To Another by a_silver_story | Chapter 4
Title: To Another
Chapter: 04|??
Author: a_silver_story
Rating: 18/Adult/NC-17 overall
Warnings: Smexy timez
Disclaimer: Anything recognisable to Torchood S1, 2 and 3 belongs to Russell T. Davies at the BBC. Now pass the Retcon, and drink it down with coffee.
Summary: Set five years after Another Life.
Another Life | Chapter One
To Another | Chapter 1 (Five Years Later)
Giacomo sat on the floor by the window in the strange living room he had woken up in, his jaw set as he concentrated on the pencil moving between his fingers, rolling it to get a finer, sharper edge before rolling it back to work with the softer one, shading and sketching.
Ianto had brought him to the house of a woman he'd lived with before he'd come to Giacomo and Rhys' unit. Her name was Rina, and she'd lived with Till, too. Giacomo had quite liked her at first, when she'd let them in and given him hot chocolate then helped Ianto tuck him into the bed they'd made up on the sofa - all the while explaining that her husband was away on a training course.
Clearing his throat, Giacomo wiped his nose.
They had thought he was asleep, moving to the kitchen in the tiny open-plan house so that Ianto could clean himself up a bit and Rina could fuss over his scratches and the bruises forming over his torso. Giacomo had heard her practically throwing herself at Ianto, and Ianto resisting and resisting until eventually the talking stopped.
Giacomo had tossed and turned, trying not to think about the slightest sound coming from upstairs. Eventually he sat up, curiosity winning out. Wiggling his toes, he stuck his feet out from under his blanket and got himself up from the sofa, heading for the stairs. He crept up them slowly, grimacing at the cheap polymer beneath his feet rather than the carpeted surfaces he was used to at home as his feet got colder and colder.
Swallowing hard as he crawled across the landing, Giacomo could hear the laboured breathing, the hitching breaths and the gasps and moans from the door left open just crack at the end of the short hallway. He tried to convince himself to turn back, but he couldn't peel his eyes away from the light spilling out through the gap between the door and its frame. He was curious, to say the least, for his own reasons as well as the inability to look away from the proverbial 'train wreck'.
He'd read about it, and he'd learned about it at school. He'd been told things by his friends, seen flashes of it on TV and figured that it didn't really happen much in his house. At school it was funny, something they laughed off and pulled faces over and made vomiting sounds about, even though their teachers had taught them everything about a mammal's 'need' and that they would 'crave' it. That it would make them - them, as males, especially, programmed to 'spread their genes as far and as often as possible' - do stupid things. Evolutionary gears could overrule anything when you hadn't been properly 'satisfied' for a while.
And Rina had given Ianto wine, and Ianto only ever drank when he was out with Rhys, and that never happened any more.
Giacomo held his breath, and pushed the door gently. His jaw tensed and set as he stared at them, Ianto lying on his back, Rina astride him. Ianto was tensed and arching, Rina was laughing, and as Ianto relaxed he tumbled them both over, laughing with her and kissing her.
With a choked-back sob, Giacomo turned and ran back down the stairs, curling back into his sofa bed with the blanket pulled tightly over his head. He listened carefully, but nobody had heard him. He stayed as he was for longer than he could reckon, before slowly poking his head out from under the blanket and squinting over at the clock. It was nearly four AM.
He folded his blanket carefully and draped it over the end of the sofa. He was angry now - angry at that woman for giving Ianto the wine, and at Ianto for not being strong enough. Ianto was always strong enough. Ianto was always the voice of reason, the one who could tell right from wrong and the one whom he could rely on to be rational and … well … right. What Giacomo had seen had thrown his world off-kilter in more ways than one. He felt different inside, and the thought crossed his mind that maybe Ianto wasn't perfect.
Ianto himself had said that he wasn't. Giacomo never believed him.
Ianto said silly things, was stubborn to the point where silly things happened - but he never did stupid things. Ianto was supposed to be clever. Ianto was supposed to be better.
Giacomo sniffed, needing to find some scrap paper and hopefully a pencil. A pen would do, but Giacomo wanted a pencil. He rummaged through some drawers in the living room, eventually finding a memo pad a the last sharpened inch of a graphite. He sat under the window and began scribbling mindlessly, letting his hand do the work while his brain spun into overdrive.
He was fairly certain his life had just changed, and he was just as certain that it probably wasn't for the better.
His pencil stopped when he heard movement on the landing, hurried but secretive, like it wasn't intended to be heard. Giacomo looked down at his drawing, almost ashamed of himself for what he had drawn. He jumped up to his feet and hurried into the kitchen, ripping up the paper before running it under the tap and screwing it and mashing it into a pulp before throwing it away.
Dawn was breaking into the living room, and an idea came to Giacomo. During his rummage through the drawers, he'd seen the differences between them, and was guessing that one of them belonged to the woman whose house it was, and another further along belonged to her husband. Giacomo's stomach fluttered, and he hurried over to the memo block and picked up his pencil, scribbling a quick note as footsteps crept down the stairs.
By the time Ianto was in the room with him, Giacomo had hidden the note and returned the memo block to the sideboard. The pencil he kept in his hand.
“Giacomo?” Ianto called as he poked his head in. “Oh, good. C'mon - we need to go.”
“Why?” asked Giacomo. “The sun's not even up yet.”
“Please - just come on, okay? We should go home.”
“I want to go to Rhys'.”
“Giacomo-”
“I know what you did,” Giacomo cut him off, his chin jutting a little defiantly. He saw the colour drain from Ianto's face, his eyes widening, his mouth dropping open slightly.
“I … I-I … We … We need to go,” Ianto managed, turning sharply into the hallway and gathering their coats, swinging his on and tossing Giacomo's to him when he appeared.
“Are we going to Rhys'?”
“No,” Ianto replied shortly. “We're going home.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Ianto said, his tone brooking little argument as he pulled open the front door and guided Giacomo out by his shoulder. He closed it again behind them, quietly and gently and grabbed Giacomo's hand, walking briskly back in the direction they came as the sky began to turn a paler and paler grey. Giacomo was almost jogging to keep up, wishing he was fully grown so that his legs might be long enough to keep pace.
“Why did you do it?” Giacomo asked, and he felt the tension travel to Ianto's hand.
“Because … I … I don't know.”
“You can't not know,” Giacomo scowled.
“It's really none of your business, Giacomo.”
“That's adult-speak for-”
“Seriously. Stop.”
“Would saying 'no' to her really have been that difficult?”
“You wouldn't understand.”
“I know right from wrong! I know you wouldn't let Jack sleep with anyone else - even when he asked.”
“That's enough now.”
“Are you going to tell him?”
“Of course I'm going to tell him.”
“What if he-”
“I don't need you making me more scared than I already am.”
“You shouldn't have done it then!”
“It's not that simple.”
“Yes it is.”
Ianto stopped walking. “How could you possibly understand? How could you even come close to understanding? You can't even get an - Never mind. I just want to go home.”
“What if Dad kicks you out?”
“Shut up!” Ianto snapped, his eyes stinging a little. “Just stop it.”
“You shouldn't have done it then!”
“I'm not perfect, Giacomo!” Ianto ran stressed hands through his hair.
“To me you were!” Giacomo shouted, pressing his lips together in an attempt to stop the bottom one wobbling, tensing his jaw and balling his fists.
Ianto stared at him a moment, then shook his head minutely before dropping down to his knees on the paving slab below him to pull Giacomo into a hug. “I'm sorry,” he sniffed. “But Giacomo, you can't ever believe that anybody's perfect. You just can't. You put somebody on that pedestal and you're setting yourself up for disappointment. Nobody's perfect. Nobody - especially not me.”
Giacomo squeezed him tightly, his now damp face buried in Ianto's neck. He finally drew his head back, then pressed a kiss to Ianto's mouth. “I love you still.”
Ianto kissed Giacomo's nose. “I love you more than you could know.”
His brow furrowed. “Do you love me more than you love my father?”
“I don't know,” Ianto shrugged. “The way I love your father is different to the way I love you. You'll understand when you're grown up and have children of your own.”
Giacomo shuddered. “I don't want to grow up,” he said, shaking his head resolutely. “It looks so depressing from what I can see.”
“Things are easier when you're a child,” Ianto agreed. “But when you're grown up, you can do what you like - you could have sweets whenever you want them,” he tried with a forced grin, standing up and taking Giacomo's hand as they set off walking again.
“I'll believe that when Dad can have sweets whenever he wants them.”
Ianto chuckled. “Fair point. But when you have your own house, it will be your rules.”
“I'll believe that when Dad can have his own rules in his own house.”
Ianto made a 'pssshhhhht' sound. “I only make him believe it's his house.”
Giacomo giggled, then yawned widely. They walked along in companionable silence until they reached the end of their street, and Giacomo cleared his throat to speak. “Ianto?”
“Mmm?”
“If you love me so much, why don't you want any more children? I'm going away soon.”
Ianto squirmed at the question. “I'm … not quite sure,” he admitted. “I'll get lonely when you're gone. I know. Maybe we could get a dog or something when Shirley finally lets go.”
“You can't get a dog without me,” Giacomo pouted. “You know I'll always want a dog.”
“So we can have a baby without you, but not a dog?” Ianto asked amusedly.
Giacomo nodded. “I want a little sister.”
Ianto chose not to reply as they climbed the little steps to their front door, resting his hand on the handle. “Straight to bed when we get in,” he told Giacomo, taking a deep breath and pushing it open. It wasn't even five yet, so Jack and Ian were still asleep as they quietly took off their coats. Giacomo went straight upstairs, and with legs like lead Ianto followed him quietly, his shoes neatly tucked away in their place by the door.
He poked his head into the bedroom, spotting Jack fast asleep and curled around an equally unconscious Ian. Carefully, Ianto scooped Ian up into his arms and carried him to his room, tucking him in without waking him up. He checked on Giacomo one last time, as a delay if anything, and tucked him in, too. “Are you angry at me?”
Giacomo nodded. “Sort of. Am I supposed to be?”
Ianto shrugged. “I've never been in this … situation … before. I don't know what to do. All my instincts say 'tell him', but the rest of me is just … I'm … I …” Ianto cleared his throat. “You shouldn't have to hear this. You shouldn't even have to be aware of this …”
“I won't tell Dad what I saw if you don't want me to.”
Ianto's eyes widened. “Saw? You saw?” Fingers combed stressfully through his hair, his eyes leaving Giacomo's and staring into the distance.
“I didn't know where you were,” Giacomo lied. “I wanted to go to Rhys'.”
“Shit, shit, shit. Look - you don't go keeping bad secrets for me. Ever. You're too young to burden yourself with other peoples' stupidity and mistakes. Fuck.” Ianto started toward the door. “You get yourself a few more hours sleep. I have to … I have to …” He gestured toward the door, and Giacomo nodded.
Ianto nibbled his lip worriedly, wondering what the Hell he was supposed to say to Jack. What he hadn't been able to say to Giacomo was that he was scared - terrified, even - that Jack would be angry enough to throw him out. No matter how much he tried to convince himself and Jack of anything otherwise, Ianto knew he was nothing without him, and the possibility of being without him was now looming overhead. Ianto was scared for himself, for his heart, for Jack and for Giacomo.
The bedroom was still in pretty much total darkness, aside from the crack of light through the blackout blinds as grey morning tried to find a way in. Ianto watched Jack sleeping for a moment, brushing his long hair away from his too-feminine face. Swallowing, Ianto finally flicked on the dim bedside lamp and nudged him awake.
“Jack?”
“Ianto? You came back?”
“Yeah … I … We … I made a mistake, Jack.”
Jack sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Never thought I'd hear you admit to that,” he frowned. “Especially when it was my fault.”
Ianto perched awkwardly on the side of the bed, his bottom lip firmly between his teeth.
Jack frowned. “Are we both talking about the same thing?” he asked.
Shaking his head, Ianto squeezed his eyes shut.
“Ianto?” Jack tried, concerned. “Ianto - what have you done?” He pulled Ianto close, resting his chin on his head and stroking his hair. “What is it?”
“I came straight back,” Ianto sniffed. “I got Giacomo and I came straight back. I'm so sorry, Jack. I'm so sorry.”
“What? You're frightening me a bit, now, Ianto.”
Ianto felt like such a baby, crying in earnest, frightening himself. “I-I wanted to go somewhere you wouldn't find us and turn up on the doorstep the next morning. I went to Rina's.”
He felt Jack's hand still in his hair, and sat up to look at him properly. Jack's eyes searched his face, and Ianto nodded minutely. He held his breath, waiting to see just how big the mess he'd made was, and what he might have to do to win Jack back - if he could be won back.
A kiss was pressed to Ianto's nose. “It's okay. I understand,” Jack soothed, and Ianto blinked hard.
“Wh-what?”
“It's fine,” Jack said. “It's okay. I understand - It's as much my fault as it is yours.”
“You're not … angry?”
Jack shook his head. “Nope.”
“You're … what?”
“I told you: I understand. I'm old, Ianto. I understand a few things better than even you do.”
“But you … you're supposed to be angry! I did something … I did something terrible.”
“I drove you to it.”
“I made the choice to do it! I made a mistake, and I … I've hurt you.”
“I don't feel hurt - not by you. I'm feeling more hostile toward her, knowing you to be a married man and still leading you-”
“I wasn't led!”
“I can smell how much wine she gave you from here. It's okay. How about we call us even now, and we can learn from this and we can move on? C'mon, lie down. Get some more sleep and we'll talk more when you've calmed down, if that's what you want.”
Ianto found himself being bundled up in the duvet and then tucked in on his side of the bed, Jack's hand soothingly rubbing his back as he lay on his front and got the last of the tears out of his system.
“D-do you st-still love me, Jack?” he choked out.
“Of course I still love you,” Jack sighed, pressing a kiss into his neck. “It's not that bad,” Jack soothed. “I promise. What you've done is not that bad.”
“It is,” Ianto mumbled.
“It's not.”
“I can't ever forgive myself.”
“Just think of all the good things you've done, and everything you've managed to hold together through everything I've done. You're allowed to make mistakes, Ianto.”
Ianto groaned, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, his stomach reeling. He mumbled something into his pillow, Jack's hands massaging his back comfortingly until he eventually relaxed enough to fall sleep.
~*~*~*~
He was sat in a dark room, echoing voices all around him. His head hurt, and the chair he was sat on was wooden and uncomfortable, making him ache and squirm. He tensed, realising his wrists were bound to the arms of the chair and futilely he tried to free himself, the cold from the seat seeping into his bones.
There was the echo of wood striking wood, and Ianto froze, the murky darkness seemingly parting before him and revealing some twisted form of courtroom. He stared up at the judge before him, his father, bedecked in the wig and robes Ianto remembered from his own time, from the twenty-first century. His father was reading the sheet of paper handed to him, and Ianto tried to twist around in his chair, his heart beginning to pound in his chest when he couldn't find any other face he recognised - not even Jack.
The wood struck wood again, and Ianto scowled up at the judge. He mentally cursed the influence of television on his dreams - he knew from experience itself that a UK judge should not have a gavel. He concentrated on that fact as people began to file into the jurors box to Ianto's right. That shouldn't be happening either, he told his mind. Judge comes in last.
His thoughts dried up as he spotted Jack, in his own male body, on the front row of the box, avoiding his eyes. On the back row, directly behind him, sat Giacomo - but not Ianto's Giacomo. The older one. The one with cold eyes that had no problem holding Ianto's gaze, that gave his heart chills. Jack turned in his chair to talk to Giacomo, and they both laughed. Ianto tore his eyes away, seeing Rhys, Gwen, Tosh and Owen and Lisa on his jury, too. Till was there, and Rhiannon and Johnny, and beside them was Ianto's mother. The final two seats were empty.
“Ianto,” called his father's booming voice. Ianto felt like he was seven years old again.
“Yes, sir?” he replied, his voice small.
His father tutted dramatically. “What have you done? Such a disappointment. As if being stupid and useless wasn't enough …”
There was a titter through the jury, and Ianto's attention switched to them, and he tried to stare into all their faces and just dare them to try laughing at him again.
“Ianto!” his father snapped, smacking his gavel down again gleefully. “Let's talk about … evidence, shall we? Shall we call a witness to the stand?”
“Witness?” Ianto repeated, as the doors behind him creaked open and slammed shut. He heard soft-soled shoes shuffling across the floor, and his mouth dropped open as he recognised Niamh Molloy from secondary school, still in her uniform and wearing terrible nineties make up, her lipstick smudged slightly at the corners.
“Tell us, Miss Molloy,” Ianto's father began. “When did you last see Ianto?”
“Last day o' school before Christmas in year ten,” she began, slouching in her chair like all the cool girls did, her words lazy and her accent thick. “Me and him skipped last lesson and went to the park to piss about n' that.”
“I see.” Ianto's father glared down at him disapprovingly. “What did you do at the park, Miss Molloy?”
“Messed about on the roundabout n' that. He wouldn't push me on the swings. We went and sat by the trees for a bit.”
“Yes, yes … what happened next?”
“We had sex.”
His father brought his hand up to his mouth mockingly. “What?”
“Yeah. And it was shit.”
“But - and let me get this right - in year ten, you were fifteen, right?”
“No,” laughed Niamh cruelly. “I was fifteen. He was always the baby - he was still fourteen, and he was shit.”
Ianto swallowed hard, wishing he wasn't crying so profusely as the jury began to titter and chatter again. He heard his father ask him if this was all true, and Ianto nodded his head then let it hang, staring at his knees.
“Miss Molloy,” continued Judge Jones. “What happened after you left the park?”
“Well … It was Christmas about, wannit? It were dark n' that. After we'd done we went home - only I never made it home, did I?”
“Did you not?” asked the judge, his eyes glinting. “Why didn't you make it home, Miss Molloy?”
“'Cause I was mugged, raped and stabbed to death by the building site, innit” Niamh shrugged.
“And why did that happen? Can you tell us?” Ianto's father coaxed.
Ianto raised his head, and he forced himself to look her in the eye.
“'Cause Ianto Jones never offered to walk me home,” she told them all bitterly, sagging a little in her chair.
Ianto lowered his head guiltily again.
“Tut tut,” sighed his father. “And everyone here thought you were such a gentleman - turns out you're no better than the piece of scum I always knew you'd be.”
Ianto nodded his head, tears leaking from his eyes and splattering onto his thighs. “I'm sorry, Niamh. I'm sorry,” he choked out, and raised his head. He turned to look at Jack, and Jack was staring at him like he hadn't seen him before - and not in a good way. Staring at him like he wished he'd never met him. Ianto turned back to Niamh Molloy, but she had disappeared. “Niamh?” he called weakly, and his father's laugh boomed out from the judge's stand.
“You don't get to be absolved of your sins here. Just punished. Shall we call our next witness to the stand? Ah - my darling wife!”
Ianto's mother, Dawn Jones, was making her way from the jury box to the witness stand. Ianto watched her silently, his lips pressed together. She looked like she did in the photographs they'd kept of her - well, what else did Ianto really have to remember her by?
“Dawn,” smiled her husband, his eyes sparkling as he looked upon his wife. “Tell everybody about Ianto - tell us what he did.”
“He killed me,” she replied.
“How?”
“By being born. All I did was try and give him a good life, to bring him into the world - and he killed me for it!”
Ianto sobbed. “Didn't mean to … didn't mean to … I was a baby! How could I have meant to? The doctors weren't good enough - and they'd said after Rhi for her not have any more. Not my fault. Not my fault.”
His father sneered, “But it is.”
Ianto stared up at them both for a second, and in the blink of an eye his mother was gone and her seat in the juror's box empty. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, opening them again and wishing his mam might come back. She didn't.
“Next!” his father called lazily. “Captain Jack Harkness.”
Jack took to the stand. “He betrayed me,” he told the room without much need for prompting. “I did my best for him. I did everything for him. I gave him everything he wanted - still it wasn't enough. He slept with that stupid bitch he'd been mooning over for five years who couldn't give him the time of day until she was poor and he wasn't. That's all our marriage was worth to him.”
“Ianto, Ianto,” sighed his father. “Always so selfish. Always just thinking of himself.”
Jack snorted. “Too right. All I've asked him for is a child, and he refuses me!”
Ianto gritted his teeth. “That's not fair!”
“No,” agreed Judge Jones. “No it's not. Shame on you, Ianto. So far from home and you don't even want to carry on the Jones line?”
“Stop it! I'ts not … not about … I'm scar-”
“Tut tut; everything that's been done for you. Your life handed to you on a plate.”
“It's not about that! I … have … My life isn't easy!”
Jack snorted again. “You make it hard for yourself. You think your life is harder than mine? With you constantly over my shoulder with your criticism and derision?”
“I just want what's best for you … I want you to be the best that I know you can be.”
“I can look after myself - I've survived without you for long enough. I keep you because you're willing, and because you get so pitiful when you're left alone. You take advantage of me.”
Ianto shook his head. “Stop it,” he sniffed. “This isn't fair. This isn't true.”
Jack resumed his seat in the jury, his shoulder being squeezed sympathetically by the others around him, the older Giacomo leaning forward to hug him from behind.
Stretching until his back cracked, Judge Jones yawned widely. “Another witness?” he offered the jury, and they all nodded. “Giacomo?”
Ianto swallowed hard, and turned, frowning when the older Giacomo in the stand didn't move. Instead, the doors behind him opened and timidly, a five-year-old Giacomo - Ianto's Little Jack - in the small black replica of his father's coat ran as fast as he could to the witness box. He sat on the chair, cuddling himself and waiting.
“Giacomo,” Ianto's father began. “Tell us about Ianto would you, love?”
Giacomo stared around at them all, and hugged himself tighter. He stared at the floor and shook his head.
“C'mon now,” tried the judge. “Or are you too scared?”
Giacomo stared around again, avoided Ianto's eyes, then nodded.
“You don't need to be scared - look, we have him tied down. You don't ever have to see him again if you tell us about him.”
Swallowing hard and eyeing Ianto's restraints, Giacomo sniffed. “He shouts. He's mean. He never lets me have anything - not even my own Dad!”
There were audible sounds of disapproval from the jury, and Ianto opened and closed his mouth, turning to try and catch Jack's eye, try and see if he would in any way, shape or form support him still. He got nothing.
“He's jealous of me,” scowled Giacomo, continuing now that he'd started. “Jealous because my dad will always love me more than he'll ever love him.”
“That's not true!” Ianto sobbed. “That's not true.”
“That's how it feels!” Giacomo snapped at him. “You just want him for yourself! Why can't I have him for myself? I deserve to have him all for me, and you should be far away from us!
“I hate him,” Giacomo continued. “I hate him - and he thinks that he has more right to call himself my father than my real Dad! He doesn't think the biology matters, but it does!”
“Giacomo,” Ianto choked out. “No - I l-love you. I love you like my own. Please, don't … Please don't … You don't know what you're saying.”
Judge Jones was laughing, calming himself enough to thank Giacomo, and in turn Little Jack disappeared.
“Carrying on in the same vein,” Judge Jones announced. “Your little almost-namesake could perhaps make an appearance? Ian and Elaine Ivy?”
Ian scowled his entire way up to the witness box, the lights on his trainers flashing the whole way as Elaine led him by the hand. She sat him on her knee, cooing over him and soothing him.
“I cant believe I left this man in charge of my son,” she began, her lip curling as she looked down her nose at where Ianto was sat, bound to his chair and wishing he could just disappear. “I hear endless tales of punishments, punishments and punishments. He tells me I have no idea how to discipline my child, and then returns him to me stripped of all the little treats I chose to buy for him under the name of 'teaching good behaviour'. That man isn't fit to look after my child.”
Ian scowled at him. “I hate him. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.”
Ianto was shutting himself down; he couldn't bear to hear any more, even though he knew more would doubtlessly come. He shook his head in wont for anything else to do, and he waited for them to inevitably disappear, too.
“So,” declared Judge Jones, banging the gavel he wasn't supposed to have and apparently for fun. “Let's talk charges and sentencing shall we? He as good as murdered Niamh. He murdered his mother. Poor Giacomo, putting up with him being such a terrible father. Almost abusive to sweet little Ian - and then there's Jack. His husband.” His father said it in a way that made the word sound dirty. Ianto was more than aware of what his father would think. “Murderer twice over, a bad parent, betrayer, mutineer, adulterer. Stupid, ugly - a disappointment to me and to his mother. To everyone who's ever known him. What should his sentence be?”
“Cut his dick off,” suggested Lisa.
“Beat him with his own kettle,” Owen called.
“Stasis cell,” Toshiko said darkly. “Let him have bad dreams forever.”
Giacomo laughed at them all. “Stab him through the heart,” he grinned. “Let me do it - I promise I won't miss this time.”
Judge Jones chuckled. “We should stitch his hole so tight he'll never take cock again, filthy little slut.”
“Hey!” Jack scowled. “I was hoping he'd still be useful for something once all this was finished!”
Gwen shrugged. “He has a mouth.”
The doors boomed open, and heavy footfalls beat the floor as their owner stomped into the room through the shocked silence that had fallen. Ianto stared open-mouthed as the Jack Harkness had known and loved form the twenty-first century strode in, face like thunder and jaw set and tense. He swept himself up in his big grey coat to the witness box, and glared at the assembled jury until his eyes rested on his future self. They both gave each other 'I want to fuck you as hard as I hate you' glares, then returned their attention to Ianto.
Ianto swallowed, and the Jack in the stand gave him a reassuring wink. For the first time in what seemed like hours, Ianto felt like he could breathe.
“It appears we have a late witness,” began Judge Jones cheerfully. “The more the merrier! Tell me, now; Ianto betrayed Torchwood, didn't he?”
“Yes. He did,” nodded Jack, sitting back and folding his arms. “And?”
“Well … Weren't you upset?”
“Yes. I was. And?”
“He didn't just betray Torchwood, did he though?” Ianto's father tried. “Who was it that felt the worst of this betrayal?”
Jack glared up at Ianto's father. “I did,” Jack growled, irritated. “I felt the worst of the betrayal. It wasn't just Torchwood he betrayed - it was me. He ripped my heart out and watched it bleed. He put me and my team in danger - he put our entire existence as a race in danger. He was blind to the consequences, thinking he was doing something to help when really he was just hurting everyone he'd never known. Especially me.”
“And?”
“And I forgave him.”
Another silence hung through the courtroom, and Jack surveyed all in attendance with a defiant glare. Ianto watched him, his heart aching so much he wanted to double over with the pain.
“I miss you so much,” he sobbed, and Jack's eyes flicked over to him, his expression softer.
“I missed you, too.”
“All I've been wanting to do is wake up, but if I can be with you I just want to sleep forever.”
Jack smiled. “I know how that feels.” He got up from his chair, and crossed the room to where Ianto was bound to his own seat. He crouched before him, and curled a finger under his chin. “Remember our last day? Our perfect day?”
Ianto let the tears run down his face and he nodded, choking a little on his now uncontrolled sobbing.
“Do you remember why we were still outside? Why we were still out in the storm?”
“I-I-I'd b-been putting posters up.”
“And then?”
“And then it started, so I ran back to th-the Plass. Roald Dahl Plass. And you were there, waiting for me, and I fell into your arms.”
Jack nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out one of his handkerchiefs to mop up Ianto's tears gently.
“The Rift dropped an alien life form right by us. I ran to help her … and … and if I hadn't saved her I-I'd still be with y-y-you.”
“Nah. You don't need to be with me any more.”
“I miss you.”
“Everybody misses me once I've gone.”
Ianto laughed, finding himself nodding.
“You're allowed to be happy, Ianto.”
“I am.”
“You're not. You think you're not the man you used to be. You think you're not worth what you used to be. You think you're not as good a person as you used to be because you're not running around saving people all day. Well, let me tell you something: you're still saving people. You're saving me, all this time away, from myself. You're saving my sons-”
“I'm not,” Ianto sniffed. “I'm a terrible parent. I knew I would be. I'm just like my own father.”
“Shut up, Ianto,” Jack smiled. “You know you're lying to yourself. Don't listen to your father, don't listen to these silly caricatures you've invented in your head. You're the best at everything - especially interrupting my uplifting speeches about no matter how many people you save, you will never feel like you're worth something until you've bothered to save yourself.”
Ianto nodded, swallowing hard. “That's … that's a wonderfully philosophical ideal. Google?”
“Heyy,” Jack pouted. “I thought of it myself. I promise.”
“You rehearsed though - I could tell.”
Jack's pout transformed into a blinding grin, and he leaned in a pressed a kiss to Ianto's nose. “I think you should wake up now,” he sighed, regret greying his words.
Ianto nodded, and finally he squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could.
~*~*~*~
Ianto was cold and clammy, and his arms were tangled into the bedsheets, holding him down. Jack was leaning over him, his long hair brushing Ianto's shoulder as he tried to coax him awake, a tissue in his hand.
“You awake?” he asked worriedly.
Ianto nodded, sitting up and hugging himself. “Bad dream.”
“I noticed,” he tutted, wiping at Ianto's face with the tissue. “Can you remember what it was about?”
Ianto shook his head. “Not clearly. I remember … I remember a courtroom. And … and my father,” he shivered. “I was on trial for … for … stuff. My past - and th-the present.”
Jack clocked what he was talking about, and kissed Ianto's cheek. “I already forgave you.”
“You don't understand. I think … I think I need you to be angry at me.”
Jack sighed heavily. “You're always saying that I don't 'understand' you. Maybe this time, you could try and understand me, yeah? You're clever. Once you've calmed down and thought about it, you'll get there.”
“I'm so, so sorry.”
“I know. But it's already in the past.”
“I c-can't -”
“How about you talk me through it?” Jack suggested. “How about you tell me every last little detail?” he added with a dirty smirk. His hands found themselves to Ianto's shoulders, pushing him until he was lying down so that he could straddle his hips. He leaned down and kissed him slowly. “C'mon,” he murmured against Ianto's lips. “Tell me what she was like.”
Ianto's gut curdled with the guilt. His brow furrowed deeply as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to find something to say.
Jack kissed his mouth again. “What did she feel like?” he tried.
Ianto struggled to find words. “I … She was … different,” he mumbled. “Not everything she thought she was, and not everything I hoped she'd be.”
Jack sighed disappointedly. “This isn't very good dirty talk. C'mon - try harder.”
“Sh-She dominated me. We did it her way.” He paused as Jack pressed their mouths together before beginning to work his way down to Ianto's neck. “She rode me hard - like she was frightened I was going to get up and run away. She fucked me like she hadn't had a good shag for years. I thought she'd never get off my cock the way she was going …”
Jack chuckled from somewhere around Ianto's exposed bellybutton. “Did she suck you?”
“No … but I … erm … Y'know?”
“Licked her cunt?”
Ianto nodded, turning slightly pink. “My tongue went everywhere.”
Jack grinned. “I can guess. I know how especially good you are with that tongue …”
Ianto tried to chuckle, but the sound came out as more of a staccato gurgle. He was saved from going into more detail as the phone started ringing, and with an annoyed groan Jack reached over him to lift the receiver by their bed.
“Harkness-Jones household,” he said tersely. “Oh! Oh - good morning, Mr. Poole,” he continued, his tone jumping to something much more delightful. “Of course. Ianto and I will be there first thing tomorrow morning … This afternoon? Well … okay. One? Yep. See you then, then. Goodbye.” He hung up, then flopped down onto Ianto's chest. “Lawyer,” he sighed. “We have a meeting at one 'o' clock this afternoon so we can get this marriage legitimacy crap sorted once and for all.”
“Yeah,” Ianto replied despondently. “Jack … Can you change back into a man yet?”
“Huh?”
“Please? Turn back into yourself?”
Jack pouted. “But I like my breasts.”
“I miss you. The real you.”
Jack grinned widely. “You miss cock, don't you?”
“A bit,” Ianto admitted. “But I miss having my big, strong husband hanging around most.”
“Fine, fine. I'll nip down at some point and have everything switched back. I might even get myself a job while I'm out.”
“That would be more than desirable,” Ianto nodded, turning onto his side and curling up. “Ugh … I feel so sick,” he complained.
“Maybe you're pregnant,” Jack joked, and Ianto managed to whack him with his pillow. He was aware of Jack lying down next to him, and stared ahead into the distance, thinking about his dream as he listened to the soft, calm breathing behind him.
He thought about what his dream-self had admitted to himself, and of the ghosts and demons he'd been forced to face.
That he still wasn't over the twenty-first century version of Jack wasn't much of a shock, but the fact he was so terrified of Ian and Giacomo and any other children he might have hating him like he'd hated his own father was almost a revelation to him.
Ianto turned himself over, watching Jack relaxing with his eyes closed for a moment. He ran his eyes over him, over the curved, feminine body he wore so well, and in his mind examined the masculine one. Biting his lip, Ianto tugged and Jack's pyjama bottoms, pulling the waistband below his hip a little.
“Hey,” Jack chastised playfully. “Ask first!”
“Just checking,” Ianto replied, running his finger over the indicator chip embedded in Jack's hip. “Could you really get pregnant?” he asked.
Jack's eyebrow raised, like Ianto was asking a silly question. “Yes. In theory.”
“Theory?”
“Well, not every woman can have a child. Sometimes … something's slightly off and it just can't happen.”
“Ohhhh I see,” Ianto nodded, understanding Jack's meaning. He sat up, frowning thoughtfully. Obviously everything would depend on Jack, and on Jack getting the right job - one that was hopefully in a similar wage band to his previous one. If not, Ianto could work with that - he was nothing if not fastidious with numbers. He could make it work. Things would be difficult emotionally at first once Giacomo had gone, but since Giacomo had apparently learned Ianto's trait of always being right Ianto was sure things would get better.
Ianto cleared his throat. “Jack?”
“Yahuh?”
“Erm …” he began, then realised he didn't quite know what to say. Jack waited expectantly, his brow creasing when Ianto didn't continue. Finally, Ianto swallowed. “Just love you, is all,” he said quietly, then rested his head on Jack's shoulder.
Jack kissed his hair. “You, too. Now: you see if you can get some peaceful sleep before Ian wakes up and tears the house apart. I've decided he probably shouldn't stay as long next summer. He misses his mother too much - that, and he's a brat.”
“Mmm,” Ianto replied, shuddering a little as his dream haunted him again.
“You okay?” frowned Jack. “Aren't you going to tell me that it's all Elaine's fault for not having any idea of how to promote good behaviour?” Ianto said nothing, so Jack patted his arm. “At least somebody was listening,” he placated. “It must be your beautiful vowels - can't get enough of them.”
“Beautiful Welsh vowels,” Ianto mumbled into his pillow, the comment only stinging dully despite the memories and the emotions dragged up by his nightmare. He felt the fingers comb though his hair again, playing gently with his ear lobes. He yawned. He was tired.
“I can get you a sleep aid if you want one,” Jack suggested.
Ianto nodded, and felt Jack leave the bed, returning with a glass of water and a small pill. “This should knock you out for a couple of hours, but it'll be peaceful.”
Sitting up a little bit, Ianto accepted the tablet and drank it down with a gulp of the water. In only a few moments, he was unconscious.
Right, thought Jack, cracking his knuckles in a rather un-ladylike way. Work to do.
~*~*~*~
Rina's house was an awful little thing, and Jack found himself turning his nose up at it. He'd put on his best dress and his best jacket and his best make up, clutching his favourite handbag to his side as he knocked on the door as hard as he could.
After a few minutes, there was no answer, so he tried again. And again.
Eventually, there was movement in the hallway and a very bleary woman answered the door. Jack's lip curled. She wasn't that attractive, even from his thoroughly objective viewpoint. “Rina, isn't it?” he said, and she nodded. “Yes, hi. Could I come in?”
“Who are you?” Rina asked defensively, not quite ready to let the strange woman who had come knocking on her door at eight AM into her house yet.
“My name is Alice Canning. I need to speak to you.”
“What about?”
“I don't think you'd want me saying it on your doorstep for the world to hear,” Jack insisted.
Dubiously, the door was opened further and Jack was allowed in. He clenched his jaw, spotting Giacomo's rucksack by the door, forgotten. He swallowed hard. “Kids?” he asked conversationally, nodding toward the bag.
He saw her eyes widen slightly. “Erm … no. That's my neighbour's. I watch him sometimes.”
“Pity there aren't that many good neighbours left around,” he commented, his eyes travelling over the tiny living room he'd been led into. She showed him to a seat on the settee and he asked her a few questions that really weren't of interest to him at all, nodding along to what she told him. He struck up some friendly conversation, and eventually they wound up chatting inanely - Rina seemed to have forgotten his entire reason for being there until the conversation turned to husbands.
“Mine's off on a training course,” sighed Rina. “Bloody useless, he is. Well, not useless as such. He's got a brain the size of this house, he just doesn't see the point in using it any more.”
“My husband is unemployed,” nodded Jack. “Also very clever, but unfortunately not in ways many would think of as 'employable' any more. I'm the breadwinner in our household - he just tells me what I'm allowed to do with said bread. Do you and yours have a commitment agreement?”
“Erm … sort of,” Rina replied, shifting in her seat.
“Me and mine do,” Jack carried on. “His idea. I'm perfectly happy with the idea of more casual one-time-only encounters, but he's … Well, given the old-fashioned nature of some of his ideas, you'd almost think he fell out of the sky!” he chuckled. “Wouldn't change him though. Not at all.”
Rina nodded along quietly. “I see. Erm … Sorry … Erm … What was it you had to talk to me about, again?”
Jack cleared his throat as delicately as he could. “Yes … that. Well, I just thought I'd warn you, really.”
“Warn me? About what?”
“About Captain Jack Harkness. He knows what happened here last night.”
Rina's fingers flew to her mouth. “Nothing happened,” she said.
Jack shrugged. “I suppose it's none of my business,” he lied. “Just thought I'd give you a heads up in case he took it upon himself to do something about it.” He gathered up his bag and got to his feet, sensing his welcome was victoriously outstayed.
Rina showed him to the door, the atmosphere tense and cold. Jack didn't bother saying goodbye to her as he picked up Giacomo's bag, then made his way out of the pedestrianised estate to the car park and he climbed in without a word and drove off, leaving Rina on her doorstep.
Hopefully, he'd frightened her enough to not try and contact Ianto again.
Jack gripped the steering wheel tightly, then pulled over to the side of the road to take his tablet PC from thee glove box and open up the tracking program he used to cover where Ianto had been the night before. He shut it down and erased his activity as best he could - he decided that all cautions were necessary, given Ianto's affinity with computers borne from long days of house-husbandry.
Rubbing his hands together, he fished his phone out of his bag and began flicking through, pausing for a moment to type out an email then sent it with one final, resolute tap of his thumb. After a moment he received a confirmation, and with a heavy sigh he started the engine and pulled out into the road.
Time to say goodbye to this body, and get his old one back.
~*~*~*~
“Get off, Ian!” snapped Giacomo, snatching his oil pastel back. “You can't play with these. You're too young.”
Ianto appeared in the doorway, basket of clean washing in his hands. “Can't you let him use your wax crayons?”
“I gave him the wax crayons,” grumbled Giacomo. “He wants what I've got because I've got it- OW! Ian!”
Giacomo struck him back, and Ian burst into tears.
“H-h-he h-h-h-hit me!” he gasped. “Uh-uh-uncle Ianto … h-h-he h-hit me!” Ian wailed.
Ianto rolled his eyes, putting his basket on the other end of the table and starting to fold a few things. “You hit him first, Ian. Maybe you'll think twice before hitting somebody again.”
The front door banged open dramatically, and Ianto rolled his eyes. “Your father's back.”
“I'm back!”
“See,” said Ianto, then paused. It sounded like … “Jack?”
Jack popped into the doorway, finally once again over six foot tall, curves and long hair gone and very definitely back to his old self. Ianto blinked. He wasn't entirely sure he'd meant what he'd asked that morning, but he wasn't going to complain. Jack posed for a moment, leaning on the door frame, tight red t-shirt and black jeans hugging every inch of him.
He frowned when he saw the tears rolling down Ian's face as Giacomo shot over to him to hug him. “What's up with the little 'un?” he asked, ruffling Giacomo's hair.
“He smacked me, so I smacked him back.”
“Ah. Good.” He turned his attention to Ian. “Not nice being hit is it, eh?” he said, sympathetically. “Won't do it again now you know how it feels, will you?” He lifted Ian up into his arms like he weighed nothing. “Now come on you two - pack up some things. Rhys is going to take care of you for the afternoon. Ianto and I have an appointment.”
He grinned at Ianto, who was still frozen half way through folding a t-shirt. He blinked and remembered himself, then crossed the room as Ian was put on the floor and let Jack pull him into a tight hug. “You look good,” he murmured into his ear. He was pulling away just as Jack caught his lips and kissed him properly, and Ianto found himself pretty much sagging into Jack's arms like a schoolgirl. They forgot the kids were there for a moment, re-familiarising themselves with what their kiss should feel like, until they became aware of Ian's disapproving 'ewwwwwww' and Giacomo's retching.
“Show's over,” Jack grinned at them, giving Giacomo a gentle push toward the film shelf. “Pick something to take to Rhys' - something for you both.”
Giacomo grumbled but agreed anyway, searching through their collection and getting more and more annoyed with the number of films Ian was turning down.
Ianto continued folding the laundry, watching Jack out of the corner of his eye as he hung about the doorway, then decided to make himself useful by helping fold some clothes, too. Ianto stared openly, then snapped his mouth shut and smiled, saying nothing as Jack smiled back and tried to be helpful.
“I got a job interview,” Jack said casually, watching Giacomo and Ian arguing over films. Eventually Giacomo just let Ian pick and started packing up some drawing things for himself.
“Oh?” prompted Ianto.
“It's similar pay to what I was on before - perhaps a little less. I won't be home for certain nights a week, though. I suppose I could find something else … only things are getting on a bit now, and we need income … so …”
Ianto paused his folding. “We'll talk about it later.” He continued his chore, his mouth a little dryer, biting his lip thoughtfully.
The kids declared that they were ready, and so they put on their coats and went outside. Ianto frowned at his car. “Did you take my car this morning?” he asked.
Jack nodded. “I figured somebody had to drive it. She was getting lonely.”
Ianto shrugged. “Fair enough.” He buckled Ian into the back seat of Jack's blue car, testing to make sure it was secure before getting into the passenger side in the front. Jack drove them to Rhys' quickly, with Ianto growling at him to slow down most of the way. “We're not racing,” he reminded him for the millionth time.
Jack just grinned.
“Bear in mind there are children in the back,” sighed Ianto, gripping the dashboard as Jack artfully flung the car around the corner of Rhys' street then broke hard outside his house. Jack waited in the car with the window wound down as Ianto got out and took the kids to the door.
Rhys answered it with a wide grin, pulling Ianto into a tight bear-hug. “You need to come 'round more often,” he told him. “And so do you,” he ordered Giacomo, stooping to hug him, too. “Ianto: you are having weekly tea and biscuits with me on Fridays. No arguing.”
“Wouldn't you rather be shoving your head into engines and talking about speed and power and stuff?”
Rhys punched his arm. “Don't be daft. I've been missing your company - you're a good influence on me, you are - C'mon now, you kids. Get inside before Ianto changes his mind and drags you back home again.”
Ian was wary. He hadn't really met Rhys before. Giacomo stood on tiptoe as Ianto stooped to kiss him goodbye, then he ruffled Ian's hair and the boys went into the hallway to wave off Jack and Ianto.
On the road again, the conversation in the car had dried up. Eventually, Ianto forced himself to say something. “You had them make you thinner,” he observed.
Jack gave him a cheeky wink. “All for you benefit - I have more muscle tone, too. Wait 'til you see my stomach.”
“Believe me; I don't think I can wait,” sighed Ianto.
“I'll take you home after meeting Mr. Poole,” Jack promised with a smirk. “Just you and me.”
They drove on, finally finding the car park they needed and spiralling their way up the multi-storey in search of a space. Parked up, they made their way to Mr. Poole's office.
Post Too Large: Click HERE to Continue.
Chapter: 04|??
Author: a_silver_story
Rating: 18/Adult/NC-17 overall
Warnings: Smexy timez
Disclaimer: Anything recognisable to Torchood S1, 2 and 3 belongs to Russell T. Davies at the BBC. Now pass the Retcon, and drink it down with coffee.
Summary: Set five years after Another Life.
Another Life | Chapter One
To Another | Chapter 1 (Five Years Later)
Giacomo sat on the floor by the window in the strange living room he had woken up in, his jaw set as he concentrated on the pencil moving between his fingers, rolling it to get a finer, sharper edge before rolling it back to work with the softer one, shading and sketching.
Ianto had brought him to the house of a woman he'd lived with before he'd come to Giacomo and Rhys' unit. Her name was Rina, and she'd lived with Till, too. Giacomo had quite liked her at first, when she'd let them in and given him hot chocolate then helped Ianto tuck him into the bed they'd made up on the sofa - all the while explaining that her husband was away on a training course.
Clearing his throat, Giacomo wiped his nose.
They had thought he was asleep, moving to the kitchen in the tiny open-plan house so that Ianto could clean himself up a bit and Rina could fuss over his scratches and the bruises forming over his torso. Giacomo had heard her practically throwing herself at Ianto, and Ianto resisting and resisting until eventually the talking stopped.
Giacomo had tossed and turned, trying not to think about the slightest sound coming from upstairs. Eventually he sat up, curiosity winning out. Wiggling his toes, he stuck his feet out from under his blanket and got himself up from the sofa, heading for the stairs. He crept up them slowly, grimacing at the cheap polymer beneath his feet rather than the carpeted surfaces he was used to at home as his feet got colder and colder.
Swallowing hard as he crawled across the landing, Giacomo could hear the laboured breathing, the hitching breaths and the gasps and moans from the door left open just crack at the end of the short hallway. He tried to convince himself to turn back, but he couldn't peel his eyes away from the light spilling out through the gap between the door and its frame. He was curious, to say the least, for his own reasons as well as the inability to look away from the proverbial 'train wreck'.
He'd read about it, and he'd learned about it at school. He'd been told things by his friends, seen flashes of it on TV and figured that it didn't really happen much in his house. At school it was funny, something they laughed off and pulled faces over and made vomiting sounds about, even though their teachers had taught them everything about a mammal's 'need' and that they would 'crave' it. That it would make them - them, as males, especially, programmed to 'spread their genes as far and as often as possible' - do stupid things. Evolutionary gears could overrule anything when you hadn't been properly 'satisfied' for a while.
And Rina had given Ianto wine, and Ianto only ever drank when he was out with Rhys, and that never happened any more.
Giacomo held his breath, and pushed the door gently. His jaw tensed and set as he stared at them, Ianto lying on his back, Rina astride him. Ianto was tensed and arching, Rina was laughing, and as Ianto relaxed he tumbled them both over, laughing with her and kissing her.
With a choked-back sob, Giacomo turned and ran back down the stairs, curling back into his sofa bed with the blanket pulled tightly over his head. He listened carefully, but nobody had heard him. He stayed as he was for longer than he could reckon, before slowly poking his head out from under the blanket and squinting over at the clock. It was nearly four AM.
He folded his blanket carefully and draped it over the end of the sofa. He was angry now - angry at that woman for giving Ianto the wine, and at Ianto for not being strong enough. Ianto was always strong enough. Ianto was always the voice of reason, the one who could tell right from wrong and the one whom he could rely on to be rational and … well … right. What Giacomo had seen had thrown his world off-kilter in more ways than one. He felt different inside, and the thought crossed his mind that maybe Ianto wasn't perfect.
Ianto himself had said that he wasn't. Giacomo never believed him.
Ianto said silly things, was stubborn to the point where silly things happened - but he never did stupid things. Ianto was supposed to be clever. Ianto was supposed to be better.
Giacomo sniffed, needing to find some scrap paper and hopefully a pencil. A pen would do, but Giacomo wanted a pencil. He rummaged through some drawers in the living room, eventually finding a memo pad a the last sharpened inch of a graphite. He sat under the window and began scribbling mindlessly, letting his hand do the work while his brain spun into overdrive.
He was fairly certain his life had just changed, and he was just as certain that it probably wasn't for the better.
His pencil stopped when he heard movement on the landing, hurried but secretive, like it wasn't intended to be heard. Giacomo looked down at his drawing, almost ashamed of himself for what he had drawn. He jumped up to his feet and hurried into the kitchen, ripping up the paper before running it under the tap and screwing it and mashing it into a pulp before throwing it away.
Dawn was breaking into the living room, and an idea came to Giacomo. During his rummage through the drawers, he'd seen the differences between them, and was guessing that one of them belonged to the woman whose house it was, and another further along belonged to her husband. Giacomo's stomach fluttered, and he hurried over to the memo block and picked up his pencil, scribbling a quick note as footsteps crept down the stairs.
By the time Ianto was in the room with him, Giacomo had hidden the note and returned the memo block to the sideboard. The pencil he kept in his hand.
“Giacomo?” Ianto called as he poked his head in. “Oh, good. C'mon - we need to go.”
“Why?” asked Giacomo. “The sun's not even up yet.”
“Please - just come on, okay? We should go home.”
“I want to go to Rhys'.”
“Giacomo-”
“I know what you did,” Giacomo cut him off, his chin jutting a little defiantly. He saw the colour drain from Ianto's face, his eyes widening, his mouth dropping open slightly.
“I … I-I … We … We need to go,” Ianto managed, turning sharply into the hallway and gathering their coats, swinging his on and tossing Giacomo's to him when he appeared.
“Are we going to Rhys'?”
“No,” Ianto replied shortly. “We're going home.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Ianto said, his tone brooking little argument as he pulled open the front door and guided Giacomo out by his shoulder. He closed it again behind them, quietly and gently and grabbed Giacomo's hand, walking briskly back in the direction they came as the sky began to turn a paler and paler grey. Giacomo was almost jogging to keep up, wishing he was fully grown so that his legs might be long enough to keep pace.
“Why did you do it?” Giacomo asked, and he felt the tension travel to Ianto's hand.
“Because … I … I don't know.”
“You can't not know,” Giacomo scowled.
“It's really none of your business, Giacomo.”
“That's adult-speak for-”
“Seriously. Stop.”
“Would saying 'no' to her really have been that difficult?”
“You wouldn't understand.”
“I know right from wrong! I know you wouldn't let Jack sleep with anyone else - even when he asked.”
“That's enough now.”
“Are you going to tell him?”
“Of course I'm going to tell him.”
“What if he-”
“I don't need you making me more scared than I already am.”
“You shouldn't have done it then!”
“It's not that simple.”
“Yes it is.”
Ianto stopped walking. “How could you possibly understand? How could you even come close to understanding? You can't even get an - Never mind. I just want to go home.”
“What if Dad kicks you out?”
“Shut up!” Ianto snapped, his eyes stinging a little. “Just stop it.”
“You shouldn't have done it then!”
“I'm not perfect, Giacomo!” Ianto ran stressed hands through his hair.
“To me you were!” Giacomo shouted, pressing his lips together in an attempt to stop the bottom one wobbling, tensing his jaw and balling his fists.
Ianto stared at him a moment, then shook his head minutely before dropping down to his knees on the paving slab below him to pull Giacomo into a hug. “I'm sorry,” he sniffed. “But Giacomo, you can't ever believe that anybody's perfect. You just can't. You put somebody on that pedestal and you're setting yourself up for disappointment. Nobody's perfect. Nobody - especially not me.”
Giacomo squeezed him tightly, his now damp face buried in Ianto's neck. He finally drew his head back, then pressed a kiss to Ianto's mouth. “I love you still.”
Ianto kissed Giacomo's nose. “I love you more than you could know.”
His brow furrowed. “Do you love me more than you love my father?”
“I don't know,” Ianto shrugged. “The way I love your father is different to the way I love you. You'll understand when you're grown up and have children of your own.”
Giacomo shuddered. “I don't want to grow up,” he said, shaking his head resolutely. “It looks so depressing from what I can see.”
“Things are easier when you're a child,” Ianto agreed. “But when you're grown up, you can do what you like - you could have sweets whenever you want them,” he tried with a forced grin, standing up and taking Giacomo's hand as they set off walking again.
“I'll believe that when Dad can have sweets whenever he wants them.”
Ianto chuckled. “Fair point. But when you have your own house, it will be your rules.”
“I'll believe that when Dad can have his own rules in his own house.”
Ianto made a 'pssshhhhht' sound. “I only make him believe it's his house.”
Giacomo giggled, then yawned widely. They walked along in companionable silence until they reached the end of their street, and Giacomo cleared his throat to speak. “Ianto?”
“Mmm?”
“If you love me so much, why don't you want any more children? I'm going away soon.”
Ianto squirmed at the question. “I'm … not quite sure,” he admitted. “I'll get lonely when you're gone. I know. Maybe we could get a dog or something when Shirley finally lets go.”
“You can't get a dog without me,” Giacomo pouted. “You know I'll always want a dog.”
“So we can have a baby without you, but not a dog?” Ianto asked amusedly.
Giacomo nodded. “I want a little sister.”
Ianto chose not to reply as they climbed the little steps to their front door, resting his hand on the handle. “Straight to bed when we get in,” he told Giacomo, taking a deep breath and pushing it open. It wasn't even five yet, so Jack and Ian were still asleep as they quietly took off their coats. Giacomo went straight upstairs, and with legs like lead Ianto followed him quietly, his shoes neatly tucked away in their place by the door.
He poked his head into the bedroom, spotting Jack fast asleep and curled around an equally unconscious Ian. Carefully, Ianto scooped Ian up into his arms and carried him to his room, tucking him in without waking him up. He checked on Giacomo one last time, as a delay if anything, and tucked him in, too. “Are you angry at me?”
Giacomo nodded. “Sort of. Am I supposed to be?”
Ianto shrugged. “I've never been in this … situation … before. I don't know what to do. All my instincts say 'tell him', but the rest of me is just … I'm … I …” Ianto cleared his throat. “You shouldn't have to hear this. You shouldn't even have to be aware of this …”
“I won't tell Dad what I saw if you don't want me to.”
Ianto's eyes widened. “Saw? You saw?” Fingers combed stressfully through his hair, his eyes leaving Giacomo's and staring into the distance.
“I didn't know where you were,” Giacomo lied. “I wanted to go to Rhys'.”
“Shit, shit, shit. Look - you don't go keeping bad secrets for me. Ever. You're too young to burden yourself with other peoples' stupidity and mistakes. Fuck.” Ianto started toward the door. “You get yourself a few more hours sleep. I have to … I have to …” He gestured toward the door, and Giacomo nodded.
Ianto nibbled his lip worriedly, wondering what the Hell he was supposed to say to Jack. What he hadn't been able to say to Giacomo was that he was scared - terrified, even - that Jack would be angry enough to throw him out. No matter how much he tried to convince himself and Jack of anything otherwise, Ianto knew he was nothing without him, and the possibility of being without him was now looming overhead. Ianto was scared for himself, for his heart, for Jack and for Giacomo.
The bedroom was still in pretty much total darkness, aside from the crack of light through the blackout blinds as grey morning tried to find a way in. Ianto watched Jack sleeping for a moment, brushing his long hair away from his too-feminine face. Swallowing, Ianto finally flicked on the dim bedside lamp and nudged him awake.
“Jack?”
“Ianto? You came back?”
“Yeah … I … We … I made a mistake, Jack.”
Jack sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Never thought I'd hear you admit to that,” he frowned. “Especially when it was my fault.”
Ianto perched awkwardly on the side of the bed, his bottom lip firmly between his teeth.
Jack frowned. “Are we both talking about the same thing?” he asked.
Shaking his head, Ianto squeezed his eyes shut.
“Ianto?” Jack tried, concerned. “Ianto - what have you done?” He pulled Ianto close, resting his chin on his head and stroking his hair. “What is it?”
“I came straight back,” Ianto sniffed. “I got Giacomo and I came straight back. I'm so sorry, Jack. I'm so sorry.”
“What? You're frightening me a bit, now, Ianto.”
Ianto felt like such a baby, crying in earnest, frightening himself. “I-I wanted to go somewhere you wouldn't find us and turn up on the doorstep the next morning. I went to Rina's.”
He felt Jack's hand still in his hair, and sat up to look at him properly. Jack's eyes searched his face, and Ianto nodded minutely. He held his breath, waiting to see just how big the mess he'd made was, and what he might have to do to win Jack back - if he could be won back.
A kiss was pressed to Ianto's nose. “It's okay. I understand,” Jack soothed, and Ianto blinked hard.
“Wh-what?”
“It's fine,” Jack said. “It's okay. I understand - It's as much my fault as it is yours.”
“You're not … angry?”
Jack shook his head. “Nope.”
“You're … what?”
“I told you: I understand. I'm old, Ianto. I understand a few things better than even you do.”
“But you … you're supposed to be angry! I did something … I did something terrible.”
“I drove you to it.”
“I made the choice to do it! I made a mistake, and I … I've hurt you.”
“I don't feel hurt - not by you. I'm feeling more hostile toward her, knowing you to be a married man and still leading you-”
“I wasn't led!”
“I can smell how much wine she gave you from here. It's okay. How about we call us even now, and we can learn from this and we can move on? C'mon, lie down. Get some more sleep and we'll talk more when you've calmed down, if that's what you want.”
Ianto found himself being bundled up in the duvet and then tucked in on his side of the bed, Jack's hand soothingly rubbing his back as he lay on his front and got the last of the tears out of his system.
“D-do you st-still love me, Jack?” he choked out.
“Of course I still love you,” Jack sighed, pressing a kiss into his neck. “It's not that bad,” Jack soothed. “I promise. What you've done is not that bad.”
“It is,” Ianto mumbled.
“It's not.”
“I can't ever forgive myself.”
“Just think of all the good things you've done, and everything you've managed to hold together through everything I've done. You're allowed to make mistakes, Ianto.”
Ianto groaned, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, his stomach reeling. He mumbled something into his pillow, Jack's hands massaging his back comfortingly until he eventually relaxed enough to fall sleep.
~*~*~*~
He was sat in a dark room, echoing voices all around him. His head hurt, and the chair he was sat on was wooden and uncomfortable, making him ache and squirm. He tensed, realising his wrists were bound to the arms of the chair and futilely he tried to free himself, the cold from the seat seeping into his bones.
There was the echo of wood striking wood, and Ianto froze, the murky darkness seemingly parting before him and revealing some twisted form of courtroom. He stared up at the judge before him, his father, bedecked in the wig and robes Ianto remembered from his own time, from the twenty-first century. His father was reading the sheet of paper handed to him, and Ianto tried to twist around in his chair, his heart beginning to pound in his chest when he couldn't find any other face he recognised - not even Jack.
The wood struck wood again, and Ianto scowled up at the judge. He mentally cursed the influence of television on his dreams - he knew from experience itself that a UK judge should not have a gavel. He concentrated on that fact as people began to file into the jurors box to Ianto's right. That shouldn't be happening either, he told his mind. Judge comes in last.
His thoughts dried up as he spotted Jack, in his own male body, on the front row of the box, avoiding his eyes. On the back row, directly behind him, sat Giacomo - but not Ianto's Giacomo. The older one. The one with cold eyes that had no problem holding Ianto's gaze, that gave his heart chills. Jack turned in his chair to talk to Giacomo, and they both laughed. Ianto tore his eyes away, seeing Rhys, Gwen, Tosh and Owen and Lisa on his jury, too. Till was there, and Rhiannon and Johnny, and beside them was Ianto's mother. The final two seats were empty.
“Ianto,” called his father's booming voice. Ianto felt like he was seven years old again.
“Yes, sir?” he replied, his voice small.
His father tutted dramatically. “What have you done? Such a disappointment. As if being stupid and useless wasn't enough …”
There was a titter through the jury, and Ianto's attention switched to them, and he tried to stare into all their faces and just dare them to try laughing at him again.
“Ianto!” his father snapped, smacking his gavel down again gleefully. “Let's talk about … evidence, shall we? Shall we call a witness to the stand?”
“Witness?” Ianto repeated, as the doors behind him creaked open and slammed shut. He heard soft-soled shoes shuffling across the floor, and his mouth dropped open as he recognised Niamh Molloy from secondary school, still in her uniform and wearing terrible nineties make up, her lipstick smudged slightly at the corners.
“Tell us, Miss Molloy,” Ianto's father began. “When did you last see Ianto?”
“Last day o' school before Christmas in year ten,” she began, slouching in her chair like all the cool girls did, her words lazy and her accent thick. “Me and him skipped last lesson and went to the park to piss about n' that.”
“I see.” Ianto's father glared down at him disapprovingly. “What did you do at the park, Miss Molloy?”
“Messed about on the roundabout n' that. He wouldn't push me on the swings. We went and sat by the trees for a bit.”
“Yes, yes … what happened next?”
“We had sex.”
His father brought his hand up to his mouth mockingly. “What?”
“Yeah. And it was shit.”
“But - and let me get this right - in year ten, you were fifteen, right?”
“No,” laughed Niamh cruelly. “I was fifteen. He was always the baby - he was still fourteen, and he was shit.”
Ianto swallowed hard, wishing he wasn't crying so profusely as the jury began to titter and chatter again. He heard his father ask him if this was all true, and Ianto nodded his head then let it hang, staring at his knees.
“Miss Molloy,” continued Judge Jones. “What happened after you left the park?”
“Well … It was Christmas about, wannit? It were dark n' that. After we'd done we went home - only I never made it home, did I?”
“Did you not?” asked the judge, his eyes glinting. “Why didn't you make it home, Miss Molloy?”
“'Cause I was mugged, raped and stabbed to death by the building site, innit” Niamh shrugged.
“And why did that happen? Can you tell us?” Ianto's father coaxed.
Ianto raised his head, and he forced himself to look her in the eye.
“'Cause Ianto Jones never offered to walk me home,” she told them all bitterly, sagging a little in her chair.
Ianto lowered his head guiltily again.
“Tut tut,” sighed his father. “And everyone here thought you were such a gentleman - turns out you're no better than the piece of scum I always knew you'd be.”
Ianto nodded his head, tears leaking from his eyes and splattering onto his thighs. “I'm sorry, Niamh. I'm sorry,” he choked out, and raised his head. He turned to look at Jack, and Jack was staring at him like he hadn't seen him before - and not in a good way. Staring at him like he wished he'd never met him. Ianto turned back to Niamh Molloy, but she had disappeared. “Niamh?” he called weakly, and his father's laugh boomed out from the judge's stand.
“You don't get to be absolved of your sins here. Just punished. Shall we call our next witness to the stand? Ah - my darling wife!”
Ianto's mother, Dawn Jones, was making her way from the jury box to the witness stand. Ianto watched her silently, his lips pressed together. She looked like she did in the photographs they'd kept of her - well, what else did Ianto really have to remember her by?
“Dawn,” smiled her husband, his eyes sparkling as he looked upon his wife. “Tell everybody about Ianto - tell us what he did.”
“He killed me,” she replied.
“How?”
“By being born. All I did was try and give him a good life, to bring him into the world - and he killed me for it!”
Ianto sobbed. “Didn't mean to … didn't mean to … I was a baby! How could I have meant to? The doctors weren't good enough - and they'd said after Rhi for her not have any more. Not my fault. Not my fault.”
His father sneered, “But it is.”
Ianto stared up at them both for a second, and in the blink of an eye his mother was gone and her seat in the juror's box empty. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, opening them again and wishing his mam might come back. She didn't.
“Next!” his father called lazily. “Captain Jack Harkness.”
Jack took to the stand. “He betrayed me,” he told the room without much need for prompting. “I did my best for him. I did everything for him. I gave him everything he wanted - still it wasn't enough. He slept with that stupid bitch he'd been mooning over for five years who couldn't give him the time of day until she was poor and he wasn't. That's all our marriage was worth to him.”
“Ianto, Ianto,” sighed his father. “Always so selfish. Always just thinking of himself.”
Jack snorted. “Too right. All I've asked him for is a child, and he refuses me!”
Ianto gritted his teeth. “That's not fair!”
“No,” agreed Judge Jones. “No it's not. Shame on you, Ianto. So far from home and you don't even want to carry on the Jones line?”
“Stop it! I'ts not … not about … I'm scar-”
“Tut tut; everything that's been done for you. Your life handed to you on a plate.”
“It's not about that! I … have … My life isn't easy!”
Jack snorted again. “You make it hard for yourself. You think your life is harder than mine? With you constantly over my shoulder with your criticism and derision?”
“I just want what's best for you … I want you to be the best that I know you can be.”
“I can look after myself - I've survived without you for long enough. I keep you because you're willing, and because you get so pitiful when you're left alone. You take advantage of me.”
Ianto shook his head. “Stop it,” he sniffed. “This isn't fair. This isn't true.”
Jack resumed his seat in the jury, his shoulder being squeezed sympathetically by the others around him, the older Giacomo leaning forward to hug him from behind.
Stretching until his back cracked, Judge Jones yawned widely. “Another witness?” he offered the jury, and they all nodded. “Giacomo?”
Ianto swallowed hard, and turned, frowning when the older Giacomo in the stand didn't move. Instead, the doors behind him opened and timidly, a five-year-old Giacomo - Ianto's Little Jack - in the small black replica of his father's coat ran as fast as he could to the witness box. He sat on the chair, cuddling himself and waiting.
“Giacomo,” Ianto's father began. “Tell us about Ianto would you, love?”
Giacomo stared around at them all, and hugged himself tighter. He stared at the floor and shook his head.
“C'mon now,” tried the judge. “Or are you too scared?”
Giacomo stared around again, avoided Ianto's eyes, then nodded.
“You don't need to be scared - look, we have him tied down. You don't ever have to see him again if you tell us about him.”
Swallowing hard and eyeing Ianto's restraints, Giacomo sniffed. “He shouts. He's mean. He never lets me have anything - not even my own Dad!”
There were audible sounds of disapproval from the jury, and Ianto opened and closed his mouth, turning to try and catch Jack's eye, try and see if he would in any way, shape or form support him still. He got nothing.
“He's jealous of me,” scowled Giacomo, continuing now that he'd started. “Jealous because my dad will always love me more than he'll ever love him.”
“That's not true!” Ianto sobbed. “That's not true.”
“That's how it feels!” Giacomo snapped at him. “You just want him for yourself! Why can't I have him for myself? I deserve to have him all for me, and you should be far away from us!
“I hate him,” Giacomo continued. “I hate him - and he thinks that he has more right to call himself my father than my real Dad! He doesn't think the biology matters, but it does!”
“Giacomo,” Ianto choked out. “No - I l-love you. I love you like my own. Please, don't … Please don't … You don't know what you're saying.”
Judge Jones was laughing, calming himself enough to thank Giacomo, and in turn Little Jack disappeared.
“Carrying on in the same vein,” Judge Jones announced. “Your little almost-namesake could perhaps make an appearance? Ian and Elaine Ivy?”
Ian scowled his entire way up to the witness box, the lights on his trainers flashing the whole way as Elaine led him by the hand. She sat him on her knee, cooing over him and soothing him.
“I cant believe I left this man in charge of my son,” she began, her lip curling as she looked down her nose at where Ianto was sat, bound to his chair and wishing he could just disappear. “I hear endless tales of punishments, punishments and punishments. He tells me I have no idea how to discipline my child, and then returns him to me stripped of all the little treats I chose to buy for him under the name of 'teaching good behaviour'. That man isn't fit to look after my child.”
Ian scowled at him. “I hate him. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.”
Ianto was shutting himself down; he couldn't bear to hear any more, even though he knew more would doubtlessly come. He shook his head in wont for anything else to do, and he waited for them to inevitably disappear, too.
“So,” declared Judge Jones, banging the gavel he wasn't supposed to have and apparently for fun. “Let's talk charges and sentencing shall we? He as good as murdered Niamh. He murdered his mother. Poor Giacomo, putting up with him being such a terrible father. Almost abusive to sweet little Ian - and then there's Jack. His husband.” His father said it in a way that made the word sound dirty. Ianto was more than aware of what his father would think. “Murderer twice over, a bad parent, betrayer, mutineer, adulterer. Stupid, ugly - a disappointment to me and to his mother. To everyone who's ever known him. What should his sentence be?”
“Cut his dick off,” suggested Lisa.
“Beat him with his own kettle,” Owen called.
“Stasis cell,” Toshiko said darkly. “Let him have bad dreams forever.”
Giacomo laughed at them all. “Stab him through the heart,” he grinned. “Let me do it - I promise I won't miss this time.”
Judge Jones chuckled. “We should stitch his hole so tight he'll never take cock again, filthy little slut.”
“Hey!” Jack scowled. “I was hoping he'd still be useful for something once all this was finished!”
Gwen shrugged. “He has a mouth.”
The doors boomed open, and heavy footfalls beat the floor as their owner stomped into the room through the shocked silence that had fallen. Ianto stared open-mouthed as the Jack Harkness had known and loved form the twenty-first century strode in, face like thunder and jaw set and tense. He swept himself up in his big grey coat to the witness box, and glared at the assembled jury until his eyes rested on his future self. They both gave each other 'I want to fuck you as hard as I hate you' glares, then returned their attention to Ianto.
Ianto swallowed, and the Jack in the stand gave him a reassuring wink. For the first time in what seemed like hours, Ianto felt like he could breathe.
“It appears we have a late witness,” began Judge Jones cheerfully. “The more the merrier! Tell me, now; Ianto betrayed Torchwood, didn't he?”
“Yes. He did,” nodded Jack, sitting back and folding his arms. “And?”
“Well … Weren't you upset?”
“Yes. I was. And?”
“He didn't just betray Torchwood, did he though?” Ianto's father tried. “Who was it that felt the worst of this betrayal?”
Jack glared up at Ianto's father. “I did,” Jack growled, irritated. “I felt the worst of the betrayal. It wasn't just Torchwood he betrayed - it was me. He ripped my heart out and watched it bleed. He put me and my team in danger - he put our entire existence as a race in danger. He was blind to the consequences, thinking he was doing something to help when really he was just hurting everyone he'd never known. Especially me.”
“And?”
“And I forgave him.”
Another silence hung through the courtroom, and Jack surveyed all in attendance with a defiant glare. Ianto watched him, his heart aching so much he wanted to double over with the pain.
“I miss you so much,” he sobbed, and Jack's eyes flicked over to him, his expression softer.
“I missed you, too.”
“All I've been wanting to do is wake up, but if I can be with you I just want to sleep forever.”
Jack smiled. “I know how that feels.” He got up from his chair, and crossed the room to where Ianto was bound to his own seat. He crouched before him, and curled a finger under his chin. “Remember our last day? Our perfect day?”
Ianto let the tears run down his face and he nodded, choking a little on his now uncontrolled sobbing.
“Do you remember why we were still outside? Why we were still out in the storm?”
“I-I-I'd b-been putting posters up.”
“And then?”
“And then it started, so I ran back to th-the Plass. Roald Dahl Plass. And you were there, waiting for me, and I fell into your arms.”
Jack nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out one of his handkerchiefs to mop up Ianto's tears gently.
“The Rift dropped an alien life form right by us. I ran to help her … and … and if I hadn't saved her I-I'd still be with y-y-you.”
“Nah. You don't need to be with me any more.”
“I miss you.”
“Everybody misses me once I've gone.”
Ianto laughed, finding himself nodding.
“You're allowed to be happy, Ianto.”
“I am.”
“You're not. You think you're not the man you used to be. You think you're not worth what you used to be. You think you're not as good a person as you used to be because you're not running around saving people all day. Well, let me tell you something: you're still saving people. You're saving me, all this time away, from myself. You're saving my sons-”
“I'm not,” Ianto sniffed. “I'm a terrible parent. I knew I would be. I'm just like my own father.”
“Shut up, Ianto,” Jack smiled. “You know you're lying to yourself. Don't listen to your father, don't listen to these silly caricatures you've invented in your head. You're the best at everything - especially interrupting my uplifting speeches about no matter how many people you save, you will never feel like you're worth something until you've bothered to save yourself.”
Ianto nodded, swallowing hard. “That's … that's a wonderfully philosophical ideal. Google?”
“Heyy,” Jack pouted. “I thought of it myself. I promise.”
“You rehearsed though - I could tell.”
Jack's pout transformed into a blinding grin, and he leaned in a pressed a kiss to Ianto's nose. “I think you should wake up now,” he sighed, regret greying his words.
Ianto nodded, and finally he squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could.
~*~*~*~
Ianto was cold and clammy, and his arms were tangled into the bedsheets, holding him down. Jack was leaning over him, his long hair brushing Ianto's shoulder as he tried to coax him awake, a tissue in his hand.
“You awake?” he asked worriedly.
Ianto nodded, sitting up and hugging himself. “Bad dream.”
“I noticed,” he tutted, wiping at Ianto's face with the tissue. “Can you remember what it was about?”
Ianto shook his head. “Not clearly. I remember … I remember a courtroom. And … and my father,” he shivered. “I was on trial for … for … stuff. My past - and th-the present.”
Jack clocked what he was talking about, and kissed Ianto's cheek. “I already forgave you.”
“You don't understand. I think … I think I need you to be angry at me.”
Jack sighed heavily. “You're always saying that I don't 'understand' you. Maybe this time, you could try and understand me, yeah? You're clever. Once you've calmed down and thought about it, you'll get there.”
“I'm so, so sorry.”
“I know. But it's already in the past.”
“I c-can't -”
“How about you talk me through it?” Jack suggested. “How about you tell me every last little detail?” he added with a dirty smirk. His hands found themselves to Ianto's shoulders, pushing him until he was lying down so that he could straddle his hips. He leaned down and kissed him slowly. “C'mon,” he murmured against Ianto's lips. “Tell me what she was like.”
Ianto's gut curdled with the guilt. His brow furrowed deeply as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to find something to say.
Jack kissed his mouth again. “What did she feel like?” he tried.
Ianto struggled to find words. “I … She was … different,” he mumbled. “Not everything she thought she was, and not everything I hoped she'd be.”
Jack sighed disappointedly. “This isn't very good dirty talk. C'mon - try harder.”
“Sh-She dominated me. We did it her way.” He paused as Jack pressed their mouths together before beginning to work his way down to Ianto's neck. “She rode me hard - like she was frightened I was going to get up and run away. She fucked me like she hadn't had a good shag for years. I thought she'd never get off my cock the way she was going …”
Jack chuckled from somewhere around Ianto's exposed bellybutton. “Did she suck you?”
“No … but I … erm … Y'know?”
“Licked her cunt?”
Ianto nodded, turning slightly pink. “My tongue went everywhere.”
Jack grinned. “I can guess. I know how especially good you are with that tongue …”
Ianto tried to chuckle, but the sound came out as more of a staccato gurgle. He was saved from going into more detail as the phone started ringing, and with an annoyed groan Jack reached over him to lift the receiver by their bed.
“Harkness-Jones household,” he said tersely. “Oh! Oh - good morning, Mr. Poole,” he continued, his tone jumping to something much more delightful. “Of course. Ianto and I will be there first thing tomorrow morning … This afternoon? Well … okay. One? Yep. See you then, then. Goodbye.” He hung up, then flopped down onto Ianto's chest. “Lawyer,” he sighed. “We have a meeting at one 'o' clock this afternoon so we can get this marriage legitimacy crap sorted once and for all.”
“Yeah,” Ianto replied despondently. “Jack … Can you change back into a man yet?”
“Huh?”
“Please? Turn back into yourself?”
Jack pouted. “But I like my breasts.”
“I miss you. The real you.”
Jack grinned widely. “You miss cock, don't you?”
“A bit,” Ianto admitted. “But I miss having my big, strong husband hanging around most.”
“Fine, fine. I'll nip down at some point and have everything switched back. I might even get myself a job while I'm out.”
“That would be more than desirable,” Ianto nodded, turning onto his side and curling up. “Ugh … I feel so sick,” he complained.
“Maybe you're pregnant,” Jack joked, and Ianto managed to whack him with his pillow. He was aware of Jack lying down next to him, and stared ahead into the distance, thinking about his dream as he listened to the soft, calm breathing behind him.
He thought about what his dream-self had admitted to himself, and of the ghosts and demons he'd been forced to face.
That he still wasn't over the twenty-first century version of Jack wasn't much of a shock, but the fact he was so terrified of Ian and Giacomo and any other children he might have hating him like he'd hated his own father was almost a revelation to him.
Ianto turned himself over, watching Jack relaxing with his eyes closed for a moment. He ran his eyes over him, over the curved, feminine body he wore so well, and in his mind examined the masculine one. Biting his lip, Ianto tugged and Jack's pyjama bottoms, pulling the waistband below his hip a little.
“Hey,” Jack chastised playfully. “Ask first!”
“Just checking,” Ianto replied, running his finger over the indicator chip embedded in Jack's hip. “Could you really get pregnant?” he asked.
Jack's eyebrow raised, like Ianto was asking a silly question. “Yes. In theory.”
“Theory?”
“Well, not every woman can have a child. Sometimes … something's slightly off and it just can't happen.”
“Ohhhh I see,” Ianto nodded, understanding Jack's meaning. He sat up, frowning thoughtfully. Obviously everything would depend on Jack, and on Jack getting the right job - one that was hopefully in a similar wage band to his previous one. If not, Ianto could work with that - he was nothing if not fastidious with numbers. He could make it work. Things would be difficult emotionally at first once Giacomo had gone, but since Giacomo had apparently learned Ianto's trait of always being right Ianto was sure things would get better.
Ianto cleared his throat. “Jack?”
“Yahuh?”
“Erm …” he began, then realised he didn't quite know what to say. Jack waited expectantly, his brow creasing when Ianto didn't continue. Finally, Ianto swallowed. “Just love you, is all,” he said quietly, then rested his head on Jack's shoulder.
Jack kissed his hair. “You, too. Now: you see if you can get some peaceful sleep before Ian wakes up and tears the house apart. I've decided he probably shouldn't stay as long next summer. He misses his mother too much - that, and he's a brat.”
“Mmm,” Ianto replied, shuddering a little as his dream haunted him again.
“You okay?” frowned Jack. “Aren't you going to tell me that it's all Elaine's fault for not having any idea of how to promote good behaviour?” Ianto said nothing, so Jack patted his arm. “At least somebody was listening,” he placated. “It must be your beautiful vowels - can't get enough of them.”
“Beautiful Welsh vowels,” Ianto mumbled into his pillow, the comment only stinging dully despite the memories and the emotions dragged up by his nightmare. He felt the fingers comb though his hair again, playing gently with his ear lobes. He yawned. He was tired.
“I can get you a sleep aid if you want one,” Jack suggested.
Ianto nodded, and felt Jack leave the bed, returning with a glass of water and a small pill. “This should knock you out for a couple of hours, but it'll be peaceful.”
Sitting up a little bit, Ianto accepted the tablet and drank it down with a gulp of the water. In only a few moments, he was unconscious.
Right, thought Jack, cracking his knuckles in a rather un-ladylike way. Work to do.
~*~*~*~
Rina's house was an awful little thing, and Jack found himself turning his nose up at it. He'd put on his best dress and his best jacket and his best make up, clutching his favourite handbag to his side as he knocked on the door as hard as he could.
After a few minutes, there was no answer, so he tried again. And again.
Eventually, there was movement in the hallway and a very bleary woman answered the door. Jack's lip curled. She wasn't that attractive, even from his thoroughly objective viewpoint. “Rina, isn't it?” he said, and she nodded. “Yes, hi. Could I come in?”
“Who are you?” Rina asked defensively, not quite ready to let the strange woman who had come knocking on her door at eight AM into her house yet.
“My name is Alice Canning. I need to speak to you.”
“What about?”
“I don't think you'd want me saying it on your doorstep for the world to hear,” Jack insisted.
Dubiously, the door was opened further and Jack was allowed in. He clenched his jaw, spotting Giacomo's rucksack by the door, forgotten. He swallowed hard. “Kids?” he asked conversationally, nodding toward the bag.
He saw her eyes widen slightly. “Erm … no. That's my neighbour's. I watch him sometimes.”
“Pity there aren't that many good neighbours left around,” he commented, his eyes travelling over the tiny living room he'd been led into. She showed him to a seat on the settee and he asked her a few questions that really weren't of interest to him at all, nodding along to what she told him. He struck up some friendly conversation, and eventually they wound up chatting inanely - Rina seemed to have forgotten his entire reason for being there until the conversation turned to husbands.
“Mine's off on a training course,” sighed Rina. “Bloody useless, he is. Well, not useless as such. He's got a brain the size of this house, he just doesn't see the point in using it any more.”
“My husband is unemployed,” nodded Jack. “Also very clever, but unfortunately not in ways many would think of as 'employable' any more. I'm the breadwinner in our household - he just tells me what I'm allowed to do with said bread. Do you and yours have a commitment agreement?”
“Erm … sort of,” Rina replied, shifting in her seat.
“Me and mine do,” Jack carried on. “His idea. I'm perfectly happy with the idea of more casual one-time-only encounters, but he's … Well, given the old-fashioned nature of some of his ideas, you'd almost think he fell out of the sky!” he chuckled. “Wouldn't change him though. Not at all.”
Rina nodded along quietly. “I see. Erm … Sorry … Erm … What was it you had to talk to me about, again?”
Jack cleared his throat as delicately as he could. “Yes … that. Well, I just thought I'd warn you, really.”
“Warn me? About what?”
“About Captain Jack Harkness. He knows what happened here last night.”
Rina's fingers flew to her mouth. “Nothing happened,” she said.
Jack shrugged. “I suppose it's none of my business,” he lied. “Just thought I'd give you a heads up in case he took it upon himself to do something about it.” He gathered up his bag and got to his feet, sensing his welcome was victoriously outstayed.
Rina showed him to the door, the atmosphere tense and cold. Jack didn't bother saying goodbye to her as he picked up Giacomo's bag, then made his way out of the pedestrianised estate to the car park and he climbed in without a word and drove off, leaving Rina on her doorstep.
Hopefully, he'd frightened her enough to not try and contact Ianto again.
Jack gripped the steering wheel tightly, then pulled over to the side of the road to take his tablet PC from thee glove box and open up the tracking program he used to cover where Ianto had been the night before. He shut it down and erased his activity as best he could - he decided that all cautions were necessary, given Ianto's affinity with computers borne from long days of house-husbandry.
Rubbing his hands together, he fished his phone out of his bag and began flicking through, pausing for a moment to type out an email then sent it with one final, resolute tap of his thumb. After a moment he received a confirmation, and with a heavy sigh he started the engine and pulled out into the road.
Time to say goodbye to this body, and get his old one back.
~*~*~*~
“Get off, Ian!” snapped Giacomo, snatching his oil pastel back. “You can't play with these. You're too young.”
Ianto appeared in the doorway, basket of clean washing in his hands. “Can't you let him use your wax crayons?”
“I gave him the wax crayons,” grumbled Giacomo. “He wants what I've got because I've got it- OW! Ian!”
Giacomo struck him back, and Ian burst into tears.
“H-h-he h-h-h-hit me!” he gasped. “Uh-uh-uncle Ianto … h-h-he h-hit me!” Ian wailed.
Ianto rolled his eyes, putting his basket on the other end of the table and starting to fold a few things. “You hit him first, Ian. Maybe you'll think twice before hitting somebody again.”
The front door banged open dramatically, and Ianto rolled his eyes. “Your father's back.”
“I'm back!”
“See,” said Ianto, then paused. It sounded like … “Jack?”
Jack popped into the doorway, finally once again over six foot tall, curves and long hair gone and very definitely back to his old self. Ianto blinked. He wasn't entirely sure he'd meant what he'd asked that morning, but he wasn't going to complain. Jack posed for a moment, leaning on the door frame, tight red t-shirt and black jeans hugging every inch of him.
He frowned when he saw the tears rolling down Ian's face as Giacomo shot over to him to hug him. “What's up with the little 'un?” he asked, ruffling Giacomo's hair.
“He smacked me, so I smacked him back.”
“Ah. Good.” He turned his attention to Ian. “Not nice being hit is it, eh?” he said, sympathetically. “Won't do it again now you know how it feels, will you?” He lifted Ian up into his arms like he weighed nothing. “Now come on you two - pack up some things. Rhys is going to take care of you for the afternoon. Ianto and I have an appointment.”
He grinned at Ianto, who was still frozen half way through folding a t-shirt. He blinked and remembered himself, then crossed the room as Ian was put on the floor and let Jack pull him into a tight hug. “You look good,” he murmured into his ear. He was pulling away just as Jack caught his lips and kissed him properly, and Ianto found himself pretty much sagging into Jack's arms like a schoolgirl. They forgot the kids were there for a moment, re-familiarising themselves with what their kiss should feel like, until they became aware of Ian's disapproving 'ewwwwwww' and Giacomo's retching.
“Show's over,” Jack grinned at them, giving Giacomo a gentle push toward the film shelf. “Pick something to take to Rhys' - something for you both.”
Giacomo grumbled but agreed anyway, searching through their collection and getting more and more annoyed with the number of films Ian was turning down.
Ianto continued folding the laundry, watching Jack out of the corner of his eye as he hung about the doorway, then decided to make himself useful by helping fold some clothes, too. Ianto stared openly, then snapped his mouth shut and smiled, saying nothing as Jack smiled back and tried to be helpful.
“I got a job interview,” Jack said casually, watching Giacomo and Ian arguing over films. Eventually Giacomo just let Ian pick and started packing up some drawing things for himself.
“Oh?” prompted Ianto.
“It's similar pay to what I was on before - perhaps a little less. I won't be home for certain nights a week, though. I suppose I could find something else … only things are getting on a bit now, and we need income … so …”
Ianto paused his folding. “We'll talk about it later.” He continued his chore, his mouth a little dryer, biting his lip thoughtfully.
The kids declared that they were ready, and so they put on their coats and went outside. Ianto frowned at his car. “Did you take my car this morning?” he asked.
Jack nodded. “I figured somebody had to drive it. She was getting lonely.”
Ianto shrugged. “Fair enough.” He buckled Ian into the back seat of Jack's blue car, testing to make sure it was secure before getting into the passenger side in the front. Jack drove them to Rhys' quickly, with Ianto growling at him to slow down most of the way. “We're not racing,” he reminded him for the millionth time.
Jack just grinned.
“Bear in mind there are children in the back,” sighed Ianto, gripping the dashboard as Jack artfully flung the car around the corner of Rhys' street then broke hard outside his house. Jack waited in the car with the window wound down as Ianto got out and took the kids to the door.
Rhys answered it with a wide grin, pulling Ianto into a tight bear-hug. “You need to come 'round more often,” he told him. “And so do you,” he ordered Giacomo, stooping to hug him, too. “Ianto: you are having weekly tea and biscuits with me on Fridays. No arguing.”
“Wouldn't you rather be shoving your head into engines and talking about speed and power and stuff?”
Rhys punched his arm. “Don't be daft. I've been missing your company - you're a good influence on me, you are - C'mon now, you kids. Get inside before Ianto changes his mind and drags you back home again.”
Ian was wary. He hadn't really met Rhys before. Giacomo stood on tiptoe as Ianto stooped to kiss him goodbye, then he ruffled Ian's hair and the boys went into the hallway to wave off Jack and Ianto.
On the road again, the conversation in the car had dried up. Eventually, Ianto forced himself to say something. “You had them make you thinner,” he observed.
Jack gave him a cheeky wink. “All for you benefit - I have more muscle tone, too. Wait 'til you see my stomach.”
“Believe me; I don't think I can wait,” sighed Ianto.
“I'll take you home after meeting Mr. Poole,” Jack promised with a smirk. “Just you and me.”
They drove on, finally finding the car park they needed and spiralling their way up the multi-storey in search of a space. Parked up, they made their way to Mr. Poole's office.
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