FIC: Rhys Williams: Private Dancer, Confidante for Hire
Title: Rhys Williams: Private Dancer, Confidante for Hire
Author:
blue_fjords
Rating: PG
Words: ~2,000
Setting: post-series two, sequel to “Conversing in Words, Fists and Grunts”
Pairings/Characters: Rhys, Jack, implied Jack/Ianto, implied Rhys/Gwen
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Jack helps Rhys out of a bind, and then they go shopping.
A/N: Thanks to verasteine for the beta! Any mistakes are my own (so I guess I do own something after all).
It had finally happened to him. Almost a year since he was told - shown, even - that life thrived out amongst the stars, and Rhys Williams was having a totally random close encounter, all on his own. He’d have to call Gwen and her mates eventually, but for now - wow.
Rhys settled back on his heels. There were some things in this alley that he definitely did not want on his trousers. He was hardly fastidious about it, but this was out back of a pub, with all the detritus a pub expels. He wondered if that’s what attracted the alien.
It looked like a furry heffalump. It was bright purple, and had large floppy elephant ears and a long trunk. Rhys guessed it would be about waist-high on him. It was sitting in amongst the bags of garbage, chomping on leftover greasy chips. Rhys was pretty sure it was smiling at him.
Rhys reached into his pocket and carefully pulled out his phone, hitting his first speed dial. “Gwen!” he whispered excitedly when she picked up. “You’ll never guess!”
“Rhys, love, I’m a little -”
“It’s an alien! I was walking back from the chip shop, and I passed this pub and heard a noise, and - it looks like a fluffy little heffalump!”
“What’s a heffalump?”
“You know what a heffalump is, Gwen! You know, from Winnie the Pooh?”
The heffalump-thing got up and started to waddle towards him.
“Gwen! Gwen! It’s coming towards me!”
“Well, for God’s sake, don’t let it, Rhys!”
“I’m not going to run from a heffalump! Come on, it’s perfectly harmless.” Rhys held out his free hand toward the creature. “Here, little fella!”
“Rhys Williams, you don’t interact with strange life forms without any protection! Where are you? The chip shop near our flat?”
“Yeah, but -”
“Stay away from the alien! I’ll think of something.”
“Gwen - ”
The alien paused in front of him. A comical juxtaposition of constipation and resignation crossed its face, and then - whoosh, pop! All that was left of the alien were the clumps of purple fur that covered Rhys from head to foot. His phone shorted out and his mouth dropped open.
A moment later Jack rounded the corner and started to laugh.
Rhys whirled on him. “What are you doing here? I called bloody Gwen!”
“And I was closest. Damn, Rhys, what did you do?” Jack approached slowly, still chuckling.
“I didn’t bloody well do anything! It just - it just -” Rhys gestured helplessly.
“Exploded all over you?” Jack supplied.
“Yeah!”
“Gwen, he’s fine,” Jack said into his comm. “We’ll be there soon.”
He pulled out his PDA. “I’m going to scan you with this thing, just to be safe, but this looks to me like a Rostwurst,” he told Rhys. “They tend to explode, but don’t worry - they’re perfectly harmless.”
Rhys frowned. “So, is it like a phoenix, then?”
Jack glanced up. “Hmm? Oh, no, they have a life-span of about a week. This thing’s dead. Dead as the dodo. On this planet, anyway.”
Rhys froze, eyes darting down to take in all the purple fur. He was covered in dead alien! Jack saw the look on his face and laughed again, even harder this time. Wanker.
“It’s okay, Rhys! There aren’t even any guts!”
Rhys shot him a look of pure venom.
“Oh, come on, Rhys! Just dance it off.”
Rhys snorted incredulously. “I’m not dancing.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Okay then, shake your money-maker. Unless you want to be covered in purple fur for the rest of your life.”
Damn Jack Harkness. Damn Torchwood. And damn bloody Rostwursts and their stupid bloody name.
Rhys tentatively raised his arms above his head and gave them an experimental shake. Jack crowed with laughter. A few purple hairs dislodged and floated slowly to the ground. Rhys grit his teeth, closed his eyes, and began to hop around, waving his arms in the air. Jack catcalled. Rhys moved faster, willing it to be over soon, and wriggled his legs one at a time.
“Okay, Rhys! You can stop now,” Jack pronounced. Finally.
Rhys lowered his arms and opened his eyes. He thought he saw Jack stuff something quickly into his pocket. Rhys fixed him with his best “I will not be trifled with” stare. It worked about as well on Jack as it did on Gwen.
“Did you film that?”
“I plead the Fifth.”
“You’re not really an American! You can’t plead the Fifth!”
“It’s an expression, Rhys.”
“This is bloody Wales, you can’t go around following American laws in Wales!”
“Is this the thanks I get for rescuing you?”
“Some rescue! I didn’t need you for it; I just fucking danced!”
“Oh, Rhys, that does not qualify as dancing.”
“Give me your camera and I’ll prove it to you.”
Jack gave him a mega-watt smile instead. “No need; I didn’t film it.”
Rhys raised his eyebrows. Like he believed that!
“Moving on!” Jack said hurriedly. “You should come with me; I should probably monitor you for any aftereffects. “
Jack turned to leave the alley. Rhys stayed rooted to the spot. “Aftereffects?”
Jack paused, and glanced over his shoulder. “They’re nothing too serious.”
Rhys waited expectantly.
Jack sighed. “You might grow horns.”
Rhys spluttered. “But, but the Rostwurst didn’t have any horns! Why would I get horns?”
Jack shrugged. “How should I know?”
Rhys shook his head in exasperation. “Fine, Harkness. Lead on.”
Jack resumed walking. “I need to stop at a shop across the way, then we can go back to the Hub. We can ride the invisible lift, you like that!”
Great. Now he was fucking getting humored by Jack bloody Harkness. But damn it all, he did like riding that lift!
Jack stopped abruptly outside a small shop. Rhys glanced up at the sign before following him inside. Yr Hen Llyfr - The Old Book.
A bell tinkled as the door closed behind them. Rhys’ nose was immediately assaulted with the scent of dust and parchment and old books, and he sneezed loudly. A tiny young woman glanced up from behind the counter, smiled at Jack, and gestured him over. Rhys followed once again, staring at all the books. It was a very narrow shop, and several piles of books threatened to meet in the middle over the aisles to form a virtual canopy of words.
The woman pulled a battered book out from under the counter and Jack smiled down at it, running one finger down the length of its spine. Rhys craned his neck to get a look at it. It was very thin. Jack opened it up, and Rhys could now see the title: “Heart of Darkness” by Joseph Conrad. Jack made a small noise, and Rhys glanced back up at him, startled. His jaw was clenched tight, and Rhys frowned. It wasn’t even a first edition. He looked back at the book. Everything looked very book-like to Rhys. The previous owner had even scrawled her name in the cover. It was rather faded now, but Rhys could see it: Harriet Derbyshire.
Jack closed the book and carefully stowed it in an inner coat pocket. Rhys’ eyes just about popped out of his skull when Jack handed over fifty pounds. The woman attempted to give him some change, but he smiled and waved it off, and led the way out of the shop. Rhys shook his head and followed. That was an awful lot of money for a beat-up version of a book (not even a first edition!) that you could find for just a couple of pounds in any book shop in Wales.
Rhys glanced over at Jack. The man looked lost in thought.
“So, Jack . . . is that the edition that’s missing a page or something?” he asked finally.
Jack frowned. “There’s an edition that’s missing a page?”
“I have no idea. You just paid a shitload for a teensy little book is all.”
“Ah.” Jack patted his coat pocket. “Sentimental value, Rhys.”
Rhys stopped walking. “Good for you, Jack.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Am I missing something?”
“Well, that’s a present, right? For someone -” Rhys fished for the right word “- special, right?”
“Yes . . .”
“It’s just refreshing that someone like you can find someone, too.”
Jack raised his other brow. “Someone like me?”
“You know . . . the playboy type.”
“Uh-huh. And what if I had bought this book for myself?”
“But you just said you didn’t?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
Rhys scratched his head. He had completely lost the thread of the conversation, but he was starting to think he had put his foot in his mouth somehow.
“Listen, mate, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“Very little offends me, Rhys.”
Rhys smiled hesitantly. “I must say, that’s a new one, though. An old book?”
Jack sighed. “The book, Rhys,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “belonged to someone I used to work with who died a very long time ago. She was honorable and brave and clever, and she died very young.”
“I’m sorry,” Rhys responded automatically. “Did you and she -”
Jack barked a laugh. “Contrary to popular opinion, I have not slept with everyone!”
Rhys flushed. “Good,” he mumbled. “Although you have to admit you’ve got a bit of a reputation.”
“I’ll have you know that I am currently a one-man guy. I’ve been with the same person longer than you’ve been alive.”
Rhys gaped. “That’s a long time.”
“Don’t I know it.”
Rhys mentally had to take a step back. Gwen had definitely mentioned that Jack could travel through time. Still, all the ins and outs of it made his head hurt.
“So, wait. The book’s for Ianto, right?”
“Yup.”
“Why?”
“He’d appreciate it.” Jack smiled slightly. “He said something the other day.”
Oh, yes! Rhys was back on familiar ground now. “Told you he loved you, did he?”
Jack looked rather taken aback. “Well, yeah, but that’s not why I got him this book. Someone says they love me, my first impulse isn’t to run out and buy them an old book.”
Rhys frowned, a little embarrassed. “Okay, then, why the old book?”
Jack shrugged. He looked a little sad. “To show him that some things last.”
To each his own, Rhys supposed. He frowned, running over past events in his head. Gwen had been understandably weepy after the bombing of Cardiff and the loss of two of her mates several months past. Her job had been harder since then. Two days ago, Gwen had come home from work early, put on her pajamas, and attempted to make homemade soup. Rhys had diplomatically volunteered to scrape it from the kitchen walls when he got home an hour later. Gwen’s eyes had been rather wet that whole night, but she had said that it was not something she wanted to talk about yet. He surmised Ianto had been similarly affected.
Jack was watching him, and nodded when Rhys looked back at him. “Yeah. Come on, let’s get back to the Hub. I still have to monitor you for horniness for a couple of hours.”
Rhys rolled his eyes. They reached the SUV and Rhys hopped into the passenger seat, buckling his seatbelt. It reminded him of something.
“So, when Ianto told you he loved you . . .”
Jack glanced at him out of the corner of his eye as he pulled into traffic. “You’re very interested in that.”
Rhys shrugged noncommittally.
“Here’s the thing, Rhys,” Jack continued, switching lanes without using his indicator, “I’m not going to tell you about it. Suffice it to say, it happened, and I believe him. Besides, I think you would die of embarrassment if I told you what we were doing when he said it.”
Rhys stared at Jack’s fingers as they gripped the steering wheel, and felt himself turn bright red.
Author:
blue_fjords
Rating: PG
Words: ~2,000
Setting: post-series two, sequel to “Conversing in Words, Fists and Grunts”
Pairings/Characters: Rhys, Jack, implied Jack/Ianto, implied Rhys/Gwen
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Jack helps Rhys out of a bind, and then they go shopping.
A/N: Thanks to verasteine for the beta! Any mistakes are my own (so I guess I do own something after all).
It had finally happened to him. Almost a year since he was told - shown, even - that life thrived out amongst the stars, and Rhys Williams was having a totally random close encounter, all on his own. He’d have to call Gwen and her mates eventually, but for now - wow.
Rhys settled back on his heels. There were some things in this alley that he definitely did not want on his trousers. He was hardly fastidious about it, but this was out back of a pub, with all the detritus a pub expels. He wondered if that’s what attracted the alien.
It looked like a furry heffalump. It was bright purple, and had large floppy elephant ears and a long trunk. Rhys guessed it would be about waist-high on him. It was sitting in amongst the bags of garbage, chomping on leftover greasy chips. Rhys was pretty sure it was smiling at him.
Rhys reached into his pocket and carefully pulled out his phone, hitting his first speed dial. “Gwen!” he whispered excitedly when she picked up. “You’ll never guess!”
“Rhys, love, I’m a little -”
“It’s an alien! I was walking back from the chip shop, and I passed this pub and heard a noise, and - it looks like a fluffy little heffalump!”
“What’s a heffalump?”
“You know what a heffalump is, Gwen! You know, from Winnie the Pooh?”
The heffalump-thing got up and started to waddle towards him.
“Gwen! Gwen! It’s coming towards me!”
“Well, for God’s sake, don’t let it, Rhys!”
“I’m not going to run from a heffalump! Come on, it’s perfectly harmless.” Rhys held out his free hand toward the creature. “Here, little fella!”
“Rhys Williams, you don’t interact with strange life forms without any protection! Where are you? The chip shop near our flat?”
“Yeah, but -”
“Stay away from the alien! I’ll think of something.”
“Gwen - ”
The alien paused in front of him. A comical juxtaposition of constipation and resignation crossed its face, and then - whoosh, pop! All that was left of the alien were the clumps of purple fur that covered Rhys from head to foot. His phone shorted out and his mouth dropped open.
A moment later Jack rounded the corner and started to laugh.
Rhys whirled on him. “What are you doing here? I called bloody Gwen!”
“And I was closest. Damn, Rhys, what did you do?” Jack approached slowly, still chuckling.
“I didn’t bloody well do anything! It just - it just -” Rhys gestured helplessly.
“Exploded all over you?” Jack supplied.
“Yeah!”
“Gwen, he’s fine,” Jack said into his comm. “We’ll be there soon.”
He pulled out his PDA. “I’m going to scan you with this thing, just to be safe, but this looks to me like a Rostwurst,” he told Rhys. “They tend to explode, but don’t worry - they’re perfectly harmless.”
Rhys frowned. “So, is it like a phoenix, then?”
Jack glanced up. “Hmm? Oh, no, they have a life-span of about a week. This thing’s dead. Dead as the dodo. On this planet, anyway.”
Rhys froze, eyes darting down to take in all the purple fur. He was covered in dead alien! Jack saw the look on his face and laughed again, even harder this time. Wanker.
“It’s okay, Rhys! There aren’t even any guts!”
Rhys shot him a look of pure venom.
“Oh, come on, Rhys! Just dance it off.”
Rhys snorted incredulously. “I’m not dancing.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Okay then, shake your money-maker. Unless you want to be covered in purple fur for the rest of your life.”
Damn Jack Harkness. Damn Torchwood. And damn bloody Rostwursts and their stupid bloody name.
Rhys tentatively raised his arms above his head and gave them an experimental shake. Jack crowed with laughter. A few purple hairs dislodged and floated slowly to the ground. Rhys grit his teeth, closed his eyes, and began to hop around, waving his arms in the air. Jack catcalled. Rhys moved faster, willing it to be over soon, and wriggled his legs one at a time.
“Okay, Rhys! You can stop now,” Jack pronounced. Finally.
Rhys lowered his arms and opened his eyes. He thought he saw Jack stuff something quickly into his pocket. Rhys fixed him with his best “I will not be trifled with” stare. It worked about as well on Jack as it did on Gwen.
“Did you film that?”
“I plead the Fifth.”
“You’re not really an American! You can’t plead the Fifth!”
“It’s an expression, Rhys.”
“This is bloody Wales, you can’t go around following American laws in Wales!”
“Is this the thanks I get for rescuing you?”
“Some rescue! I didn’t need you for it; I just fucking danced!”
“Oh, Rhys, that does not qualify as dancing.”
“Give me your camera and I’ll prove it to you.”
Jack gave him a mega-watt smile instead. “No need; I didn’t film it.”
Rhys raised his eyebrows. Like he believed that!
“Moving on!” Jack said hurriedly. “You should come with me; I should probably monitor you for any aftereffects. “
Jack turned to leave the alley. Rhys stayed rooted to the spot. “Aftereffects?”
Jack paused, and glanced over his shoulder. “They’re nothing too serious.”
Rhys waited expectantly.
Jack sighed. “You might grow horns.”
Rhys spluttered. “But, but the Rostwurst didn’t have any horns! Why would I get horns?”
Jack shrugged. “How should I know?”
Rhys shook his head in exasperation. “Fine, Harkness. Lead on.”
Jack resumed walking. “I need to stop at a shop across the way, then we can go back to the Hub. We can ride the invisible lift, you like that!”
Great. Now he was fucking getting humored by Jack bloody Harkness. But damn it all, he did like riding that lift!
Jack stopped abruptly outside a small shop. Rhys glanced up at the sign before following him inside. Yr Hen Llyfr - The Old Book.
A bell tinkled as the door closed behind them. Rhys’ nose was immediately assaulted with the scent of dust and parchment and old books, and he sneezed loudly. A tiny young woman glanced up from behind the counter, smiled at Jack, and gestured him over. Rhys followed once again, staring at all the books. It was a very narrow shop, and several piles of books threatened to meet in the middle over the aisles to form a virtual canopy of words.
The woman pulled a battered book out from under the counter and Jack smiled down at it, running one finger down the length of its spine. Rhys craned his neck to get a look at it. It was very thin. Jack opened it up, and Rhys could now see the title: “Heart of Darkness” by Joseph Conrad. Jack made a small noise, and Rhys glanced back up at him, startled. His jaw was clenched tight, and Rhys frowned. It wasn’t even a first edition. He looked back at the book. Everything looked very book-like to Rhys. The previous owner had even scrawled her name in the cover. It was rather faded now, but Rhys could see it: Harriet Derbyshire.
Jack closed the book and carefully stowed it in an inner coat pocket. Rhys’ eyes just about popped out of his skull when Jack handed over fifty pounds. The woman attempted to give him some change, but he smiled and waved it off, and led the way out of the shop. Rhys shook his head and followed. That was an awful lot of money for a beat-up version of a book (not even a first edition!) that you could find for just a couple of pounds in any book shop in Wales.
Rhys glanced over at Jack. The man looked lost in thought.
“So, Jack . . . is that the edition that’s missing a page or something?” he asked finally.
Jack frowned. “There’s an edition that’s missing a page?”
“I have no idea. You just paid a shitload for a teensy little book is all.”
“Ah.” Jack patted his coat pocket. “Sentimental value, Rhys.”
Rhys stopped walking. “Good for you, Jack.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Am I missing something?”
“Well, that’s a present, right? For someone -” Rhys fished for the right word “- special, right?”
“Yes . . .”
“It’s just refreshing that someone like you can find someone, too.”
Jack raised his other brow. “Someone like me?”
“You know . . . the playboy type.”
“Uh-huh. And what if I had bought this book for myself?”
“But you just said you didn’t?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
Rhys scratched his head. He had completely lost the thread of the conversation, but he was starting to think he had put his foot in his mouth somehow.
“Listen, mate, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“Very little offends me, Rhys.”
Rhys smiled hesitantly. “I must say, that’s a new one, though. An old book?”
Jack sighed. “The book, Rhys,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “belonged to someone I used to work with who died a very long time ago. She was honorable and brave and clever, and she died very young.”
“I’m sorry,” Rhys responded automatically. “Did you and she -”
Jack barked a laugh. “Contrary to popular opinion, I have not slept with everyone!”
Rhys flushed. “Good,” he mumbled. “Although you have to admit you’ve got a bit of a reputation.”
“I’ll have you know that I am currently a one-man guy. I’ve been with the same person longer than you’ve been alive.”
Rhys gaped. “That’s a long time.”
“Don’t I know it.”
Rhys mentally had to take a step back. Gwen had definitely mentioned that Jack could travel through time. Still, all the ins and outs of it made his head hurt.
“So, wait. The book’s for Ianto, right?”
“Yup.”
“Why?”
“He’d appreciate it.” Jack smiled slightly. “He said something the other day.”
Oh, yes! Rhys was back on familiar ground now. “Told you he loved you, did he?”
Jack looked rather taken aback. “Well, yeah, but that’s not why I got him this book. Someone says they love me, my first impulse isn’t to run out and buy them an old book.”
Rhys frowned, a little embarrassed. “Okay, then, why the old book?”
Jack shrugged. He looked a little sad. “To show him that some things last.”
To each his own, Rhys supposed. He frowned, running over past events in his head. Gwen had been understandably weepy after the bombing of Cardiff and the loss of two of her mates several months past. Her job had been harder since then. Two days ago, Gwen had come home from work early, put on her pajamas, and attempted to make homemade soup. Rhys had diplomatically volunteered to scrape it from the kitchen walls when he got home an hour later. Gwen’s eyes had been rather wet that whole night, but she had said that it was not something she wanted to talk about yet. He surmised Ianto had been similarly affected.
Jack was watching him, and nodded when Rhys looked back at him. “Yeah. Come on, let’s get back to the Hub. I still have to monitor you for horniness for a couple of hours.”
Rhys rolled his eyes. They reached the SUV and Rhys hopped into the passenger seat, buckling his seatbelt. It reminded him of something.
“So, when Ianto told you he loved you . . .”
Jack glanced at him out of the corner of his eye as he pulled into traffic. “You’re very interested in that.”
Rhys shrugged noncommittally.
“Here’s the thing, Rhys,” Jack continued, switching lanes without using his indicator, “I’m not going to tell you about it. Suffice it to say, it happened, and I believe him. Besides, I think you would die of embarrassment if I told you what we were doing when he said it.”
Rhys stared at Jack’s fingers as they gripped the steering wheel, and felt himself turn bright red.