Title: Reconnaissance
Author: halfspokenwords
Pairings: impied Jack/Ianto
Rating: G
Word Count: 750
Prompt: Originally written for theatrical_muse; it's just a little scene, but I was happy with how it turned out, so I thought I'd post it over here too. Yes, I know the title's terrible.

***

"Wellies," Jack commented as they left the SUV parked by the side of a dirt road. "Very classy."

The dirt road was, in fact, more of a mud road, as it had rained overnight. Therefore, Ianto felt more than justified in his footwear and gave Jack a look that said as much. To make his point exceptionally clear, his path to the back of the SUV was forged with particularly heavy steps.

"You should wear them more often," was the next morsel of input, contributed as Ianto unloaded their equipment. He would have passed the heavier knapsack to Jack just for that, but unfortunately he'd spent the hour before they left painstakingly evening the load.

As he led the way into the forest, Ianto kept his eyes glued to the screen of his PDA. Finally, Jack had had enough. "Anything good on?" he called, trotting up to match their strides. "Hamish Macbeth? I love that one."

"Actually," Ianto mused, shooting him a worryingly mischievous sideways glance, "there's no signal out here." He held up the offending gadget and gave it a slight shake. "No wireless. I've just been attempting to ignore you."

"Because I laughed at your boots?"

"Because you laughed at my boots," he agreed, but the corners of his lip turned upwards, just slightly. It was all too obvious on his profile, so Jack noticed.

"You're just winding me up."

"No, sir." Ianto glanced over and raised an eyebrow, all traces of the smile gone. "Though if I were, which I'm certainly not, I might say that turnabout is fair play. If I were."

"Which you're not," Jack supplied, rolling his eyes theatrically as he picked his way through the underbrush. "Yeah, yeah, I get it." His greatcoat, which he had insisted was proper attire for a trek, caught on something and he swore.

Ianto allowed himself a smile on Jack's behalf, but quickly hid it before it was seen. He had allowed himself to be talked out of wearing a suit; after the trip to the Beacons he rather fancied it a bad omen to wear street clothes on the job, but sometimes it did seem necessary. Jeans, a long-sleeved polo, and a hoodie-- plus the boots.

"Remind me again why we couldn't send Owen."

Jack grinned. "Ianto, Ianto. I needed your expertise, not Owen's."

"Ah. By which, I suppose, you mean Owen wasn't in the Hub at half five in the morning. If that's the only requirement, then I may have to request that we start spending the night at mine."

He was about to add something about the bed being bigger as well when an oddity in his PDA-displayed data caught his eye. He frowned down at the screen, then glanced at Jack, suddenly serious. "It's active again. About three hundred meters this way," he said, nodding to indicate a direction. "Same signal as before."

They travelled in near silence, Ianto leading the way and Jack at his shoulder, a half-step behind but otherwise comfortably close.

Finally, Ianto stopped. He looked between the screen and the scenery, just to double-check what he was seeing, and then bit back a groan. "It's out there," he announced instead, pointing toward the clearing in the trees.

The clearing held, of all things, a creek; there was no passing but over or through it. That much was clear. Moss-covered rocks jutted out from the quick-moving water. None of it was very deep, but it still did not strike Ianto as awfully inviting.

He looked at Jack.

Jack looked right back.

"Well, go on," said the Captain after a moment, waving a hand toward the creek. No doubt about it: he was smirking. He was also leaning against a tree, making no sign of having plans to move. In fact, he had the air of a man who was planning to watch and enjoy himself during every moment.

"What?" Ianto very nearly crossed his arms; at the last minute it occurred to him that Jack would just find that attractive and slightly amusing, so he thought better of it. "You know, Jack, it was you who dragged me out of bed to investigate these readings. You could at least do the dirty work."

"I could-- but of course you're the one with the Wellies."

Decaff for a week, he thought as he hitched up his jeans and prepared to wade across.

***