Revelations Part 2
Title: Revelations
Part: 2 of 10-ish...
Chapter Title: Chapter 1- In Which There is Martha, Scotch, Drunken Confessions, and Venice
Pairing: Janto, mention of Gwen/Rhys, mention of Martha/Tom, Ianto/Martha fag-hag fabulousness
Rating: PG for this one- NC-17 for later chapters
Warnings: Post Season 2 Spoilers, General Angst
Excerpt:
“I got that,” Jack says, ignoring the lifted eyebrow Ianto shoots at Martha and the snort of laughter she stifles. The two have been thick as thieves ever since the good doctor finally left UNIT. Jones and Jones… it has a kind of mirror-like poetry to it. “What I don’t get is why you two requested at the same time. Anything going on I should know about?” His lips spread into a lascivious smile. It’s certainly a pretty thought.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re thinking about something to do with ropes, cameras, and threesomes?” Ianto asks, leaning back in his chair.
“What exactly do you two mean by this?” Jack asks. Martha and Ianto look up from their shared lunch then down at the forms Jack has dropped on the table. In perfect unison. Jack would make a crack about those synchronized swimmers he’d dated for a while if he didn’t want to distract from the conversation.
“Really Jack, having trouble reading?” Martha says, her lips tilting into a smirk. “I believe it should be obvious.” Ianto picks the papers up, thumbing through them with affected nonchalance.
“Two forms, requesting leave for the weeks of July the 6th through the 27th,” Ianto begins. “Notarized and on your desk on the 2nd of June, more than a month of due warning as is required by rules and regulations: section C, article 27a regarding personnel vacation time and notices of absence.” Ianto flips through them with a quick zip as if shuffling a deck of cards. “Everything seems to be in order.”
Jack takes the forms back with a quick grab.
“I got that,” he says, ignoring the lifted eyebrow Ianto shoots at Martha and the snort of laughter she stifles. The two have been thick as thieves ever since the good doctor finally left UNIT. Jones and Jones… it has a kind of mirror-like poetry to it. “What I don’t get is why you two requested at the same time. Anything going on I should know about?” His lips spread into a lascivious smile. It’s certainly a pretty thought.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re thinking about something to do with ropes, cameras, and threesomes?” Ianto asks, leaning back in his chair.
“The real question is: when is he not thinking about something to do with ropes, cameras, and threesomes?” Martha responds, startling a laugh out of Jack. Ianto picks up his mug of coffee and sips on it to hide a smile. “And you know, Jack, not everyone has sex with every person they get along with, even if said person is tall and handsome with a dark voice and darker suits.”
Ianto chokes on his coffee, his ears turning pink. Jack grins.
“Alright, alright,” he says, his hands spread in surrender. “As cute as Ianto is when he’s embarrassed, I think I’m just waiting for you to convince me why it’s a good idea for me to send both of you out at the same time.”
“Oh, come on, Jack, live dangerously,” Martha quips, picking up a chip and taking a bite. “Besides, you did alright when it was just you, Ianto, and Gwen- I’m sure you’ll manage for three weeks with Gwen and Mickey.”
“And personally, I have enough back-logged time off due to me that I should be taking three months, much less three weeks,” Ianto states with finality. “In addition, I’ve taken the liberty of tweaking the teleportation technology we… borrowed from UNIT-there’s another report on your desk about that. If you insist, we could take a couple of the devices with us, and in the case of an emergency we’d only be the press of a button away.”
“As the on-site doctor I’ve also submitted a report about the need for more regular periods of recreation,” Martha beams, her shadowed eyes the only indication she’s being serious. “Gwen has been right in telling you that we all occasionally need time away from work… to remind us what it is we work so hard for in the first place.”
Ianto and Jack lock gazes and the unspoken flashes between them. We don’t want another Suzie, now, do we?
Jack heaves a sigh.
“I’m not sure I like it when you two put your heads together; I give in way too easily,” he states wearily, leaning back to cross his arms in a classic Captain Jack pose. “Fine. Take the three weeks. But I’ll want regular check-ins and if you’ve done as well on those teleportation units as you say, Ianto, I want those taken along. I’ll also need a detailed itinerary; hotels you’re staying at, rough schedules, contact numbers, yaddah yaddah. I’ll have a final look over everything and if you’ve filled out all the forms correctly, which I don’t doubt you have, I’ll approve your request in the morning.”
“Thank you, Jack!” Martha says, the picture of proper gratitude, and promptly goes back to devouring her sandwich. Ianto smiles softly and gives a nod before Jack turns to leave.
“Oh, by the way,” Jack turns back when he reaches the door, walks slowly further into the room. “Where is it you two plan on going?”
“Venice,” Ianto answers, a dreamy, far-off look on his face. Something sparks in Jack’s eyes, and Martha looks up from her sandwich.
“Ah, romance capitol of the world… I should be jealous,” Jack says as he strides around the table to Ianto.
His words are full of humor, self-assuredness, just a joke. Then he’s at Ianto’s side, a hand coming to cup his cheek as he leans in and unabashedly kisses him in front of Martha, tongue tracing Ianto’s lips in a teasing caress, a chuckle rumbling deep in his chest when Ianto responds, digs his fingers into Jack’s hair and kisses back. And when he pulls away, Ianto sees the mischief in his eyes, the shallow tilt to his grin, sees the kiss for what it was- a show, shock value, not meant in earnest but as a game. Ianto’s just a toy, after all.
“Try not to miss me too much, eh?” he husks, lips inches from Ianto, and Ianto can feel a little part of him begin to weep at the cavalier tone of it all. And hates himself a little more when he can’t help the fact that his heart races, breath comes faster, entire body aches with the want. Then Jack is gone, like he always is, leaving Ianto in the lurch.
“Whoo,” Martha coos, her face a little shocked, a lot impressed, maybe even slightly turned on. Just what Jack wanted. “I thought Gwen was exaggerating a little about that time she walked in on you in the greenhouse, but that was-“ She cuts herself off, noticing the crushed expression on Ianto’s face. “Ianto?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Ianto says, taking another bite of his lunch, now tasteless as ash in his mouth.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On their third night in Venice, Ianto fumbles with the swipe card in what seems an almost vain attempt to get the door open to their double suite; Martha isn’t exactly making it easy on him, clinging to his arm and laughing, swaying on three-inch heels while she babbles about everything from the view across the Canal Di San Marco to the art at the Galleria Bevilacqua La Masa to the stares of appreciation both of them had been getting all night.
Martha certainly looks beautiful in her floor length red gown, and if for some reason the lights of Venice make Ianto’s three-piece suit appear a little more dapper than usual, he isn’t one to complain. Martha smacks him on the arm accusingly, bringing him back into a one-sided conversation that had been little more than white-noise to him before now.
“…And I can’t believe you never told me you spoke Italian so well!” she gushes. “The best I can do is: GRAH-tsee SEE-nyor-ay.” Ianto winces.
“If that’s the best you can do, someone really ought to give you pronunciation lessons, Miss Jones,” he teases. “You sound like an American.” He finally manages the door, and they stumble inside in a heap of good humor.
“Oh, God, wouldn’t want that now, would we?” she asks with a grin. “You should teach me then. You seem fluent enough, don’t you, Mr. Jones? Makes me wonder what else you hide under that suit and polished propriety.” She waggles her eyebrows, causing her to look a cross between patently ridiculous and perfectly adorable.
“I’ve told you before: I know everything. What’s it going to take for you to believe me?” Ianto states with a smile, and Martha dissolves into a fit of hysterical giggles, leaning more heavily into him, burying her face in his chest. Ianto sighs affectionately. “All it takes is a few drinks and you’re utterly pickled, aren’t you?”
“I never drink!” Martha states resolutely, head snapping back up. “Well, haven’t in practically forever. You’re not unaffected yourself, admit it!”
And that's true, Ianto certainly isn't unaffected (it really shouldn't have taken him so long to sort the swipe card, after all). As a matter of fact, they're both happily intoxicated, warm and comfortably uninhibited. Lazily affectionate. Martha melts further into him, looks up into his face. Somehow, suddenly they're only inches apart, gazes locked, and Martha says, "I think..." before leaning in to kiss him softly.
There's nothing overtly sexual about it. It's more of a simple connection than anything else. A call of You're here with me, aren't you? and an answering Yes, I am. Ianto allows the kiss to deepen a little, let's his lips caress over hers as she sighs sweetly and pushes herself a little closer when he brings his arms up to give her a soft squeeze. It ends by a seeming mutual agreement, both of them pulling away at the same time. He leans his forehead against hers as they smile, their eyes meeting and acknowledging the love each holds for the other.
For a brief moment, Ianto wishes he could be in love with Martha. Sweet, kind, funny, brilliant, strong, uncomplicated Martha Jones. It would make things so much easier.
"I better watch myself or Tom will have my head on a spike," he jokes as she slowly pulls away. Martha laughs.
"Oh, Tom understands my eccentricities all too well," she reasons. "It's your fault for looking so good in a suit, Ianto," she pouts with an exaggerated jut of her lower lip.
"And we're in Venice on top of that. It would be a waste not to get at least one kiss out of the bargain," Ianto responds with a wink. Martha laughs.
"Yeah. Wouldn't Jack love to be here just so he could say, 'I told you so'?"
She says it in a flippant tone; a light-hearted joke. But Ianto's throat still tightens, his stomach drops into his shoes.
"Yeah," he manages sadly, turning away from Martha to go further into the room. He sits in a chair and loosens his tie, moving to work on his cufflinks. Hoping, perhaps, that Martha won't notice the slip-up.
Of course, this is Martha. It's not like she would miss that sort of thing.
"Alright, Ianto Jones," she says sternly, and he looks up to find her looking determined, much more sober, her hands braced on silk-covered hips. Eyes flashing fierce and beautiful. "We need to talk about this...whatever it is." She walks over to the bed closest to Ianto's chair and sits facing him. "You've been acting out of sorts for a while now. What's going on?" Ianto looks at her, blue eyes troubled.
"It's just that... I... he wouldn't care." The words escape him in a mess, a dam being burst. "Not that I would want him to care, as there's really nothing of that sort going on, but maybe sometimes I... Christ. I don't know." His eyes snap away from hers, elbows fall to his knees, one hand coming up to rub a distressed pattern across his mouth, rasp of stubble audible in the quiet room. Martha sighs.
"Let's start from the beginning, shall we? I assume you're talking about Jack."
Ianto nods.
"And you're in love with him."
Another nod.
“Have you told him?”
Ianto raises an eyebrow incredulously.
“Right, stupid question. Silly of me to think men could talk about their feelings like adults,” she mutters. "Now tell me; what exactly is the problem?"
Typical Martha, cutting through all the bollocks and bullshit. The direct question disturbs Ianto more than it should. His good-humored inebriation is swiftly swinging towards the maudlin. Martha's mouth falls into a concerned frown when she notices frustrated tears swimming in Ianto's eyes.
She's gotten to know him well in the past few months; honestly, she came away to Venice with him without a second thought when he asked. Ianto Jones has slipped into her heart quietly, efficiently, and unnoticed- much like he does everything else. There's a long pause while she waits him out. Silence prompts Ianto to speak more than most probing questions.
"He...doesn't love me, Martha," comes the choked off answer. "I'm little more than a convenience to him." Martha leans back, eyes softened in sympathy.
"I was afraid that's what it was," she says, getting up and moving to the mini bar. "Now I don't know about you, but I'm going to need another drink for this conversation. Scotch?" Ianto nods numbly, not coming back to himself until she slips the glass tumbler into his hand, reclaiming her spot on the bed and taking a generous gulp from her own portion.
"Alright, explain to me how you've come to this conclusion."
Then she listens silently as Ianto haltingly recounts the moment of realization, of lying prone in that hospital bed. How he doesn't know who he is without Jack anymore. How he's losing the fight with his own emotions. She listens to the story of their first kiss, their first date, their first dance, all while sipping slowly on the scotch, letting it burn into her stomach.
He must have been holding all this in for a long time, she thinks, and for once she’s grateful for the lowered inhibitions of drunkenness since that’s undoubtedly what’s keeping Ianto talking. She's never heard him talk this much at once- doubts if anyone's heard him talk this much at once. And everything he says, the pain she can see etched in his face, strikes a sad chord in her she usually keeps buried away.
"... and I know that I'll lose him one day," Ianto states finally. "I think that's what terrifies me most of all."
He stops, drinks the rest of his scotch in one go and slumps wearily in his chair. Martha sighs.
"I'm sorry, Ianto. I really am," she says, reaching a hand out to squeeze his knee. "And I mightn't know exactly what you're going through, but I have had my own experience with unrequited love- in fact, like you, unrequited love for a man much older than me who’s going to be around long after I’m gone. A man more confusing and mysterious than anyone I’ve ever met… A man completely in love with someone else." She grimaces, and copies Ianto in tossing back the rest of her scotch. If they weren’t completely pissed before, they certainly are now.
"Your Doctor," Ianto states. It's not a question. Martha nods. "What did you do?" Ianto asks.
Martha smiles sadly.
"I told him I couldn't waste my life pining after someone when it obviously wasn't going to happen. And I left." She stands up then, setting her empty glass on the desk behind Ianto's chair and kisses him on the forehead before sitting on his knee sideways, slinging an arm around his shoulders to offer a little comfort and closeness. "Of course, there wasn't anything remotely romantic about our relationship from his side... I don't know if I'd've had the strength to leave if we'd been like you and Jack. Poor Ianto."
Ianto tenses a bit and shifts around awkwardly, clearing his throat. Martha gets the hint, slides onto the floor to sit at his feet. She glares up at him.
“Honestly, Ianto, I was only trying to have a touching, inebriated moment with you. I know you’re not used to girls in your lap, but if you’re going to be such a tragic hero you need to learn to live with it.”
He snorts.
"And I thought I was being the melodramatic one tonight," he mocks. Then, more seriously, "Did it work?"
“Did what work?”
“Leaving.”
“Yes. I mean, honestly, I still have days when I miss him, but then I come to my senses again. I’m happy, Ianto.” Her expression turns contemplative. “You know, maybe you should do that. Get some space. Figure out who Ianto Jones really is without Captain Jack Harkness looming over him all the bloody time.” Ianto laughs.
“I wish I could, but you know I can’t leave Torchwood. Who would remember to feed Myfanwy and Janet while I was gone?” Martha tuts.
“You’re probably right,” she admits. A pause, and then she looks serious again. “And please don’t doubt how much Torchwood needs you, how much Jack needs you, even if the sorry sod won’t admit it,” she says, patting his ankle consolingly, albeit awkwardly. Ianto smiles softly.
“I know I’m needed, Martha. But being needed and being wanted are two very different things.” And damn Ianto Jones for his unthinking ability to break Martha’s heart with a casual statement.
“Well, I want you with us,” she says, fighting back the tight feeling in her chest. “We’ll just have to figure something out to sort the rest…”
They lapse into silence for a moment, lost in thoughts. Suddenly, Martha tenses, leans back to look up at him wide-eyed with a beaming grin.
“Eureka!” she says triumphantly, leaping up from the floor, pulling him up with her. “I’m brilliant, Ianto! I’m bloody brilliant!”
“I take it you have an idea, then, about how to sort the rest?” he asks deadpan, eyebrow raised.
“And what an idea!” she enthuses, rushing to her suitcase, opening it and tossing various toiletries across the room in a frantic search.
“You’re mullered,” Ianto states, attempting to walk over to see what Martha’s up to but faltering a bit on the way. Damn slippery shoes.
“So’re you, but that’s beside the point.”
“And what is the point, exactly?” Martha looks up from where she’s settled on the floor again, various items scattered about her in disarray, her open suitcase in front of her knees.
“We have two and a half more weeks in Venice,” she observes with a diabolical grin that suddenly makes Ianto rather nervous.
“…and?” he asks, when she doesn’t seem to be any more forthcoming.
“Two weeks in Venice, love. Anything can happen.”
Part: 2 of 10-ish...
Chapter Title: Chapter 1- In Which There is Martha, Scotch, Drunken Confessions, and Venice
Pairing: Janto, mention of Gwen/Rhys, mention of Martha/Tom, Ianto/Martha fag-hag fabulousness
Rating: PG for this one- NC-17 for later chapters
Warnings: Post Season 2 Spoilers, General Angst
Excerpt:
“I got that,” Jack says, ignoring the lifted eyebrow Ianto shoots at Martha and the snort of laughter she stifles. The two have been thick as thieves ever since the good doctor finally left UNIT. Jones and Jones… it has a kind of mirror-like poetry to it. “What I don’t get is why you two requested at the same time. Anything going on I should know about?” His lips spread into a lascivious smile. It’s certainly a pretty thought.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re thinking about something to do with ropes, cameras, and threesomes?” Ianto asks, leaning back in his chair.
“What exactly do you two mean by this?” Jack asks. Martha and Ianto look up from their shared lunch then down at the forms Jack has dropped on the table. In perfect unison. Jack would make a crack about those synchronized swimmers he’d dated for a while if he didn’t want to distract from the conversation.
“Really Jack, having trouble reading?” Martha says, her lips tilting into a smirk. “I believe it should be obvious.” Ianto picks the papers up, thumbing through them with affected nonchalance.
“Two forms, requesting leave for the weeks of July the 6th through the 27th,” Ianto begins. “Notarized and on your desk on the 2nd of June, more than a month of due warning as is required by rules and regulations: section C, article 27a regarding personnel vacation time and notices of absence.” Ianto flips through them with a quick zip as if shuffling a deck of cards. “Everything seems to be in order.”
Jack takes the forms back with a quick grab.
“I got that,” he says, ignoring the lifted eyebrow Ianto shoots at Martha and the snort of laughter she stifles. The two have been thick as thieves ever since the good doctor finally left UNIT. Jones and Jones… it has a kind of mirror-like poetry to it. “What I don’t get is why you two requested at the same time. Anything going on I should know about?” His lips spread into a lascivious smile. It’s certainly a pretty thought.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re thinking about something to do with ropes, cameras, and threesomes?” Ianto asks, leaning back in his chair.
“The real question is: when is he not thinking about something to do with ropes, cameras, and threesomes?” Martha responds, startling a laugh out of Jack. Ianto picks up his mug of coffee and sips on it to hide a smile. “And you know, Jack, not everyone has sex with every person they get along with, even if said person is tall and handsome with a dark voice and darker suits.”
Ianto chokes on his coffee, his ears turning pink. Jack grins.
“Alright, alright,” he says, his hands spread in surrender. “As cute as Ianto is when he’s embarrassed, I think I’m just waiting for you to convince me why it’s a good idea for me to send both of you out at the same time.”
“Oh, come on, Jack, live dangerously,” Martha quips, picking up a chip and taking a bite. “Besides, you did alright when it was just you, Ianto, and Gwen- I’m sure you’ll manage for three weeks with Gwen and Mickey.”
“And personally, I have enough back-logged time off due to me that I should be taking three months, much less three weeks,” Ianto states with finality. “In addition, I’ve taken the liberty of tweaking the teleportation technology we… borrowed from UNIT-there’s another report on your desk about that. If you insist, we could take a couple of the devices with us, and in the case of an emergency we’d only be the press of a button away.”
“As the on-site doctor I’ve also submitted a report about the need for more regular periods of recreation,” Martha beams, her shadowed eyes the only indication she’s being serious. “Gwen has been right in telling you that we all occasionally need time away from work… to remind us what it is we work so hard for in the first place.”
Ianto and Jack lock gazes and the unspoken flashes between them. We don’t want another Suzie, now, do we?
Jack heaves a sigh.
“I’m not sure I like it when you two put your heads together; I give in way too easily,” he states wearily, leaning back to cross his arms in a classic Captain Jack pose. “Fine. Take the three weeks. But I’ll want regular check-ins and if you’ve done as well on those teleportation units as you say, Ianto, I want those taken along. I’ll also need a detailed itinerary; hotels you’re staying at, rough schedules, contact numbers, yaddah yaddah. I’ll have a final look over everything and if you’ve filled out all the forms correctly, which I don’t doubt you have, I’ll approve your request in the morning.”
“Thank you, Jack!” Martha says, the picture of proper gratitude, and promptly goes back to devouring her sandwich. Ianto smiles softly and gives a nod before Jack turns to leave.
“Oh, by the way,” Jack turns back when he reaches the door, walks slowly further into the room. “Where is it you two plan on going?”
“Venice,” Ianto answers, a dreamy, far-off look on his face. Something sparks in Jack’s eyes, and Martha looks up from her sandwich.
“Ah, romance capitol of the world… I should be jealous,” Jack says as he strides around the table to Ianto.
His words are full of humor, self-assuredness, just a joke. Then he’s at Ianto’s side, a hand coming to cup his cheek as he leans in and unabashedly kisses him in front of Martha, tongue tracing Ianto’s lips in a teasing caress, a chuckle rumbling deep in his chest when Ianto responds, digs his fingers into Jack’s hair and kisses back. And when he pulls away, Ianto sees the mischief in his eyes, the shallow tilt to his grin, sees the kiss for what it was- a show, shock value, not meant in earnest but as a game. Ianto’s just a toy, after all.
“Try not to miss me too much, eh?” he husks, lips inches from Ianto, and Ianto can feel a little part of him begin to weep at the cavalier tone of it all. And hates himself a little more when he can’t help the fact that his heart races, breath comes faster, entire body aches with the want. Then Jack is gone, like he always is, leaving Ianto in the lurch.
“Whoo,” Martha coos, her face a little shocked, a lot impressed, maybe even slightly turned on. Just what Jack wanted. “I thought Gwen was exaggerating a little about that time she walked in on you in the greenhouse, but that was-“ She cuts herself off, noticing the crushed expression on Ianto’s face. “Ianto?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Ianto says, taking another bite of his lunch, now tasteless as ash in his mouth.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On their third night in Venice, Ianto fumbles with the swipe card in what seems an almost vain attempt to get the door open to their double suite; Martha isn’t exactly making it easy on him, clinging to his arm and laughing, swaying on three-inch heels while she babbles about everything from the view across the Canal Di San Marco to the art at the Galleria Bevilacqua La Masa to the stares of appreciation both of them had been getting all night.
Martha certainly looks beautiful in her floor length red gown, and if for some reason the lights of Venice make Ianto’s three-piece suit appear a little more dapper than usual, he isn’t one to complain. Martha smacks him on the arm accusingly, bringing him back into a one-sided conversation that had been little more than white-noise to him before now.
“…And I can’t believe you never told me you spoke Italian so well!” she gushes. “The best I can do is: GRAH-tsee SEE-nyor-ay.” Ianto winces.
“If that’s the best you can do, someone really ought to give you pronunciation lessons, Miss Jones,” he teases. “You sound like an American.” He finally manages the door, and they stumble inside in a heap of good humor.
“Oh, God, wouldn’t want that now, would we?” she asks with a grin. “You should teach me then. You seem fluent enough, don’t you, Mr. Jones? Makes me wonder what else you hide under that suit and polished propriety.” She waggles her eyebrows, causing her to look a cross between patently ridiculous and perfectly adorable.
“I’ve told you before: I know everything. What’s it going to take for you to believe me?” Ianto states with a smile, and Martha dissolves into a fit of hysterical giggles, leaning more heavily into him, burying her face in his chest. Ianto sighs affectionately. “All it takes is a few drinks and you’re utterly pickled, aren’t you?”
“I never drink!” Martha states resolutely, head snapping back up. “Well, haven’t in practically forever. You’re not unaffected yourself, admit it!”
And that's true, Ianto certainly isn't unaffected (it really shouldn't have taken him so long to sort the swipe card, after all). As a matter of fact, they're both happily intoxicated, warm and comfortably uninhibited. Lazily affectionate. Martha melts further into him, looks up into his face. Somehow, suddenly they're only inches apart, gazes locked, and Martha says, "I think..." before leaning in to kiss him softly.
There's nothing overtly sexual about it. It's more of a simple connection than anything else. A call of You're here with me, aren't you? and an answering Yes, I am. Ianto allows the kiss to deepen a little, let's his lips caress over hers as she sighs sweetly and pushes herself a little closer when he brings his arms up to give her a soft squeeze. It ends by a seeming mutual agreement, both of them pulling away at the same time. He leans his forehead against hers as they smile, their eyes meeting and acknowledging the love each holds for the other.
For a brief moment, Ianto wishes he could be in love with Martha. Sweet, kind, funny, brilliant, strong, uncomplicated Martha Jones. It would make things so much easier.
"I better watch myself or Tom will have my head on a spike," he jokes as she slowly pulls away. Martha laughs.
"Oh, Tom understands my eccentricities all too well," she reasons. "It's your fault for looking so good in a suit, Ianto," she pouts with an exaggerated jut of her lower lip.
"And we're in Venice on top of that. It would be a waste not to get at least one kiss out of the bargain," Ianto responds with a wink. Martha laughs.
"Yeah. Wouldn't Jack love to be here just so he could say, 'I told you so'?"
She says it in a flippant tone; a light-hearted joke. But Ianto's throat still tightens, his stomach drops into his shoes.
"Yeah," he manages sadly, turning away from Martha to go further into the room. He sits in a chair and loosens his tie, moving to work on his cufflinks. Hoping, perhaps, that Martha won't notice the slip-up.
Of course, this is Martha. It's not like she would miss that sort of thing.
"Alright, Ianto Jones," she says sternly, and he looks up to find her looking determined, much more sober, her hands braced on silk-covered hips. Eyes flashing fierce and beautiful. "We need to talk about this...whatever it is." She walks over to the bed closest to Ianto's chair and sits facing him. "You've been acting out of sorts for a while now. What's going on?" Ianto looks at her, blue eyes troubled.
"It's just that... I... he wouldn't care." The words escape him in a mess, a dam being burst. "Not that I would want him to care, as there's really nothing of that sort going on, but maybe sometimes I... Christ. I don't know." His eyes snap away from hers, elbows fall to his knees, one hand coming up to rub a distressed pattern across his mouth, rasp of stubble audible in the quiet room. Martha sighs.
"Let's start from the beginning, shall we? I assume you're talking about Jack."
Ianto nods.
"And you're in love with him."
Another nod.
“Have you told him?”
Ianto raises an eyebrow incredulously.
“Right, stupid question. Silly of me to think men could talk about their feelings like adults,” she mutters. "Now tell me; what exactly is the problem?"
Typical Martha, cutting through all the bollocks and bullshit. The direct question disturbs Ianto more than it should. His good-humored inebriation is swiftly swinging towards the maudlin. Martha's mouth falls into a concerned frown when she notices frustrated tears swimming in Ianto's eyes.
She's gotten to know him well in the past few months; honestly, she came away to Venice with him without a second thought when he asked. Ianto Jones has slipped into her heart quietly, efficiently, and unnoticed- much like he does everything else. There's a long pause while she waits him out. Silence prompts Ianto to speak more than most probing questions.
"He...doesn't love me, Martha," comes the choked off answer. "I'm little more than a convenience to him." Martha leans back, eyes softened in sympathy.
"I was afraid that's what it was," she says, getting up and moving to the mini bar. "Now I don't know about you, but I'm going to need another drink for this conversation. Scotch?" Ianto nods numbly, not coming back to himself until she slips the glass tumbler into his hand, reclaiming her spot on the bed and taking a generous gulp from her own portion.
"Alright, explain to me how you've come to this conclusion."
Then she listens silently as Ianto haltingly recounts the moment of realization, of lying prone in that hospital bed. How he doesn't know who he is without Jack anymore. How he's losing the fight with his own emotions. She listens to the story of their first kiss, their first date, their first dance, all while sipping slowly on the scotch, letting it burn into her stomach.
He must have been holding all this in for a long time, she thinks, and for once she’s grateful for the lowered inhibitions of drunkenness since that’s undoubtedly what’s keeping Ianto talking. She's never heard him talk this much at once- doubts if anyone's heard him talk this much at once. And everything he says, the pain she can see etched in his face, strikes a sad chord in her she usually keeps buried away.
"... and I know that I'll lose him one day," Ianto states finally. "I think that's what terrifies me most of all."
He stops, drinks the rest of his scotch in one go and slumps wearily in his chair. Martha sighs.
"I'm sorry, Ianto. I really am," she says, reaching a hand out to squeeze his knee. "And I mightn't know exactly what you're going through, but I have had my own experience with unrequited love- in fact, like you, unrequited love for a man much older than me who’s going to be around long after I’m gone. A man more confusing and mysterious than anyone I’ve ever met… A man completely in love with someone else." She grimaces, and copies Ianto in tossing back the rest of her scotch. If they weren’t completely pissed before, they certainly are now.
"Your Doctor," Ianto states. It's not a question. Martha nods. "What did you do?" Ianto asks.
Martha smiles sadly.
"I told him I couldn't waste my life pining after someone when it obviously wasn't going to happen. And I left." She stands up then, setting her empty glass on the desk behind Ianto's chair and kisses him on the forehead before sitting on his knee sideways, slinging an arm around his shoulders to offer a little comfort and closeness. "Of course, there wasn't anything remotely romantic about our relationship from his side... I don't know if I'd've had the strength to leave if we'd been like you and Jack. Poor Ianto."
Ianto tenses a bit and shifts around awkwardly, clearing his throat. Martha gets the hint, slides onto the floor to sit at his feet. She glares up at him.
“Honestly, Ianto, I was only trying to have a touching, inebriated moment with you. I know you’re not used to girls in your lap, but if you’re going to be such a tragic hero you need to learn to live with it.”
He snorts.
"And I thought I was being the melodramatic one tonight," he mocks. Then, more seriously, "Did it work?"
“Did what work?”
“Leaving.”
“Yes. I mean, honestly, I still have days when I miss him, but then I come to my senses again. I’m happy, Ianto.” Her expression turns contemplative. “You know, maybe you should do that. Get some space. Figure out who Ianto Jones really is without Captain Jack Harkness looming over him all the bloody time.” Ianto laughs.
“I wish I could, but you know I can’t leave Torchwood. Who would remember to feed Myfanwy and Janet while I was gone?” Martha tuts.
“You’re probably right,” she admits. A pause, and then she looks serious again. “And please don’t doubt how much Torchwood needs you, how much Jack needs you, even if the sorry sod won’t admit it,” she says, patting his ankle consolingly, albeit awkwardly. Ianto smiles softly.
“I know I’m needed, Martha. But being needed and being wanted are two very different things.” And damn Ianto Jones for his unthinking ability to break Martha’s heart with a casual statement.
“Well, I want you with us,” she says, fighting back the tight feeling in her chest. “We’ll just have to figure something out to sort the rest…”
They lapse into silence for a moment, lost in thoughts. Suddenly, Martha tenses, leans back to look up at him wide-eyed with a beaming grin.
“Eureka!” she says triumphantly, leaping up from the floor, pulling him up with her. “I’m brilliant, Ianto! I’m bloody brilliant!”
“I take it you have an idea, then, about how to sort the rest?” he asks deadpan, eyebrow raised.
“And what an idea!” she enthuses, rushing to her suitcase, opening it and tossing various toiletries across the room in a frantic search.
“You’re mullered,” Ianto states, attempting to walk over to see what Martha’s up to but faltering a bit on the way. Damn slippery shoes.
“So’re you, but that’s beside the point.”
“And what is the point, exactly?” Martha looks up from where she’s settled on the floor again, various items scattered about her in disarray, her open suitcase in front of her knees.
“We have two and a half more weeks in Venice,” she observes with a diabolical grin that suddenly makes Ianto rather nervous.
“…and?” he asks, when she doesn’t seem to be any more forthcoming.
“Two weeks in Venice, love. Anything can happen.”