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Title: "In The Meadow We Can Build a Snowman"
Disclaimer: I'm not RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: Jack/Ianto, understated
Rating: PG
Notes/Summary: In which Ianto's day off does not go as planned. Written for the January 12 prompt at [livejournal.com profile] redismycolour. (Looks like I'll be running a day late until Saturday. Sorry.) Also, this is in many respects the fault of [livejournal.com profile] pocketmouse, who said useful things at me when I was saying vile and frustrated things about the prompt.



In the meadow we can build a snowman,
And pretend that he's a circus clown
We'll have lots of fun with mister snowman,
Until the other kids knock him down.


In retrospect, the snowman had been a terrible idea.

There was no way Ianto could have known that the snow around the Castle had received a particularly nasty tweak courtesy of the Rift unless Torchwood had been deliberately looking. It was just that these things had become the story of his life, really. Not that inanimate objects consistently sprang to life around him. There was no way he could have expected that. Only that something would go ridiculously wrong on his day off.

Which was, as it happened, uncommonly crisp and sunny in spite of the fresh blanket of snow.

So he’d bundled himself up a little more than usual and gone for a walk to the park. Curiously, there weren’t many children in evidence, though he guessed that maybe he’d arrived a bit too early for them, or that the snow wasn’t so treacherous that school had been canceled. He’d intended just to take a stroll and admire the snow in the trees, but his urge to play got the better of him and he’d built a snowman.

Well, more like a snow golem, or a snow Gort (from The Day The Earth Stood Still). A man, but more Art Deco than the traditional stacked sphere scheme. His only concession to facial expression was two deep gouges he’d poked with his fingers for eyes. When he’d stepped back to inspect his handiwork, Ianto had been prepared to declare the work dead creepy. Satisfyingly creepy.

And then it moved.

The snowman took a step toward him. The snow groaned and creaked as it moved, and Ianto took a firm step back. Only on his day off would a snowman have the gall to come to life without the aid of an old top hat. By habit his fingers moved up to touch an earpiece he wasn’t wearing. Shit.

Meanwhile, the snowman seemed to have got control of its arms. It lurched toward him and extended an ill-formed hand. Logically there was no way the thing could have much of a grip, but Ianto wasn’t willing to take that gamble on account that logically it shouldn’t be moving at all. He dodged out of the way and further still in hopes of keeping about ten feet between himself and his unplanned creation as he hit the speed dial for Jack’s mobile.

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing something other than calling me?” Jack answered two rings later.

Ianto looked around on the ground for a stick, or possibly a large stone. “I was. I am. And now there’s a snowman in Bute Park.”

“So? It snowed last night. I’m sure there are several by now.”

“None quite as ambulatory as this one,” Ianto pointed out as he walked backward. The snowman took another swipe at him. “Or as grabby.”

“What’s it wearing? I hear if you knock off the top hat --”

“Thanks, Jack. Would never have thought of that on my own,” Ianto snapped. “Now round the others up and enact a heroic rescue before I manage to knock this thing down without you.”

“Is there a reward?”

Ianto smirked. “Beyond the customary post-crisis shag? Possibly lunch at Casa Celi.”

“On my way.”

Smiling, Ianto rang off. “Right,” he said to the snowman as he ducked out of the way once again. “Let’s see how fast you can run.”

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