Another Torchwood/Whitechapel crossover - TorchChapel, if you will...
Fandom: Whitechapel, Torchwood
Rating: G
Word Count: Around 1300
Setting: London (Whitechapel, specifically.)
Author's Notes/Summary: Ianto Jones, formerly of Torchwood 3, works for the Whitechapel Police as Ed Buchan's assistant. He and DI Joe Chandler have known each other for awhile, and things finally come to a head. This is mostly to indulge me, but also it coincides nicely with kayama's birthday week. Happy Birthday! (If anyone is interested in more of this pairing, follow @SometimesARebel)
Tracing the Line (the Line Back to You)
London was dark.
It was more than a flicker, and more than a few minutes.
He'd been reading for awhile when his lamp and everything else went off in the flat. It wasn't a huge inconvenience, but he did wonder if he might get called in. DI Chandler called into the Whitechapel station to see if things were okay; they said a substation went down, but that they were handling it. They only said he should check in on friends and neighbors to make sure people didn't panic or need medical attention. The thought was that it seemed like a rather large repair so it might be several hours.
Lighting his way with his smartphone, he found a seldom-used torch, some candles and then Joe went through the flats in the building, starting from the top and working his way down. He made sure everyone was comfortable and safe, and reminded them to stay inside unless it was an emergency. He went back to his flat, scrubbing his hands as quick as he could, trying not to use too much water or think too much about just how many hands he'd shaken that evening.
Then he called his archivist, Ianto Jones. It was unlikely that the station would have contacted him, and Joe wanted to make sure his friend was safe. The phone rang and rang - Joe was thinking it would go to voicemail -
"Joe? Hello." A breathless Ianto answered.
"Ah, hello, just wanted to see how you're doing."
"Doing well, sir. Expect this pesky- Urgh- sprained ankle."
"You're hurt? What happened?"
"Stupid, really. I was in the shower when the power went kaput. Tripped getting out in the pitch black."
"I'll come over."
"Sir, it's alright-"
"Ianto, it's not as though I'm doing anything here. You'll want to keep that elevated. See you in 30."
And that was that.
The streets were dark, and eerily quiet, so unlike the London Joe knew, but he was grateful for it. The traffic had cleared out finally so hopefully this was the lull between emergencies. He pulled his coat tightly around him, the cool night air slipping between the weave of his shirt all too easily. He should have taken the time to button his coat, but he was in too much of a hurry. Of course, Ianto wouldn't have phoned him. An injury, not important. Hmph. The man was stubborn and tended to not give himself enough credit, or see himself as worth fussing over. Not that Joe planned to fuss. He wouldn't fuss, that was for mothers, and possibly over-protective Sergeants.
Quickly enough, Joe was at Ianto's familiar building, pushing the ringer - it took a little more time than he expected, but Ianto did buzz him in. Joe took the stairs two at a time. (Even in daylight this would have been a bit of a risk to life and limb, so it was rather lucky they weren't stuck with more than a sprained ankle between the two of them that night.)
"Ianto?" Joe said, opening the unlocked door, finding himself worried that there were other injuries Ianto hadn't told him about. Not that Ianto had to tell him all his personal details, a voice in his head reminded him. It wasn't as though they...
"Ianto?" he said again, peering around the small flat in the dark. "Are you all right?"
He moved slowly, carefully through the semi-familiar space, hoping not to trip on anything even with the torch accompanying him.
"In here, Joe, I got the door open for you and that's about it," came a soft voice from Ianto's...bedroom. Joe hadn't been in the bedroom before, but he wasn't going home now, that was for sure.
"There you are," he said, pointing the torch at Ianto when he stepped through the room. Ianto winced with a blink and Joe lowered the light until it hit-- "Good Lord." His ankle had ballooned quite rapidly, and now was looking grapefruit-sized. "I may not be suited for this but you definitely aren't going to be walking on that while I'm around."
He strode in, pulling some candles and a thermos of water from his pack and setting them on the wobbly nightstand. "Let me help you back on the bed." Ianto was perched on the end, looking rather torn about moving.
"I can do it, Joe, it's really no trouble-"
"I know, you've had worse." His head shake of disbelief was lost to the darkness.
"Yes, and you know as well as I do that this isn't life-threatening," Ianto grumbled. "There are plenty of other people who need police attention."
"I know you need attention," he said, reaching under Ianto's arms to help hoist him back onto a shade of pillows at the head of the bed. He was no doctor, and not at all used to touching other people regularly, but he didn't even register that he was doing anything out of the ordinary. He was fully focused on Ianto, making him more comfortable.
"Better?" He asked, holding the torch around only to see Ianto's very pale face. "Where's your paracetamol?" he asked immediately, moving instinctively towards the bathroom.
Ianto reluctantly gave him direction and Joe was back shortly with a few tablets. "No buts," Joe said firmly, also handing him the thermos to take the pills with.
"You must have some motherly blood in you."
"I don't think so," Joe chuckled lightly, "Most find me a little too gruff or a little too posh."
"I find... you'll find... you're a little just right." Ianto murmured.
Joe didn't respond right away, "That's kind of you."
"It's not kind, it's my opinion, sir."
The dark seemed to make conversation easier, but Joe still held back, shifting to the foot of the bed. "I'll just make sure this gets raised," he said softly, fingers ginger but also careful as he touched Ianto's ankle. He felt a little itchy about touching even someone as familiar as Ianto so intimately, but he could get through it. Not get through it...that sounded like it was trial... But not freak out about it.
He moved back up the bed. "How's that?"
"A bit better. It's exhausting spraining one's ankle, apparently," he said as Joe moved to light a few candles. The room danced in a soft glow and Ianto was lying there looking at him. "Joe... Why are you here?"
"You needed-"
"Joe."
The silence was soft but lengthy, candles guttering in the quiet.
"I'm-"
"I know who you are," Ianto's words are calm, but sure, and his pinky finger brushes faintly against Joe's hand.
"I'm your boss."
"You don't give me orders in the heat of things. It's not a conflict. And...we don't have to tell anyone if you don't want." Joe had to lean closer to hear all of that, and he found the light flickering in those blue eyes nearly mesmerizing.
"I expect most of the team already has some idea; they're crack detectives." Joe murmured, leaning in just a bit more, his breath chasing Ianto's.
"You're not wrong." Ianto's fingers curled in Joe's hair and pulled him that extra inch. Resolving things once and for all. No more tip-toeing.
Joe felt a jerk of acid in his stomach at the contact - anxiety always at the forefront of his personal interactions - but gradually he felt his way through the kiss, let his trust in Ianto soothe his instinctive reaction. Joe pulled back sooner than he wanted, but it was when he needed to. Being close like this would take some getting used to, but he was happy to keep trying.
"I'll stay. Make myself up a spot on the couch so you can call if you need me."
"That would be nice," Ianto murmured, clearly knowing better than to push anything. Joe itched to stay close, to take his protective streak full circle, but he knew he wasn't ready. Even for just the sleeping.
"Good night, Ianto."
"Sweet dreams, Joe."
There's a sequel here: Finding the Line
Rating: G
Word Count: Around 1300
Setting: London (Whitechapel, specifically.)
Author's Notes/Summary: Ianto Jones, formerly of Torchwood 3, works for the Whitechapel Police as Ed Buchan's assistant. He and DI Joe Chandler have known each other for awhile, and things finally come to a head. This is mostly to indulge me, but also it coincides nicely with kayama's birthday week. Happy Birthday! (If anyone is interested in more of this pairing, follow @SometimesARebel)
Tracing the Line (the Line Back to You)
London was dark.
It was more than a flicker, and more than a few minutes.
He'd been reading for awhile when his lamp and everything else went off in the flat. It wasn't a huge inconvenience, but he did wonder if he might get called in. DI Chandler called into the Whitechapel station to see if things were okay; they said a substation went down, but that they were handling it. They only said he should check in on friends and neighbors to make sure people didn't panic or need medical attention. The thought was that it seemed like a rather large repair so it might be several hours.
Lighting his way with his smartphone, he found a seldom-used torch, some candles and then Joe went through the flats in the building, starting from the top and working his way down. He made sure everyone was comfortable and safe, and reminded them to stay inside unless it was an emergency. He went back to his flat, scrubbing his hands as quick as he could, trying not to use too much water or think too much about just how many hands he'd shaken that evening.
Then he called his archivist, Ianto Jones. It was unlikely that the station would have contacted him, and Joe wanted to make sure his friend was safe. The phone rang and rang - Joe was thinking it would go to voicemail -
"Joe? Hello." A breathless Ianto answered.
"Ah, hello, just wanted to see how you're doing."
"Doing well, sir. Expect this pesky- Urgh- sprained ankle."
"You're hurt? What happened?"
"Stupid, really. I was in the shower when the power went kaput. Tripped getting out in the pitch black."
"I'll come over."
"Sir, it's alright-"
"Ianto, it's not as though I'm doing anything here. You'll want to keep that elevated. See you in 30."
And that was that.
The streets were dark, and eerily quiet, so unlike the London Joe knew, but he was grateful for it. The traffic had cleared out finally so hopefully this was the lull between emergencies. He pulled his coat tightly around him, the cool night air slipping between the weave of his shirt all too easily. He should have taken the time to button his coat, but he was in too much of a hurry. Of course, Ianto wouldn't have phoned him. An injury, not important. Hmph. The man was stubborn and tended to not give himself enough credit, or see himself as worth fussing over. Not that Joe planned to fuss. He wouldn't fuss, that was for mothers, and possibly over-protective Sergeants.
Quickly enough, Joe was at Ianto's familiar building, pushing the ringer - it took a little more time than he expected, but Ianto did buzz him in. Joe took the stairs two at a time. (Even in daylight this would have been a bit of a risk to life and limb, so it was rather lucky they weren't stuck with more than a sprained ankle between the two of them that night.)
"Ianto?" Joe said, opening the unlocked door, finding himself worried that there were other injuries Ianto hadn't told him about. Not that Ianto had to tell him all his personal details, a voice in his head reminded him. It wasn't as though they...
"Ianto?" he said again, peering around the small flat in the dark. "Are you all right?"
He moved slowly, carefully through the semi-familiar space, hoping not to trip on anything even with the torch accompanying him.
"In here, Joe, I got the door open for you and that's about it," came a soft voice from Ianto's...bedroom. Joe hadn't been in the bedroom before, but he wasn't going home now, that was for sure.
"There you are," he said, pointing the torch at Ianto when he stepped through the room. Ianto winced with a blink and Joe lowered the light until it hit-- "Good Lord." His ankle had ballooned quite rapidly, and now was looking grapefruit-sized. "I may not be suited for this but you definitely aren't going to be walking on that while I'm around."
He strode in, pulling some candles and a thermos of water from his pack and setting them on the wobbly nightstand. "Let me help you back on the bed." Ianto was perched on the end, looking rather torn about moving.
"I can do it, Joe, it's really no trouble-"
"I know, you've had worse." His head shake of disbelief was lost to the darkness.
"Yes, and you know as well as I do that this isn't life-threatening," Ianto grumbled. "There are plenty of other people who need police attention."
"I know you need attention," he said, reaching under Ianto's arms to help hoist him back onto a shade of pillows at the head of the bed. He was no doctor, and not at all used to touching other people regularly, but he didn't even register that he was doing anything out of the ordinary. He was fully focused on Ianto, making him more comfortable.
"Better?" He asked, holding the torch around only to see Ianto's very pale face. "Where's your paracetamol?" he asked immediately, moving instinctively towards the bathroom.
Ianto reluctantly gave him direction and Joe was back shortly with a few tablets. "No buts," Joe said firmly, also handing him the thermos to take the pills with.
"You must have some motherly blood in you."
"I don't think so," Joe chuckled lightly, "Most find me a little too gruff or a little too posh."
"I find... you'll find... you're a little just right." Ianto murmured.
Joe didn't respond right away, "That's kind of you."
"It's not kind, it's my opinion, sir."
The dark seemed to make conversation easier, but Joe still held back, shifting to the foot of the bed. "I'll just make sure this gets raised," he said softly, fingers ginger but also careful as he touched Ianto's ankle. He felt a little itchy about touching even someone as familiar as Ianto so intimately, but he could get through it. Not get through it...that sounded like it was trial... But not freak out about it.
He moved back up the bed. "How's that?"
"A bit better. It's exhausting spraining one's ankle, apparently," he said as Joe moved to light a few candles. The room danced in a soft glow and Ianto was lying there looking at him. "Joe... Why are you here?"
"You needed-"
"Joe."
The silence was soft but lengthy, candles guttering in the quiet.
"I'm-"
"I know who you are," Ianto's words are calm, but sure, and his pinky finger brushes faintly against Joe's hand.
"I'm your boss."
"You don't give me orders in the heat of things. It's not a conflict. And...we don't have to tell anyone if you don't want." Joe had to lean closer to hear all of that, and he found the light flickering in those blue eyes nearly mesmerizing.
"I expect most of the team already has some idea; they're crack detectives." Joe murmured, leaning in just a bit more, his breath chasing Ianto's.
"You're not wrong." Ianto's fingers curled in Joe's hair and pulled him that extra inch. Resolving things once and for all. No more tip-toeing.
Joe felt a jerk of acid in his stomach at the contact - anxiety always at the forefront of his personal interactions - but gradually he felt his way through the kiss, let his trust in Ianto soothe his instinctive reaction. Joe pulled back sooner than he wanted, but it was when he needed to. Being close like this would take some getting used to, but he was happy to keep trying.
"I'll stay. Make myself up a spot on the couch so you can call if you need me."
"That would be nice," Ianto murmured, clearly knowing better than to push anything. Joe itched to stay close, to take his protective streak full circle, but he knew he wasn't ready. Even for just the sleeping.
"Good night, Ianto."
"Sweet dreams, Joe."
There's a sequel here: Finding the Line