had received more than a text from Ianto stating that he was fine and just recovering. Even Owen had stopped harassing him with personal visits to poke and prod, all on the auspices of trying to help.

He let himself inside, nearly tumbling as his foot slipped on a pile of mail accumulated by the door. Mostly it was catalogues with a sprinkling of letters. Nothing important, he noted, as he flipped through the entire letter collection before dropping it on the sideboard for later. Anything important got emailed these days. Physical letter drops were the realm of the takeaway food chains, local politicians and mail order companies.

The first thing Jack noticed around the flat was a general air of clutter. Ianto was not one to abide by clutter. Quite the opposite. Everything had its place. It wasn't an obsessive compulsive neatness, just that Ianto was always calm and organised and his flat reflected that. Jack had never come around and seen things lying about where they shouldn't. What happened after Jack arrived was another matter entirely.

‘Ianto?’ he called out, not too loudly, but just enough for him to hear and not be alarmed that someone had broken in.

‘M’here,’ came the Welsh tones from the bedroom. Jack moved down the short hallway and came to stand in the doorway, seeing his lover propped up in the bed, duvet covers crumpled all around him like some failed pillow fort.

‘Hey you,’ Jack said, stepping inside. ‘How're you feeling?’

‘Better for seeing you,’ came the reply. Ianto was a little bit pale but mostly he just looked tired. All totally normal according to Owen.

Jack perched on the edge of the bed and ran a hand across his forehead and back through his hair. ‘You look exhausted. Have you been sleeping okay?’

Ianto gave a half-hearted shrug. ‘Not so great. Feel like I'm too tired to fall asleep, if that makes sense.’ Jack nodded in understanding. ‘Plus I'm thinking about all the things I should be doing and aren't.’

Jack understood that too. Ianto would be driving himself crazy, worrying about all the work that wasn't getting done whilst he was at home in bed. ‘Sleep is important.’

‘I know,’ Ianto replied. ‘I would if I could. It's better with you here, though,’ he confessed.

Jack didn't think Ianto would get much sleep with Jack here, and certainly not sharing the same bed. ‘I just came to check in,’ Jack said, ‘but I can stay for a little bit if that helps. You just have to promise me you'll try to get some more sleep.’ He wanted Ianto back to fighting fit as much as anyone. He slid across to sit lengthways on the empty side of the bed. ‘I'll hang out here until you fall asleep. How’s that sound?’

Ianto curled over on his side, facing Jack. ‘Sounds good,’ he said, snuggling down into the pillows wearily and closing his eyes.

Jack sat there and used the time to really look at Ianto for any signs that Owen's assurances he was on the mend were wrong. Assured that their medic knew what he was talking about, Jack's eyes roamed around the rest of the room. It was very un-Ianto-like. The side table was overflowing with empty water and glasses, balled up tissues and a pile of books and magazines threatening to tumble into the floor. Ianto never had more than one book to read at a time, always finishing the first before starting the next, unlike Jack who started many and finished few, or simply picked them up and started somewhere halfway along a book he’d read a hundred times. Judging by the tall pile, he hadn't managed to settle on anything for more than an hour. In the corner of the room was a pile of laundry that looked to be taking on a life of its own as well. Jack was certain there'd once been a hamper basket in that corner but he couldn't see it any more assuming it was still there.

Ianto's breathing slowed audibly and Jack gave it another ten minutes before being certain that Ianto had finally succumbed to sleep before carefully sliding off the bed without disturbing him. He wandered over to the side table and pushed the books back into a tidy pile that wasn't about to cascade everywhere, then collected up the used tissues and the water glasses, carrying them out of the room to the kitchen.

The kitchen he discovered was equally in a state. There wasn't a spare space in the sink for Jack to deposit the glasses so he put them on the bench beside the sink for now. Clearly Ianto had made an effort to keep eating, albeit it didn't look like he'd managed much more than a bowl of cereal or tea and toast. It was simply that rather than rising off the same plate and cup over and over, he'd grabbed a fresh plate and cup each time, never finding the energy to come back and wash the growing mountain of dirty dishes. Jack left them where they were for the moment and returned to the bedroom.

His first job was to gently rearrange the bed covers so that Ianto didn't wake up thinking he was being strangled to death by some duvet monster, straightening them out and pulling them lightly over their occupant. Satisfied, Jack moved to the other side of the room and scooped up the large bundle of discarded clothing. The laundry hamper eventually revealed itself underneath. With one hand Jack flipped open the lid to empty its two compartments – one marked “lights” and one marked “darks” – finding only one pair of lonely socks in the “darks” half of the hamper.

He carried the bundle out to the kitchen then ducked into the bathroom and collected the towels whilst he was there, before returning and dropping the whole lot into two piles, tossing the first pile of light coloured clothing in the machine. In a cupboard under the sink he found the washing detergent, measuring out a scoop and throwing it in as well.

Oh, Ianto, he thought, if only you could see me now. Everyone was convinced that Jack was incapable of laundry – or any kind of domestic behaviour – which wasn't true. These twenty-first century machines were practically toys compared to what they had in the future. It was simply that over the years Jack had fallen into a trap of relying on the dry cleaners to handle his laundry, with a heavy reliance on online shopping for replacement shirts, trousers, socks and jocks. He had his stores and sizes down to a fine art, often ordering in bulk to save time and postage costs. It wasn't that he couldn't have washed and ironed all his own clothes, but who had time for that when there was alien stuff dropping in from who knew where every other day of the week?

The washer made hardly a sound as it started up, which was good for keeping recuperating home-owners slumbering. Jack wouldn't have put it past Ianto to have bought this one state of the art and quiet as a mouse for the singular reason that laundry was undoubtedly almost always done last thing at night, just before hitting the pillows and carrying on through the night.

Jack abandoned the second dark pile for the mess in the sink, tackling that next. He could have put the whole lot in the dishwasher but there was so much of it he wasn't sure he could move it all without making a racket. Instead he opted for rinsing it carefully piece by piece, the washed items ending up on a second towel on the bench to drain before drying them and quietly putting them away. He wiped down the benches of crumbs and orange juice rings and then did a quick check on the fridge to make sure there was still milk and that it wasn't expired. After that, he moved the light coloured laundry from the washer to the tumble dryer, separating out the items for hanging and tossing in the second load of dark clothes, setting it going again

With a bit of searching he found the small clothes horse and pegged up a handful of shirts and trousers which had to be two weeks old at least since Ianto had last been fit and at work. Everything else was hoodies and sweatpants, happily cycling around in both machines as they did their work.

Jack moved around the flat with silent footsteps, tidying things how he remembered them usually being. He wasn't going to dust or hoover, but he did give the floor in the kitchen a quick mop, just to fill in time until the second lot of laundry could go in the dryer and the first lot come out for folding into the now empty basket. There'd be ironing to do in a day or two, but at least the bulk of the work was done. It didn't even feel like a chore. Jack wasn't used to housework, but he found it strangely calming compared to phone calls with the Prime Minister or chewing his way through deeply technical reports from his co-workers. Small wonder Ianto was able to stay so cool and collected throughout the day. All that washing dishes and collecting rubbish gave you time to gather your thoughts and compartmentalise them.

Content that the flat was once again in the kind of state that would have made Ianto happy, made Jack happy. He could only imagine how much worse it would be to finally recover from illness only to be faced with an avalanche of neglected housework as punishment. As an afterthought, Jack pulled out his phone and ordered a few days worth of delivered ready-made meals – something with vegetables and protein that wasn't a bowl of cornflakes or plain buttered toaster. Then he doubled the order, thinking it wouldn't hurt to have a few spare in the freezer. No doubt the lack of proper meals partly contributed to being run down and susceptible to nasty viruses in the first place.

He poked his head into the bedroom one last time before leaving. Ianto was still sound asleep, oblivious to Jack's possibly one time only domestic efforts. Pity, Jack thought, but then again, he doubted Ianto would have believed it even if he'd seen it with his own eyes. Somehow, being a cleaning ninja who snuck around when you weren’t looking suited Jack better. He did have a reputation to maintain, after all.