Title: Red Christmas
By: lower-case-me
Pairing: gen
Rating: PG
Summary: Light-hearted Christmas fic, sort of. Jack finds out that having the team get on isn't necessarily a good thing.

***

'Ianto, c'mon. You're not going to make a fuss over something like this.'
'I assure you Jack, I am in earnest.'

Jack searched Ianto's face for any tell, any trace of amusement, but Ianto was wearing his most impenetrable serious face.

'Yan-'
'Tosh and Owen stand with me on this. That's a majority and according to Torchwood 3 union regulations we're fully entitled to take immediate strike action.'
'So if hostile aliens landed in Bute Park, you'd all be standing around with we-shall-not-be-moved placards? I don't buy it.' Jack tried a smile and got an icy stare in return.
'Strike action involves cessation of all non-emergency procedures, excluding the feeding and care of weevils and other guests in the cells. It includes all administration, autopsies, research, routine investigation, scheduled cleaning, correspondence with UNIT and other governmental bodies, filing, answering of the phone, inessential medical and IT services, provision of food and coffee-'
'Oh, you would leave poor old Jack thirsty-'
'I bloody well would, Sir. I suggest you read the regulations.'
'Or hungry. I'm a touch peckish, I suppose a curry is out of the question?'

Ianto dropped a file on Jack's desk, and walked out of his office.

Jack paused a moment, frowning, and then picked up the folder. Inside were a sheaf of neatly typed papers headed 'Torchwood Three Staff Operating Procedures and Union Regulations, 2008 Revision'. They'd been added to in at least two different colours of pen. He read the first clause that caught his eye, ignoring the typed paragraphs altogether.

12.A No member of staff may taunt, tease, or otherwise disturb the pteradactyl.
12.A.1 Taunting, teasing, or otherwise disturbing the pteradactyl is punishable by being bitten by the pteradactyl.

Jack raised an eyebrow. It looked like his staff had been doing some thinking while he was away. He smiled. One or two of the ideas were good, even if they were written in a slightly skewed drunken version of Owen's handwriting.

37.A All Torchwood staff are entitled to two (2) full days off in any standard Monday to Sunday week.
37.A.1 A day off may be taken in full, or as a half-day.
37.A.2 On a registered day off, the relevant member of staff is not permitted in the hub, or to work on Torchwood business, except under the exceptional circumstances set out in clauses 37.C.2 to 37.D.5.
37.A.3 This means you, Teaboy.

Some of the entries bore a distinctly cheeky touch that spoke of Ianto in a playful mood.

51. All untruths, falsehoods, or deliberately misleading statements given to the offices of the Prime Minister, Queen, MI5, MI6, or any other official agency, British or otherwise, must be entered into the Lies, Official folder (red).
51.A This folder is distinct from the Lies, Media folder, which shall be used for cover-stories only.
51.B All entries in the Lies, Official folder must be tagged into the appropriate category.
51.B.1 White lies must be tagged with white tabs.
51.B.2 Barefaced lies must be tagged with blue tabs.
51.C The best entry from the 'Barefaced' category for the relevant period shall be chosen by anonymous ballot at the quarterly staff meeting, and at the yearly staff meeting.
5.D.1 The author of the quarterly winner shall receive one dubious or over-reaching expense claim to the maximum value of £30.
5.D.2 The author of the yearly winner shall receive one dubious or over-reaching expense claim to the maximum value of £100.

That explained why Owen seemed to have gotten away with claiming £30 for 'boredom related iPod expenses' on the last account report.

Some items were just practical. Tosh's handwriting was neat and almost entirely sober.

44.C Re-categorisation of toilet, shower and changing facilities as unisex has been found to meet with Union approval, owing to the fact that the majority of Torchwood Three staff are either bisexual or Captain Jack Harkness.

He flipped through the pages, before finding the relevant passage on the third page, helpfully marked with green highlighter. Jack made an irritated harrumphing sound and went to find the others.

The hub was empty, and silent save for a big band version of 'White Christmas' playing softly over the PA. The pteradactyl had eaten the shiny balls that had hung on the tree last year, and the star from the top, so Jack hadn't dared decorate with anything more than tinsel. Myfanwy gave a slightly nervous enquiring croaking sound from the rafters. Jack muttered something reassuring, and headed for the tourist office. His stomach rumbled, echoing Myfanwy's disquiet. They were up there, all four of them, playing poker with pennies on the counter. The sign on the door was turned firmly to 'Closed', and there was a plate of jam donuts beside the pile of coppers. All four of them had a steaming mug of coffee.

'Gwen! Not you too' Jack cried, shocked to the core.
'I'm sorry Jack, but, I, well-' she stammered.
'Solidarity' Ianto supplied.
'I didn't vote for strike action, but I couldn't scab' Gwen said apologetically. 'It's just not right. I'm Welsh, I couldn't.'
'Nothing to do with the coffee and pastries then' Jack said, reaching for a donut. Owen slapped his hand.
'Oi, none of that. You're management. Get your own.'

Jack folded his arms.
'Fine. Have it your way.'
'I plan to' Owen said, stuffing his face with doubt.
'I assume this means you're ready to negotiate, Sir' Ianto said calmly.
'How is it that you manage to call me that while completely ignoring my authority, Ianto?' Jack said grumpily, eyeing the food again. The smell of coffee was making him tetchy.
'I grew up during the pit closures, Sir. It's a gift.'
'Huh. Alright. You win.'
'No more Christmas carols in the hub?' Owen said, swallowing and licking powdered sugar off his fingers.
'Or the van?' Tosh added.
'No more. You're all a bunch of scrooges' Jack said with bad grace.
'We're not watching 'A Christmas Carol' either. Or 'The Grinch', or any other ridiculous Christmas movie either' Owen said firmly.

Jack's eyes narrowed. He could play the negotiating game too.
'Fine. No Christmas movies. But I'm keeping the tree.'
'We're prepared to accept the tree' Ianto said, as official spokesperson.
'And we're also open to the suggestion of a Christmas piss-up' Owen added. Tosh kicked him in the ankle for giving away a bargaining chip.
'You'll get your Christmas party. I'll even buy the drinks' Jack said smoothly.

It was Ianto's turn to narrow his eyes.
'What's the catch?'
'No catch' Jack said innocently.
'So you turn off the carols and we just get free drinks? I don't think so.' Ianto and Jack exchanged a stare. Ianto blinked but neither looked away.
'I want you to buy each other presents. And I want you to wrap them and put them under the tree.' Jack paused, and Ianto raised an eyebrow.
'You haven't breathed out, Sir. There's something else' he said firmly.
'He's a bugger to play poker with, too' Owen muttered under his breath. Gwen kicked him in the other ankle.
'I want to be able to sing what I want at the party' Jack said, trying for a stern and manly expression.
'No carols, Sir. The regulations are extremely clear on that point. You may, however, have presents, Christmas pudding, brandy, and I'll throw in some roast chestnuts.'

Jack considered the bargain. Ianto held his gaze, refusing to budge.

'Roast goose?
'Roast your own goose, Captain. I'm vegetarian. You'll have Glamorgan sausages and like it. You may however have roast potatoes, parsnips and sprouts.'
'If there's no mistletoe, I'm walking away from this table right now.'

Jack folded his arms. Ianto looked at each of his colleagues in turn. Tosh nodded minutely, followed by Owen and Gwen.
'You can have mistletoe, but nobody is going to sit on your lap if you pretend to be Father Christmas. And please note that there is no tradition that will let you get away with groping anyone's arse underneath a sprig of parasitic plant life.'
'Maybe not on your planet' Jack grinned. 'Deal.'

Half an hour later, Jack was happily engulfing his second donut and savouring a perfect coffee, while idly leafing through the union regulations booklet. One the last page, a clause had been written in red pen and capital letters. Jack swore, spraying donut crumbs on the paper.

132.C At no time shall any member of staff wear, encourage others to wear, or bring onto Torchwood premises a red santa hat.

***