Title: Grounded
Summary: Jack and the Team become stranded at an Italian airport when a volcanic eruption disrupts the flights. What could they possibly get up to in the meantime...? Includes Jack, Gwen, Owen, Tosh and Ianto.
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I still do not own Torchwood.
Rating/Warning: T. Strongly implied Jack/Ianto.
A/N: This was written as a bit of fun when I was stuck in Italy due to the Icelandic volcanic eruption. Some of the fic is loosely based on real-life events, some [evidently] is not! Enjoy :D

Grounded

"The 15:35 flight departing for London has been delayed. We apologise for the inconvenience. Please expect more information within the next two hours…"

"Bloody hell," Owen growled, chucking his jacket over the suitcase handle. "If she says that one more time…! Two hours was up over eight hours ago!"

"Owen, please," sighed Tosh, "moaning won't make the plane arrive faster." Removing her glasses she looked up from the book she was reading. "There's nothing we can do. I've checked my PDA and the volcanic eruption was definitely natural – no rift relevance whatsoever. We have no choice but to let science…"

"'Science', my arse! I blame the man upstairs. He's got it in for me…"

"Did somebody mention a god?" Captain Jack Harkness waltzed through the terminal, a mega-watt grin plastered across his face and the tails of his vintage greatcoat flapping behind him. The sunlight streamed through the glass panels above him, highlighting his perfectly sculptured hair. His handsomeness was sickening.

"I'm too tired to make a sarky comment," muttered Owen, slumping into a nearby seat.

"Well boys and girls, it looks like we're here for the foreseeable future."

"Can't we get a hotel or something? It's 7 o'clock already."

"Yeah," added Gwen. "Surely the Torchwood budget would cover it?"

"Ah. Yes. Well, it would but I… erm… left the card back in the Hub and my Italian is too embarrassing to contemplate." He grinned sheepishly.

"We have euros left though, haven't we?"

"We would do," chipped in Ianto, handing out polystyrene coffee cups and mentally wishing for his own filter and mugs, "but after Owen insisted on buying thirty-five bottles of Limoncello and several models of the Colosseum-"

"Hey, don't pin this on me…"

"-we were left with twenty euros-"

"Ouch…"

"-which just bought us five coffees and pastries from the airport canteen."

"Ouch," Tosh winced again.

"Sooo," Gwen summarised, "we're stuck in Italy with no money, no flight, thirty-five bottles of liqueur, a number of touristy paperweights, cold coffees, and pastries Jack has seemingly already taken bites from?"

"Actually," blushed Ianto, "that was me." The team looked at him open-mouthed in surprise. "I had to distract myself from the actions of the incompetent "barrister"…"

Nobody bothered to ask what the poor lad could have done to annoy Ianto so – it was usually something extraordinarily petty or (as they later discovered) was something where ignorance was most definitely bliss.

"You guys are always so quick to judge," moaned Jack, hand to his chest in mock offence. "Right, we have quite a few hours to kill…" He rubbed his hands together gleefully, "Who's up for some naked hide and seek?"

"And I thought it couldn't get any worse," Owen shuddered.

TWTWTW

Three hours later, and the team had polished off twenty-eight of the Limoncello bottles.

Tosh had fallen asleep on Ianto's shoulder (Is she dribbling? he thought. Actually, better not think about it…); Owen was splayed out across three seats (much to the annoyance of the elderly couple at his feet); Gwen was giggling to herself in the corner and Jack was… well, Jack was being Jack.

"Hellooooo there!" he called, attracting the attention of one of the airport staff. "I must say, you have lovely eyes. And as for that uniform…" He stopped abruptly as Ianto clipped him around the ear.

"I was only saying hello," Jack muttered.

"I really need to pee," Gwen announced suddenly.

"Yes, because we all really wanted to know that!" said Owen sarcastically, trying to avert his eyes from Jack and Ianto making out behind the free-standing advertisement. Seriously, he thought, in public? Aaactually, pot kettle black. There was that one time when he and… Oh, that's probably better left forgotten…!"

TWTWTW

"I spy…"

"People."

"How did you…? Ok, let's try another… I spy-"

"Chair," replied Owen, ignoring Jack's dropped jaw. "Ceiling. Plantpot. Bin. Floor. Window. Toilet. Annoying Screaming Children. Hideously Overpriced Food. Actors From Eastenders! We've spied everything in this bloody place!" He ran frustrated fingers through his hair and let out a loud sigh.

"I spy-"

"Please, for the love of Janet, not AGAIN!"

"-with my little eye," continued Toshisko, "Something beginning with S-P-O-O."

"Hmmm… a Seriously Pissed Off Owen?" Gwen suggested.

"However did you guess?" she grinned.

TWTWTW

"SNAP!"

"Right, this is getting boring. Let's up the stakes, shall we?" suggested Jack.

"That's a rather devious grin," said Ianto, eyebrow raised. "I hope you're not thinking what I think you're thinking…" but Jack's wiggling eyebrows said it all.

"Loser removes two items of clothing, the winner choosing what those two items will be…"

Ianto's eyes rolled, "…I knew it…"

Owen's face lit up, "Now this should be fun!" He knew for a fact that the girls were wearing very few layers…

Twenty minutes later, when Owen sat shivering in his undies on the department lounge floor, the game didn't seem so fun anymore.

TWTWTW

"Owen! Owen! Wake up!" Gwen was shaking his shoulders, having just returned from the loo for the umpteenth time.

"Gwen," he grumbled, "This had better be important…"

"There are weird animal noises coming from the disabled toilet and the staff's beginning to panic. I think we may have to step in and…"

"Gwen, we're alien hunters not bloody pest control. Let them call the proper authorities."

Gwen rolled her eyes, "Fine, Mr Grumpy-pants. I'll get the others to help." She scanned the seating area, only spotting Tosh curled up asleep against her suitcase.

"Wait, where's Jack and Ianto…?" Her eyes widened in realisation, "Ohhhhh!"

TWTWTW

"Final calling for flight BA210492 to London. Final calling. Once again, we apologise for the inconvenience."

Droves of tired and weary passengers were descending the escalators with their luggage and, within minutes, the seating area soon cleared. Well, cleared, that is, apart from five friends who – surrounded by empty liqueur bottles, discarded clothing and playing cards – slept soundly, blissfully unaware that this would be the last flight departing for the next seventy-two hours. By the following morning, naked hide and seek didn't seem such an unattractive boredom-buster after all…