Historical Context
Jossed by CoE, but oh, well.
Title: Historical Context
Pairing/Character: Jack/Ianto. Ianto-centric.
Rating: NC-17
Excerpt:
They told him he was going to forget as soon as they sorted out a place for him to stay. Ianto had looked forward to it when they'd first explained it to him. The pain, far more grief and anguish than a thirteen year old body should be capable of containing, would be gone.
It had worked at first. Things are coming back to him, though. Tad always said he had a sharp memory.
The more he remembers, the more he finds he doesn't really want to forget.
Little feet smack across the wood floor of the old house. An exuberant young boy launches himself into his parents' bed, landing on his Tad's stomach and giggling at the tired grunt this earns him.
"Taaaaad! Get up!"
"Ianto," his father sighs, hair rumpled, tired eyes peering up at the boy who is seated on his chest. "Go bother your Mam."
"She says to wake you up. We'll be late!"
It's a Saturday, and they're going to the cinema.The Electro. Ianto loves the Electro with the uncomplicated enthusiasm only children seem to manage.
His father chuckles softly.
"Ah, wouldn't want to miss it, would we?" he asks before picking Ianto up and plopping him on the other side of the bed.
Ianto scurries to the floor and out of the room to let his father get dressed. When he's finished, Ianto presses his face into the dark gray waistcoat and squeezes his Tad around the middle, small arms barely reaching far enough so that Ianto can link his fingers together. A large hand ruffles his hair affectionately.
"Off we go, little man," his father says. "I believe we have an appointment with a boat and a dancing mouse."
_______
Ianto's eyebrow shoots up in disbelief. He pushes aside the tissue paper with a rustle to discover not just one, but two different studded belts curled on top of a leather jacket.
Lisa's giggling at the look on his face.
"Well, I just thought your wardrobe could use some...updating," she explains. "At least for the weekends."
"I thought you liked the suits," Ianto says with a teasing pout.
"I do!" Lisa assures hurriedly. "You look delicious in them. And I love your quirk for partaking in all things... old-fashioned-"
"Anachronistic," Ianto corrects.
"But," Lisa continues with a grin, "I just thought it might be nice to try a new look. Anyway, that one time I saw you wearing denims, your arse looked amazing."
"So I'm just eye candy to you, is that it?" Ianto teases. "A dress-up doll for your personal entertainment?"
"Would that really be such a bad thing?" Lisa asks with a smirk.
"I don't know," Ianto says. "You don't have a fetish for men in drag, do you?"
"And what if I do?"
"Then you, Miss Hallett, will have to find yourself a different toy. My legs look far too fat when I wear a skirt."
Lisa laughs before pouncing on him, pushing the box out of the way and straddling his lap. He hugs her close and kisses her. It's warm and gentle, and before she pulls back completely, she places another kiss to his brow.
"I love you, you know," she says.
In a world where Ianto feels increasingly as if everything is being decided for him, Lisa Hallett is the first beautiful thing he really chose for himself. Where everything has been dictated, written over, given to him, what he has with Lisa is the only thing he actually owns.
She's his life here. His meaning. He'll do whatever it takes to hold onto it.
"I love you, too."
_____________
They told him he was going to forget as soon as they sorted out a place for him to stay. Ianto had looked forward to it when they'd first explained it to him. The pain, far more grief and anguish than a thirteen year old body should be capable of containing, would be gone.
It had worked at first. Things are coming back to him, though. Tad always said he had a sharp memory.
The more he remembers, the more he finds he doesn't really want to forget.
So when Bernard visits, he plays dumb and pretends he doesn't know. He smiles and laughs and for all appearances acts like this is his place, like this is where he's supposed to be.
He knows he can't go back. He just holds on however he can.
He tells his classmates that his Tad is a master tailor when Geoffrey Jones is an accountant. He's secretly disappointed when they don't seem half as impressed as he thinks they should be. He insists that he's an only child and Rhiannon glares at him from across the dinner table. His teachers note he has a particular interest for history, an eye for detail and a quick wit. They bemoan the fact that he doesn't apply himself the way he should, that he daydreams far too often.
Ianto doesn't like the neon lights of London, the intruding honks of car horns, the jarring sounds that pass for music. He longs for the quiet countryside of Wales, the familiar streets of Cardiff.
He likes clocks. He sometimes stares at the ticking of a second hand until he almost imagines he can touch time itself. It's a nice thought.
He imagines that he really loves Mum and Da, like they're his. He grows to care for them after a while, but it's not the same. It slowly becomes harder to pretend that it is.
By the time he's sixteen, Ianto's slowly coming to realize that the discord means he's nothing and nowhere.
He doesn't belong.
_____________
"Ianto," Tosh says when he's passing out the day's third round of coffee. "Do you think you could help me with the Gedon Sphere? Jack thinks some other piece of Calfruxian technology was worked on in the 70s, but I can't seem to find any mention of it in the data compiled in the mainframe."
"Of course," Ianto says. "I'll check the archives and see what there is."
"That reminds me," Owen breaks in. "I left that report on your desk."
"Thank you."
"I still don't see why you don't just let me file my own things away," Owen can't help griping, even though the argument was old a month ago. It's not like Owen likes paperwork, but the idea of the tea boy dictating what he can and cannot do is aggravating. "It would save time."
"When I have to reorganize everything you've filed, I rather think it wastes time," Ianto states dryly.
Owen looks like he's about to argue again, but Suzie cuts him off.
"Just leave it, Owen."
"He lets you do your own filing!" Owen protests.
"Because she has a much healthier respect for order than you seem to," Ianto says.
Suzie smirks.
"Fine," Owen grumbles. "I'll keep my grubby mitts away from your precious archives, then, shall I?"
Though Owen is being sarcastic, he's actually fairly close to the truth. The archives are precious to Ianto. He loves them here even more than he did at Torchwood One which had sterilized shelves, electronic data banks and bright white walls. The Torchwood Three archives are more like what archives should be. There's something soothing about the smell of ink, the thick, leather bound volumes full of obscure information, filing cabinets stuffed with hand-written reports of decades past. It's where Ianto can forget for a short while and lose himself in the methodical, the familiar. It's a sanctuary where history lives and breathes.
It's one of the few places where Ianto just fits.
"If you would," Ianto replies after a pause. "I'm sure the section on alien mating rituals and aphrodisiacs would appreciate the break."
__________
Police Constable Lewis hangs up the phone, the clatter of plastic on plastic sounding final. He sighs and steps back, rubbing a hand over his mouth.
"He's on his way," he tells the young man sitting sullenly in the chair. "I told your Da I'd try to do what I can, but I'm still going to have to charge you, Ianto."
Ianto remains silent, staring at the floor. He doesn't know whether he was lucky or not that his father's friend Dafydd Lewis was the one to pick him up. He's a bit too busy contemplating the unfairness of the situation as a whole.
Dafydd walks up to Ianto's chair, looking down reprovingly.
"Why on earth would you be so daft?" he asks.
"Do you mean stealing in the first place, or stealing something too big to fit under my coat?" Ianto quips.
Dafydd frowns.
"You're still young, Ianto. You could be off to uni next year, doing something with your life," he says. "This is just the kind of thing that holds people back. You don't need another black mark to your name."
Ianto snorts deprecatingly.
"You're only lucky the radio wasn't broken," Dafydd continues. "I'd hate to have to add willful destruction of property on top of everything else."
Ianto leans back and closes his eyes. A snatch of memory rolls over him; the tinny sound of a trumpet through old speakers, his Tad stitching in rhythm as he hums quietly.
Ianto considers the irony that very few of the pieces of himself actually belong to him.
_______________
"God," Jack exclaims, straining into Ianto's touch.
Ianto grins and nips at the pulse point in Jack's wrist, their fingers tangled together as Ianto presses him into the wall. Jack tugs on his hands and pushes their chests together before Ianto gives in and kisses him. Jack groans when Ianto releases one of his hands only to skim his palm down from Jack's sternum to cup him through his trousers, rotating his hand harshly over the crown, long fingers reaching down further play with his balls.
"You're such a fucking tease," Jack says, burying his fingers in the hair at the nape of Ianto's neck. He tugs back sharply, baring Ianto's throat to him. Ianto gives out a short moan, tears springing into his eyes from the shock of pain when Jack bites down hard over his jugular. His cock twitches desperately in his pants.
"I want you right now," Jack gasps out, pushing off Ianto's shirt.
"Patience is a virtue, sir," Ianto says breathlessly.
Jack shivers before pushing down Ianto's pants, manhandling him until he's naked and pressing up against his back.
"I love how deep your voice goes when you call me that," Jack says while caressing a hand slowly down Ianto's side, fingers digging into his hip. He hooks his chin over Ianto's shoulder and swipes his tongue over the patch of skin behind Ianto's ear.
"I think that's rather obvious, sir."
Jack chuckles darkly and grinds up against Ianto's ass, pulling back shortly to circle lubricated fingers teasingly around Ianto's hole.
"You do it on purpose, don't you," Jack says, slipping a finger in, bending it and rubbing down sharply into the spot that makes Ianto buck and gasp. "Whenever you bring me my coffee or hand me a file you want me to be thinking about this."
Ianto presses back against the invading digits with a whimper.
Quite honestly, he's not quite sure what this is. He doesn't really remember just how he managed to fall into bed with Captain Jack Harkness. All he knows is that he was achingly tired of feeling the pain of loss, of hearing screams and shrieking metal every time he closed his eyes. He's not looking for absolution for his betrayal, and he's pretty sure that Jack's already forgiven him without needing to be asked or placated.
Ianto doesn't fool himself into thinking that this really means anything to Jack. He's not stupid, and he can string together enough casually dropped comments to figure out that Jack's just waiting to get out of here, to be whisked away by his Doctor. Behind the numbness that consumes him most of the time, Ianto isn't sure how he'll deal with it when Jack leaves. The only time he really feels anything is in Jack's bed. Ianto tells himself taking what he can now is better than regretting it later. He tells himself he's too broken, too jaded, too tired to fall in love again.
There's a kind of mirror-like quality to their... relationship... now that he thinks about it. A duality of difference that leaves them far too similar in the end. Both of them, misfits, one biding his time until he leaves, the other trapped by guilt, obligation, and impossibility. One larger than life and the center of attention, the other content to remain invisible in the background. Incorrigible brashness and quiet sarcasm. Light and shadows. Future and past.
They're both hiding in plain sight, keeping their own secrets while barely holding on to each other as a distraction and denying any sort of dependence. Though he never speaks of it, Ianto knows that Jack's the only one who could ever understand his pain. His silence doesn't fully take away the feeling of kinship. They're both out of place but desperately trying to belong.
The only difference is that Jack's still holding onto the eventuality of the Doctor's return, holding onto hope.
Ianto gave up hoping a long time ago.
Jack presses into him quickly, Ianto's back arching sharply. Ianto relishes the burn and stretch, crying out before reaching back with one hand to pull Jack tighter against him. He squeezes down, pushing back.
"C'mon, Jack," he urges. "Fuck me."
That's all it takes for Jack to comply, breathing harsh in his ear, slamming into him over and over and over until Ianto's entire world becomes heat and sweat and Jack. His cock pulses in time to Jack's thrusts inside him, pressing over his prostate. Jack bites down on his shoulder before reaching around to jack him off, skimming a finger over the slit and rubbing under the head until suddenly the sensation is too much, pleasure snapping out to burn through him, and Ianto's coming over Jack's hand and his own thighs, gasping out a sob.
His body's still convulsing, ass clenching when Jack finds his own release, a groan rumbling deep in his chest. The sound of their panting intermingles as they lean against one another. Jack presses an open-mouthed kiss to the back of Ianto's neck before shakily stepping back. Cold air rushes in to take up the space Jack had occupied.
Ianto closes his eyes and shudders.
________________
"You remember, don't you?" Bernard asks suddenly.
Ianto looks up from his coffee, arching an eyebrow.
"Remember, what, exactly?" Ianto hedges, cursing silently at the unevenness in his voice.
Bernard scowls.
"Don't be stupid, boy," he sneers. Ianto sighs and picks at the cuff of his sleeve. "I'm not foolish enough to think that all of this has been the result of normal adolescent melancholy. Maybe at first that might have been the case, but at your age it's getting a bit old. Either you remember, or my estimation of you has been far off the mark."
There's a long silence as they stare each other down.
"What are you going to do with me?" Ianto asks quietly.
"You've always been a problem," Bernard says. "Shoplifting, restlessness, uni was too boring, jobs not worth the effort, hopping from one place to the next like a bloody hummingbird. Never a simple answer with you, is there?"
"So sorry to disappoint," Ianto dead-pans.
"It's not about disappointment. I'm not your father. God knows I don't have any damn expectations or hopes for your future. It's about how we're going to deal with you," Bernard says. "Retcon doesn't work, apparently. Trial and error shows we can't just have a loose cannon like you walking about, either. Though it might be the simplest solution, proper protocol dictates I can't just put you out of your misery."
"That's too bad," Ianto says sarcastically.
"What you need is some kind of purpose," Bernard continues, ignoring the glib comment. "And what we need is to keep an eye on you. You're not stupid, and I hate to see useful abilities go to waste. Maybe you can think of this as a way of getting back at them."
"What exactly are you suggesting?" Ianto asks.
Bernard smirks and slides a file across the table.
"Torchwood One is hiring," he says. "Interested?"
Ianto opens the file and a confidentiality agreement stares up at him in bold type. He looks up at Bernard before leaning back in his chair.
"Perhaps."
_________
Ianto strokes a hand lightly down the side of Jack's face. Jack doesn't open his eyes, but a slight smile graces his lips before he shifts closer, tangling their legs together under the covers. Ianto sighs, body tired and sated, savoring the feel of skin on skin, the feather light caresses of Jack's fingers on his shoulder blades.
"What are you thinking about?" Jack asks, voice rusty with sleep. His eyes crack open and Ianto's breath catches at how iridescently blue they look against the dark fan of his lashes.
Would you go back to yours, if you could?
"Nothing important," Ianto says. "Just... some of the things we talked about earlier."
"Ah," Jack says. Ianto runs his fingers down from Jack's cheek to rest against his neck, counting the beats of his pulse. "Anything in particular?"
It should seem strange, having Jack ask so openly about his feelings. It should be strange that Jack's looking at him, gaze soft with affection and interest, actually seeing Ianto. It's been different since he came back. More intimate. They're building towards something now. Together.
It seems they'd both done a lot of sorting things out when Jack had been gone. Discovered what it is that's important to them. Maybe even grown up a bit.
Ianto fights back a smirk at the thought of Jack ever really growing up.
Don't really know where I really belong. Maybe that doesn't matter anymore.
Ianto's not so terrified of falling in love now. Jack was right, and Ianto's decided maybe it's time to let himself become attached. Stop living in the past.
Even if Jack doesn't feel the same way, Ianto will hold onto him for as long as he can. He needs this.
"Well... I just thought..." Ianto pauses, and Jack makes an encouraging sound before pressing a little closer.
"I just thought," Ianto continues, "that even after everything, maybe because of it all... I-I wouldn't change anything either. I'm grateful that it's all led me here... to you."
Jack smiles brilliantly before cupping Ianto's cheek and pulling him into a passionate kiss.
For the first time he can remember, Ianto Jones has the sensation of coming home.
_____________
It's just after Ianto's twelfth birthday when they take him.
He remembers his lips forming words he didn't want to say, his eyes dry from staring and waiting for something he couldn't see. After that, all he remembers is a timeless period of bright white light and muffled sobs.
It should be better that he doesn't remember much of it, but somehow it's worse.
The next thing he remembers there is a jolt back to awareness, of being in control of himself again. Then there are loud noises, pain, and darkness before the voices come. He can't quite make out everything they're saying from where he's huddled in a dark corner, bare back shivering against the cold wall.
"...traces of rift activity. A bit small, isn't it?"
"Computer systems...rely on more information...coordinates...outside sources...like a flock of birds. If it got separated from the fleet, it's no wonder it crashed."
The bright light from an electric torch lances into his eyes, and Ianto cries out.
"My God," a horrified voice whispers before there are suddenly invading hands on him, assessing damage, tilting his face up.
"There's a child here, Bernard," the strange man says over his shoulder. Ianto looks up through his tears into kind brown eyes. "What's your name, lad?" he asks softly.
"I...Ianto," he sobs.
The man called Bernard steps up behind the other stranger then, his eyes not as kind, fingers itching toward a gun strapped to his hip. Bernard jerks his head and the other man stands up from his crouch in front of Ianto and steps back.
"Where's my Mam and Tad?" Ianto asks, suddenly terrified that the strangers will go and leave him in the biting metal darkness forever. "Where... where am I? Who're you?"
Bernard's voice is cold when he answers Ianto's question.
"London. We're Torchwood."
________
Ianto's been feeling uneasy for the past month. Something clawing at the back of his mind, skirting his consciousness. Jack and Gwen have both been shooting him concerned looks for weeks. He'd tell them what was wrong, but he doesn't really know himself.
When the children just...stop, Ianto finally figures it out.
He doesn't want to believe it. Hands shaking, he cross-checks all of the reports. Jack and Gwen have gone to investigate a local school, and they've left Ianto to run research. As he reads a cold sweat breaks out on his forehead. It's not possible. Everything he's managed to get his hands on, all the research in the archives had suggested it was a one-time, isolated incident. But as the reports keep rolling in Ianto can't keep denying it any longer.
They've come back.
Just when he's starting to see black spots dancing at the edges of his vision, the proximity alarm goes off and the cog-wheel door rolls back.
"Ianto?" Jack's concerned voice cuts into his thoughts. "Ianto! What's going on?"
"Jack?" Ianto asks, turning on legs threatening to give out.
Jack's followed closely by Gwen. When they see the state he's in, Jack rushes to support him while Gwen pulls up a chair.
"Sit down before you fall over, love," Gwen says kindly, her brow knitted in concern. "What's wrong? You haven't been answering our hails on the radio for the past half hour."
Jack helps him settle in the chair before placing a comforting hand on the nape of his neck. Ianto struggles to answer through numb lips, blood rushing in his ears.
"The children," he says. "This has happened before."
"What?" Gwen asks.
Jack blanches, clenching his eyes shut for a moment.
"Shit. I was really hoping it wasn't what I was thinking," he says. Then his eyebrows dart up to his hairline. "But how did you know about the previous incident? All of that was classified far beyond even my jurisdiction until One fell. Even then, there are whole sections of reports that just went... missing."
Ianto breathes deeply, getting himself under control. A pang of guilt hits him along with self-recrimination over all the stupid reasons why he hasn't spoken of this before now. Maybe, if he'd told them, they might have been able to see this coming. Ianto licks dry lips, clearing his throat before answering.
"The reports were open to a select handful of people," Ianto says. "I received access to them shortly after I started working for Torchwood."
"But you were a junior researcher," Jack says. "Why would they grant you such high access?"
"A... friend pulled some strings, did me a favor. I guess Bernard thought he owed it to me," Ianto says. "Maybe he did it to give me some reason to keep going. Maybe he did it to keep me complacent."
"I don't understand," Jack says.
"The-the last time this happened," Ianto rasps out, "one of their ships was recovered. Tracings of rift activity suggested that a rift spike had separated it from the fleet, brought it to London where it crashed. The readings of temporal anomalies showed the ship had been taken from a different timeline, and it crashed some sixty years away from where it should have been."
There's the beginning of understanding in Jack's eyes. He kneels in front of Ianto's chair and laces their fingers together.
"There was one survivor discovered in the wreckage," Ianto continues. "One of the many they'd... collected... in the incident that occurred almost eighty years ago. A child."
Ianto hears Gwen's gasp before Jack's gathering him into his arms. Ianto presses his face into Jack's neck and breathes him in before stepping back slightly. He'd thought he was stronger than this. Gwen presses against his side, her arm linking around his waist. Jack tilts Ianto's face up until their eyes meet.
"It was you," he says.
Ianto nods tightly, feels Gwen and Jack (his family) press a little closer. He knows they can only take a moment, but he's grateful for the strength they're managing to give him.
Even if they've come back, Torchwood still stands.
And so the fight begins.
____________
Ianto looks at the pile of unfamiliar toys strewn across his bedroom floor. Brightly colored plastic, flashing lights, the beeping tones of video games. Metallic wrapping paper printed with stripes and confetti.
He turns to look out his window, gaze drawn towards the dark sky. It's August 19th, 1996, and Ianto's just turned thirteen.
When he turned twelve, it was 1933.
_____
AN/Gratuitous Explanation for Where the Fic Started:
SCREW YOU RTD AND CoE!!! I HAD AN AWESOME CHARACTER ANALYSIS GOING BEFORE YOU MESSED IT UP! *grumbles*
I've always felt like there was something... off...about Ianto's character. The suits, the prim and proper-ness, the lack of any real information regarding his life prior to Torchwood One. His complete and utter devotion to first Lisa and then Jack and to Torchwood in general- how he seems to not fit in and need someone or something to give him purpose and drive. I know people have posited before that he's from some type of past era.
The things we DO know seem to imply some kind of early 20th century lifestyle. His dad was a "master tailor"- and those come few and far between nowadays but were much more common in the early 1900s. He used to go to shows at the Electro which supposedly had it's hayday in the early 20th century before being closed down and then renovated. That whole episode "From Out of the Rain"- when I look at how much more disturbed by the events Ianto seems to be than any of the other characters (specifically, the look on his face when Christina is telling her story)- to me that says he had some similar past trauma as a child (the fear of being stolen away- whether it's you or your last breath). Compound that on top of the invasion of the Night Travelers into treasured childhood memories, and it's easy to see how he would be so freaked out.
Actually, a lot of things make sense about his character if you look at them with the supposition that Ianto is a displaced individual from the past.
It was only when I read some spoilery-things about Torchwood series 3 that the idea for this fic became full-fledged. From a comic con interview, a main writer of the show said that we'll learn a heck of a lot more about Ianto's past in series 3. The director of series 3 was quoted as saying the Janto relationship will become important to the plot. After watching the trailer, the idea for this fic grabbed me by the neck and shook me.
Most likely this will become AU when series 3 comes out, but I think it'd be freakin' awesome if Ianto was a displaced individual from the early 1900s or whenever the last time the big baddies from Series 3 last showed up.
That's all I got ta say.
Title: Historical Context
Pairing/Character: Jack/Ianto. Ianto-centric.
Rating: NC-17
Excerpt:
They told him he was going to forget as soon as they sorted out a place for him to stay. Ianto had looked forward to it when they'd first explained it to him. The pain, far more grief and anguish than a thirteen year old body should be capable of containing, would be gone.
It had worked at first. Things are coming back to him, though. Tad always said he had a sharp memory.
The more he remembers, the more he finds he doesn't really want to forget.
Little feet smack across the wood floor of the old house. An exuberant young boy launches himself into his parents' bed, landing on his Tad's stomach and giggling at the tired grunt this earns him.
"Taaaaad! Get up!"
"Ianto," his father sighs, hair rumpled, tired eyes peering up at the boy who is seated on his chest. "Go bother your Mam."
"She says to wake you up. We'll be late!"
It's a Saturday, and they're going to the cinema.The Electro. Ianto loves the Electro with the uncomplicated enthusiasm only children seem to manage.
His father chuckles softly.
"Ah, wouldn't want to miss it, would we?" he asks before picking Ianto up and plopping him on the other side of the bed.
Ianto scurries to the floor and out of the room to let his father get dressed. When he's finished, Ianto presses his face into the dark gray waistcoat and squeezes his Tad around the middle, small arms barely reaching far enough so that Ianto can link his fingers together. A large hand ruffles his hair affectionately.
"Off we go, little man," his father says. "I believe we have an appointment with a boat and a dancing mouse."
_______
Ianto's eyebrow shoots up in disbelief. He pushes aside the tissue paper with a rustle to discover not just one, but two different studded belts curled on top of a leather jacket.
Lisa's giggling at the look on his face.
"Well, I just thought your wardrobe could use some...updating," she explains. "At least for the weekends."
"I thought you liked the suits," Ianto says with a teasing pout.
"I do!" Lisa assures hurriedly. "You look delicious in them. And I love your quirk for partaking in all things... old-fashioned-"
"Anachronistic," Ianto corrects.
"But," Lisa continues with a grin, "I just thought it might be nice to try a new look. Anyway, that one time I saw you wearing denims, your arse looked amazing."
"So I'm just eye candy to you, is that it?" Ianto teases. "A dress-up doll for your personal entertainment?"
"Would that really be such a bad thing?" Lisa asks with a smirk.
"I don't know," Ianto says. "You don't have a fetish for men in drag, do you?"
"And what if I do?"
"Then you, Miss Hallett, will have to find yourself a different toy. My legs look far too fat when I wear a skirt."
Lisa laughs before pouncing on him, pushing the box out of the way and straddling his lap. He hugs her close and kisses her. It's warm and gentle, and before she pulls back completely, she places another kiss to his brow.
"I love you, you know," she says.
In a world where Ianto feels increasingly as if everything is being decided for him, Lisa Hallett is the first beautiful thing he really chose for himself. Where everything has been dictated, written over, given to him, what he has with Lisa is the only thing he actually owns.
She's his life here. His meaning. He'll do whatever it takes to hold onto it.
"I love you, too."
_____________
They told him he was going to forget as soon as they sorted out a place for him to stay. Ianto had looked forward to it when they'd first explained it to him. The pain, far more grief and anguish than a thirteen year old body should be capable of containing, would be gone.
It had worked at first. Things are coming back to him, though. Tad always said he had a sharp memory.
The more he remembers, the more he finds he doesn't really want to forget.
So when Bernard visits, he plays dumb and pretends he doesn't know. He smiles and laughs and for all appearances acts like this is his place, like this is where he's supposed to be.
He knows he can't go back. He just holds on however he can.
He tells his classmates that his Tad is a master tailor when Geoffrey Jones is an accountant. He's secretly disappointed when they don't seem half as impressed as he thinks they should be. He insists that he's an only child and Rhiannon glares at him from across the dinner table. His teachers note he has a particular interest for history, an eye for detail and a quick wit. They bemoan the fact that he doesn't apply himself the way he should, that he daydreams far too often.
Ianto doesn't like the neon lights of London, the intruding honks of car horns, the jarring sounds that pass for music. He longs for the quiet countryside of Wales, the familiar streets of Cardiff.
He likes clocks. He sometimes stares at the ticking of a second hand until he almost imagines he can touch time itself. It's a nice thought.
He imagines that he really loves Mum and Da, like they're his. He grows to care for them after a while, but it's not the same. It slowly becomes harder to pretend that it is.
By the time he's sixteen, Ianto's slowly coming to realize that the discord means he's nothing and nowhere.
He doesn't belong.
_____________
"Ianto," Tosh says when he's passing out the day's third round of coffee. "Do you think you could help me with the Gedon Sphere? Jack thinks some other piece of Calfruxian technology was worked on in the 70s, but I can't seem to find any mention of it in the data compiled in the mainframe."
"Of course," Ianto says. "I'll check the archives and see what there is."
"That reminds me," Owen breaks in. "I left that report on your desk."
"Thank you."
"I still don't see why you don't just let me file my own things away," Owen can't help griping, even though the argument was old a month ago. It's not like Owen likes paperwork, but the idea of the tea boy dictating what he can and cannot do is aggravating. "It would save time."
"When I have to reorganize everything you've filed, I rather think it wastes time," Ianto states dryly.
Owen looks like he's about to argue again, but Suzie cuts him off.
"Just leave it, Owen."
"He lets you do your own filing!" Owen protests.
"Because she has a much healthier respect for order than you seem to," Ianto says.
Suzie smirks.
"Fine," Owen grumbles. "I'll keep my grubby mitts away from your precious archives, then, shall I?"
Though Owen is being sarcastic, he's actually fairly close to the truth. The archives are precious to Ianto. He loves them here even more than he did at Torchwood One which had sterilized shelves, electronic data banks and bright white walls. The Torchwood Three archives are more like what archives should be. There's something soothing about the smell of ink, the thick, leather bound volumes full of obscure information, filing cabinets stuffed with hand-written reports of decades past. It's where Ianto can forget for a short while and lose himself in the methodical, the familiar. It's a sanctuary where history lives and breathes.
It's one of the few places where Ianto just fits.
"If you would," Ianto replies after a pause. "I'm sure the section on alien mating rituals and aphrodisiacs would appreciate the break."
__________
Police Constable Lewis hangs up the phone, the clatter of plastic on plastic sounding final. He sighs and steps back, rubbing a hand over his mouth.
"He's on his way," he tells the young man sitting sullenly in the chair. "I told your Da I'd try to do what I can, but I'm still going to have to charge you, Ianto."
Ianto remains silent, staring at the floor. He doesn't know whether he was lucky or not that his father's friend Dafydd Lewis was the one to pick him up. He's a bit too busy contemplating the unfairness of the situation as a whole.
Dafydd walks up to Ianto's chair, looking down reprovingly.
"Why on earth would you be so daft?" he asks.
"Do you mean stealing in the first place, or stealing something too big to fit under my coat?" Ianto quips.
Dafydd frowns.
"You're still young, Ianto. You could be off to uni next year, doing something with your life," he says. "This is just the kind of thing that holds people back. You don't need another black mark to your name."
Ianto snorts deprecatingly.
"You're only lucky the radio wasn't broken," Dafydd continues. "I'd hate to have to add willful destruction of property on top of everything else."
Ianto leans back and closes his eyes. A snatch of memory rolls over him; the tinny sound of a trumpet through old speakers, his Tad stitching in rhythm as he hums quietly.
Ianto considers the irony that very few of the pieces of himself actually belong to him.
_______________
"God," Jack exclaims, straining into Ianto's touch.
Ianto grins and nips at the pulse point in Jack's wrist, their fingers tangled together as Ianto presses him into the wall. Jack tugs on his hands and pushes their chests together before Ianto gives in and kisses him. Jack groans when Ianto releases one of his hands only to skim his palm down from Jack's sternum to cup him through his trousers, rotating his hand harshly over the crown, long fingers reaching down further play with his balls.
"You're such a fucking tease," Jack says, burying his fingers in the hair at the nape of Ianto's neck. He tugs back sharply, baring Ianto's throat to him. Ianto gives out a short moan, tears springing into his eyes from the shock of pain when Jack bites down hard over his jugular. His cock twitches desperately in his pants.
"I want you right now," Jack gasps out, pushing off Ianto's shirt.
"Patience is a virtue, sir," Ianto says breathlessly.
Jack shivers before pushing down Ianto's pants, manhandling him until he's naked and pressing up against his back.
"I love how deep your voice goes when you call me that," Jack says while caressing a hand slowly down Ianto's side, fingers digging into his hip. He hooks his chin over Ianto's shoulder and swipes his tongue over the patch of skin behind Ianto's ear.
"I think that's rather obvious, sir."
Jack chuckles darkly and grinds up against Ianto's ass, pulling back shortly to circle lubricated fingers teasingly around Ianto's hole.
"You do it on purpose, don't you," Jack says, slipping a finger in, bending it and rubbing down sharply into the spot that makes Ianto buck and gasp. "Whenever you bring me my coffee or hand me a file you want me to be thinking about this."
Ianto presses back against the invading digits with a whimper.
Quite honestly, he's not quite sure what this is. He doesn't really remember just how he managed to fall into bed with Captain Jack Harkness. All he knows is that he was achingly tired of feeling the pain of loss, of hearing screams and shrieking metal every time he closed his eyes. He's not looking for absolution for his betrayal, and he's pretty sure that Jack's already forgiven him without needing to be asked or placated.
Ianto doesn't fool himself into thinking that this really means anything to Jack. He's not stupid, and he can string together enough casually dropped comments to figure out that Jack's just waiting to get out of here, to be whisked away by his Doctor. Behind the numbness that consumes him most of the time, Ianto isn't sure how he'll deal with it when Jack leaves. The only time he really feels anything is in Jack's bed. Ianto tells himself taking what he can now is better than regretting it later. He tells himself he's too broken, too jaded, too tired to fall in love again.
There's a kind of mirror-like quality to their... relationship... now that he thinks about it. A duality of difference that leaves them far too similar in the end. Both of them, misfits, one biding his time until he leaves, the other trapped by guilt, obligation, and impossibility. One larger than life and the center of attention, the other content to remain invisible in the background. Incorrigible brashness and quiet sarcasm. Light and shadows. Future and past.
They're both hiding in plain sight, keeping their own secrets while barely holding on to each other as a distraction and denying any sort of dependence. Though he never speaks of it, Ianto knows that Jack's the only one who could ever understand his pain. His silence doesn't fully take away the feeling of kinship. They're both out of place but desperately trying to belong.
The only difference is that Jack's still holding onto the eventuality of the Doctor's return, holding onto hope.
Ianto gave up hoping a long time ago.
Jack presses into him quickly, Ianto's back arching sharply. Ianto relishes the burn and stretch, crying out before reaching back with one hand to pull Jack tighter against him. He squeezes down, pushing back.
"C'mon, Jack," he urges. "Fuck me."
That's all it takes for Jack to comply, breathing harsh in his ear, slamming into him over and over and over until Ianto's entire world becomes heat and sweat and Jack. His cock pulses in time to Jack's thrusts inside him, pressing over his prostate. Jack bites down on his shoulder before reaching around to jack him off, skimming a finger over the slit and rubbing under the head until suddenly the sensation is too much, pleasure snapping out to burn through him, and Ianto's coming over Jack's hand and his own thighs, gasping out a sob.
His body's still convulsing, ass clenching when Jack finds his own release, a groan rumbling deep in his chest. The sound of their panting intermingles as they lean against one another. Jack presses an open-mouthed kiss to the back of Ianto's neck before shakily stepping back. Cold air rushes in to take up the space Jack had occupied.
Ianto closes his eyes and shudders.
________________
"You remember, don't you?" Bernard asks suddenly.
Ianto looks up from his coffee, arching an eyebrow.
"Remember, what, exactly?" Ianto hedges, cursing silently at the unevenness in his voice.
Bernard scowls.
"Don't be stupid, boy," he sneers. Ianto sighs and picks at the cuff of his sleeve. "I'm not foolish enough to think that all of this has been the result of normal adolescent melancholy. Maybe at first that might have been the case, but at your age it's getting a bit old. Either you remember, or my estimation of you has been far off the mark."
There's a long silence as they stare each other down.
"What are you going to do with me?" Ianto asks quietly.
"You've always been a problem," Bernard says. "Shoplifting, restlessness, uni was too boring, jobs not worth the effort, hopping from one place to the next like a bloody hummingbird. Never a simple answer with you, is there?"
"So sorry to disappoint," Ianto dead-pans.
"It's not about disappointment. I'm not your father. God knows I don't have any damn expectations or hopes for your future. It's about how we're going to deal with you," Bernard says. "Retcon doesn't work, apparently. Trial and error shows we can't just have a loose cannon like you walking about, either. Though it might be the simplest solution, proper protocol dictates I can't just put you out of your misery."
"That's too bad," Ianto says sarcastically.
"What you need is some kind of purpose," Bernard continues, ignoring the glib comment. "And what we need is to keep an eye on you. You're not stupid, and I hate to see useful abilities go to waste. Maybe you can think of this as a way of getting back at them."
"What exactly are you suggesting?" Ianto asks.
Bernard smirks and slides a file across the table.
"Torchwood One is hiring," he says. "Interested?"
Ianto opens the file and a confidentiality agreement stares up at him in bold type. He looks up at Bernard before leaning back in his chair.
"Perhaps."
_________
Ianto strokes a hand lightly down the side of Jack's face. Jack doesn't open his eyes, but a slight smile graces his lips before he shifts closer, tangling their legs together under the covers. Ianto sighs, body tired and sated, savoring the feel of skin on skin, the feather light caresses of Jack's fingers on his shoulder blades.
"What are you thinking about?" Jack asks, voice rusty with sleep. His eyes crack open and Ianto's breath catches at how iridescently blue they look against the dark fan of his lashes.
Would you go back to yours, if you could?
"Nothing important," Ianto says. "Just... some of the things we talked about earlier."
"Ah," Jack says. Ianto runs his fingers down from Jack's cheek to rest against his neck, counting the beats of his pulse. "Anything in particular?"
It should seem strange, having Jack ask so openly about his feelings. It should be strange that Jack's looking at him, gaze soft with affection and interest, actually seeing Ianto. It's been different since he came back. More intimate. They're building towards something now. Together.
It seems they'd both done a lot of sorting things out when Jack had been gone. Discovered what it is that's important to them. Maybe even grown up a bit.
Ianto fights back a smirk at the thought of Jack ever really growing up.
Don't really know where I really belong. Maybe that doesn't matter anymore.
Ianto's not so terrified of falling in love now. Jack was right, and Ianto's decided maybe it's time to let himself become attached. Stop living in the past.
Even if Jack doesn't feel the same way, Ianto will hold onto him for as long as he can. He needs this.
"Well... I just thought..." Ianto pauses, and Jack makes an encouraging sound before pressing a little closer.
"I just thought," Ianto continues, "that even after everything, maybe because of it all... I-I wouldn't change anything either. I'm grateful that it's all led me here... to you."
Jack smiles brilliantly before cupping Ianto's cheek and pulling him into a passionate kiss.
For the first time he can remember, Ianto Jones has the sensation of coming home.
_____________
It's just after Ianto's twelfth birthday when they take him.
He remembers his lips forming words he didn't want to say, his eyes dry from staring and waiting for something he couldn't see. After that, all he remembers is a timeless period of bright white light and muffled sobs.
It should be better that he doesn't remember much of it, but somehow it's worse.
The next thing he remembers there is a jolt back to awareness, of being in control of himself again. Then there are loud noises, pain, and darkness before the voices come. He can't quite make out everything they're saying from where he's huddled in a dark corner, bare back shivering against the cold wall.
"...traces of rift activity. A bit small, isn't it?"
"Computer systems...rely on more information...coordinates...outside sources...like a flock of birds. If it got separated from the fleet, it's no wonder it crashed."
The bright light from an electric torch lances into his eyes, and Ianto cries out.
"My God," a horrified voice whispers before there are suddenly invading hands on him, assessing damage, tilting his face up.
"There's a child here, Bernard," the strange man says over his shoulder. Ianto looks up through his tears into kind brown eyes. "What's your name, lad?" he asks softly.
"I...Ianto," he sobs.
The man called Bernard steps up behind the other stranger then, his eyes not as kind, fingers itching toward a gun strapped to his hip. Bernard jerks his head and the other man stands up from his crouch in front of Ianto and steps back.
"Where's my Mam and Tad?" Ianto asks, suddenly terrified that the strangers will go and leave him in the biting metal darkness forever. "Where... where am I? Who're you?"
Bernard's voice is cold when he answers Ianto's question.
"London. We're Torchwood."
________
Ianto's been feeling uneasy for the past month. Something clawing at the back of his mind, skirting his consciousness. Jack and Gwen have both been shooting him concerned looks for weeks. He'd tell them what was wrong, but he doesn't really know himself.
When the children just...stop, Ianto finally figures it out.
He doesn't want to believe it. Hands shaking, he cross-checks all of the reports. Jack and Gwen have gone to investigate a local school, and they've left Ianto to run research. As he reads a cold sweat breaks out on his forehead. It's not possible. Everything he's managed to get his hands on, all the research in the archives had suggested it was a one-time, isolated incident. But as the reports keep rolling in Ianto can't keep denying it any longer.
They've come back.
Just when he's starting to see black spots dancing at the edges of his vision, the proximity alarm goes off and the cog-wheel door rolls back.
"Ianto?" Jack's concerned voice cuts into his thoughts. "Ianto! What's going on?"
"Jack?" Ianto asks, turning on legs threatening to give out.
Jack's followed closely by Gwen. When they see the state he's in, Jack rushes to support him while Gwen pulls up a chair.
"Sit down before you fall over, love," Gwen says kindly, her brow knitted in concern. "What's wrong? You haven't been answering our hails on the radio for the past half hour."
Jack helps him settle in the chair before placing a comforting hand on the nape of his neck. Ianto struggles to answer through numb lips, blood rushing in his ears.
"The children," he says. "This has happened before."
"What?" Gwen asks.
Jack blanches, clenching his eyes shut for a moment.
"Shit. I was really hoping it wasn't what I was thinking," he says. Then his eyebrows dart up to his hairline. "But how did you know about the previous incident? All of that was classified far beyond even my jurisdiction until One fell. Even then, there are whole sections of reports that just went... missing."
Ianto breathes deeply, getting himself under control. A pang of guilt hits him along with self-recrimination over all the stupid reasons why he hasn't spoken of this before now. Maybe, if he'd told them, they might have been able to see this coming. Ianto licks dry lips, clearing his throat before answering.
"The reports were open to a select handful of people," Ianto says. "I received access to them shortly after I started working for Torchwood."
"But you were a junior researcher," Jack says. "Why would they grant you such high access?"
"A... friend pulled some strings, did me a favor. I guess Bernard thought he owed it to me," Ianto says. "Maybe he did it to give me some reason to keep going. Maybe he did it to keep me complacent."
"I don't understand," Jack says.
"The-the last time this happened," Ianto rasps out, "one of their ships was recovered. Tracings of rift activity suggested that a rift spike had separated it from the fleet, brought it to London where it crashed. The readings of temporal anomalies showed the ship had been taken from a different timeline, and it crashed some sixty years away from where it should have been."
There's the beginning of understanding in Jack's eyes. He kneels in front of Ianto's chair and laces their fingers together.
"There was one survivor discovered in the wreckage," Ianto continues. "One of the many they'd... collected... in the incident that occurred almost eighty years ago. A child."
Ianto hears Gwen's gasp before Jack's gathering him into his arms. Ianto presses his face into Jack's neck and breathes him in before stepping back slightly. He'd thought he was stronger than this. Gwen presses against his side, her arm linking around his waist. Jack tilts Ianto's face up until their eyes meet.
"It was you," he says.
Ianto nods tightly, feels Gwen and Jack (his family) press a little closer. He knows they can only take a moment, but he's grateful for the strength they're managing to give him.
Even if they've come back, Torchwood still stands.
And so the fight begins.
____________
Ianto looks at the pile of unfamiliar toys strewn across his bedroom floor. Brightly colored plastic, flashing lights, the beeping tones of video games. Metallic wrapping paper printed with stripes and confetti.
He turns to look out his window, gaze drawn towards the dark sky. It's August 19th, 1996, and Ianto's just turned thirteen.
When he turned twelve, it was 1933.
_____
AN/Gratuitous Explanation for Where the Fic Started:
SCREW YOU RTD AND CoE!!! I HAD AN AWESOME CHARACTER ANALYSIS GOING BEFORE YOU MESSED IT UP! *grumbles*
I've always felt like there was something... off...about Ianto's character. The suits, the prim and proper-ness, the lack of any real information regarding his life prior to Torchwood One. His complete and utter devotion to first Lisa and then Jack and to Torchwood in general- how he seems to not fit in and need someone or something to give him purpose and drive. I know people have posited before that he's from some type of past era.
The things we DO know seem to imply some kind of early 20th century lifestyle. His dad was a "master tailor"- and those come few and far between nowadays but were much more common in the early 1900s. He used to go to shows at the Electro which supposedly had it's hayday in the early 20th century before being closed down and then renovated. That whole episode "From Out of the Rain"- when I look at how much more disturbed by the events Ianto seems to be than any of the other characters (specifically, the look on his face when Christina is telling her story)- to me that says he had some similar past trauma as a child (the fear of being stolen away- whether it's you or your last breath). Compound that on top of the invasion of the Night Travelers into treasured childhood memories, and it's easy to see how he would be so freaked out.
Actually, a lot of things make sense about his character if you look at them with the supposition that Ianto is a displaced individual from the past.
It was only when I read some spoilery-things about Torchwood series 3 that the idea for this fic became full-fledged. From a comic con interview, a main writer of the show said that we'll learn a heck of a lot more about Ianto's past in series 3. The director of series 3 was quoted as saying the Janto relationship will become important to the plot. After watching the trailer, the idea for this fic grabbed me by the neck and shook me.
Most likely this will become AU when series 3 comes out, but I think it'd be freakin' awesome if Ianto was a displaced individual from the early 1900s or whenever the last time the big baddies from Series 3 last showed up.
That's all I got ta say.