Pills and Puzzles
Title: Pills and Puzzles pt. 1
Pairing: Who do you think? For real.
Rating: General. Crazy, I know!
Ianto doesn't take his nerve medication and Jack whips him into shape. But later, he whips him into shape later.
~~~~~~~
Much like many children of his generation, Ianto took anti-depressants. He had for nearly 10 years actually; off and on at first, then, as he got older, all the time. At one point or another he had taken most of the major drugs on the market. One would work for a while, to the point where they seemed to have no effect at all. Then he’d switch to another, often taken in conjunction with a different drug. Once you took into account the various brands and dosages, the cocktail menu was almost endless. He could still remember the side effects of each and every one of them. One left a noxious chemical taste in the back of his throat if he didn’t drink enough water when he took it. Another provided truly magnificent intestinal cramps. Then there was the one that caused his nipples to secrete a clearish fluid. He didn’t take that one for very long.
Taking pills every day was as much a part of Ianto’s routine as eating breakfast. So ingrained that he sometimes wondered what he would be like without them. Actually, he knew exactly what he would be like and, in quiet times, would allow himself to fantasize about going there; being the man without balance. On those days he felt like he was being pulled toward the earth with heavy weights yoked around his shoulders. The bottom fell out from under him and he ached with misery. When this happened, Ianto would retreat to his bed, reality being such a hell that he could only shut down in response. For Ianto wallowing in despair was incredibly freeing. All of the darkness was allowed to take over, effectively pushing out all sense of responsibility or accountability. Nothing else mattered. In many ways he felt like he was going on a bender, gorging himself on desolation like a tick. These periods of self-pity could last anywhere from three to five days. Eventually he would get up, take a shower, get stoned, and begin to clean his flat.
Simple housekeeping was as much ambition as he could muster. The whole act took less than an hour, but it was just enough accomplishment to boost his mood so that he could take the next step, which was going to get his prescription refilled. After a day or two of medication and running small errands, Ianto would begin to feel better; level out a bit. He coasted on these plateaus until something tripped him up, starting the whole cycle over again.
But Ianto hadn’t felt like that for a while now. Once he moved to London and met Lisa, all he wanted to do was be in love. For those short years, the though of not getting up and taking a pill had never occurred to him. Right after Lisa died was the first time since school that Ianto had intentionally stopped taking his medication.
A week into his suspension, Ianto ran out of pills and he simply failed to get any more. He seldom if ever got out of bed, instead sleeping for marathon stretches at a time. Beneath all of the pain, he couldn’t help but be relieved. If Jack were going to kill him, he would have done it by now. Now he was free to spend his time the way he pleased; it didn’t seem to matter if he took his pills every day, he never left the house. It wasn’t until Jack stopped by one early evening about a week and a half after he had taken his last dose that Ianto realized that something was off.
Jack had come by his flat prior to this. He was polite and genuinely concerned, if unapologetic. Ianto was numb. The first two visits were tense affairs consisting of Ianto sitting motionless in the chair by the window, while Jack read the newspaper. On the third visit, Ianto asked Jack for the crossword puzzle. Ianto’s request startled Jack, but he silently handed over the appropriate section and went back to the feature he was reading. Ianto was relieved that Jack didn’t misinterpret his asking for the puzzle as a sign that he was ready to talk. The tiny words and boxes made his eyes swim. Ianto only managed to solve three clues before he gave up and began filling the boxes with random letters.
“Hey,” Jack called. Ianto must have been still for too long. “It looks like you’re stuck. Do you mind if I take a look?” He gestured toward the paper resting beneath Ianto’s limp fist. Ianto looked at the puzzle, then looked back at Jack. Even filled with nonsense, there was still more than half of the puzzle to be solved. His hesitation didn’t go unnoticed.
“It doesn’t matter if you scratched some out, Ianto. You don’t have to get it right every time.” Ianto handed the paper back to Jack, along with his pencil. Maybe he wouldn’t notice that none of those letters made actual words, much less correct answers.
Ianto watched Jack thumping the pencil on his thigh, working on the puzzle. At any moment he would see what was written and assume that Ianto had officially gone off the deep end. When Jack leaned forward and put the paper and pencil on the coffee table, Ianto almost asked him if he noticed the gibberish portion, but Jack had his coat on and the door open before he got the chance. Before he stepped out, Jack turned to Ianto, who was still seated in his chair.
“Next time I come over, I’ll bring a paper. We can do that one together,” and he left.
Ianto kept his eyes on the street, waiting for Jack to emerge. When he pulled away from the curb, Ianto picked up the puzzle. Now the grid was completely filled with random letters, numbers, and tiny symbols.
After that it became sort of a ritual. Jack would text Ianto to let him know he was coming over, this by express direction of Ianto, who quickly grew tired of Jack stopping by too late or while Ianto was looking at porn. So Jack would text, which meant it was time for Ianto to go buy a paper and have the water boiling and the correct page folded so that just the puzzle was visible by the time he got there. What are we if not creatures of habit?
Jack and Ianto would sit for hours, drinking coffee and pushing a folded newspaper back and forth across the table. Ianto preferred to work his puzzles in freshly sharpened pencil. He had a sharpener that he kept close at hand. About every third word, he would idly reach over and give the pencil a couple of twists, never bothering to look away from the clues. Jack worked his puzzles with the fountain pen he kept in his coat pocket. As much as he admired timeless accessories, Ianto hated the way the ink bled on the newsprint.
One day, in the third week of his suspension, Jack sent the usual message, telling Ianto he’d be there soon, whereupon Ianto roused himself and went to the newsstand. When Ianto got back, he took a quick shower, expecting to find Jack there when he got out. In fact, he had taken a longer shower than usual. While in there he let his mind wander a bit about what it would be like if Jack arrived and, seeing that Ianto was nowhere to be found in his 800 square foot flat, came looking for him, only to find him in the shower. Naturally this wandering mind lead to wandering hands. Things were progressing nicely and Ianto was about to come when the hot water ran out. The frigid water hit his skin like thousands of tiny needles, effectively eradicating any semblance of arousal or good will.
By the time he got dressed Ianto was as cross as two sticks. Nothing was on TV, he’d read every tabloid the newsagent had to offer, and, even thought it had stretched to a full two hours since he messaged, Jack still hadn’t shown. Out of spite, Ianto began working the puzzle on his own. Once he was done, (it didn’t take long to finish, he was quite practiced by now) Ianto’s black mood reduced him to sitting and staring out the window just like he had done a few weeks ago. He was so angry that, after forty-five minutes of staring at the street in front of his building, he somehow managed to miss Jack’s arrival. How he failed to spot that monster of a vehicle pulling up to the curb, he’ll never know.
The door buzzed loudly, startling Ianto and making his heart race. For a second he felt like he was vibrating right out of his skin. He had spent the time waiting creating conversations in his head about how, when Jack got there, he would tell Jack how he really felt about being made to wait. In all that time, he could have walked over to the library or gone to a movie, but no, he was waiting for Jack, who was completely oblivious to the rules of common courtesy! Not once did Ianto remind himself that in the past two weeks, the only time he left his flat was to go buy a newspaper approximately every 3-4 days.
Ianto pressed the buzzer and walked over to open the door front door. By the time Jack came in, Ianto had retreated to the chair by the window.
“I’m sorry it took so long,” Jack said as he hung his coat on the back of a kitchen chair and knelt to remove his boots. “The pterodactyl was making this terrible coughing noise, like she was choking.” Jack opened the refrigerator, stooping down to see if Ianto had something stashed at the back. Finding no treats, he closed it and wandered into the front room, collapsing on the sofa with a muffled thump.
“Owen and I had to watch her for a while trying to figure out what was wrong. We were going to sedate her and see what was going on, but then she barfed up what I’m pretty sure was a goat femur. Do goats even have femurs? Anyway, she’s fine, I’m late. I’m sorry.”
Jack’s excuse and apology were genuine; Ianto knew that. He also knew he should be more concerned about Myfanwy that he actually was at that moment, but for some reason he couldn’t let go if his irritation.
“I’m sure that in all those hours of waiting to witness pre-historic vomiting, you couldn’t have taken a moment to let me know you were running behind.”
Jack picked up on his acidic tone right away, arching his eyebrows in response.
“Well, well, well, looks like Myfanwy’s not the only one with something stuck in her craw. What’s your problem?”
“I don’t like being made to feel like an idiot sitting here waiting for you to show up.” He stood and stomped into the kitchen. On his way, he flicked the crossword puzzle at Jack’s chest. “Here, I fucking finished it already. Look, you can even read it; it’s not all sloppy. Don’t they teach penmanship where you’re from? Or was it taught by the same idiot who taught respect and punctuality.”
Rather than respond, Jack rose up from the couch and went to put his boots back on, making sure that Ianto saw him plant his foot right in the seat of one of the kitchen chairs, leaving a print of dirt and grass behind. Ianto’s eyes narrowed. It wasn’t until Jack put his coat back on that Ianto spoke.
“Where the hell are you going? You just got here.”
“I’m leaving because you’ve got a bee in your bonnet about something that A) was a matter of genuine concern and B) I already apologized for.” Jack’s fingers rested on his lapels briefly before his hands dropped to his sides. “Call me when you can stop acting like such a fucking baby.”
“Wait.” Ianto said, just as Jack turned to go. “Don’t go. Please. Sit down, I’ll make some coffee.”
Pairing: Who do you think? For real.
Rating: General. Crazy, I know!
Ianto doesn't take his nerve medication and Jack whips him into shape. But later, he whips him into shape later.
~~~~~~~
Much like many children of his generation, Ianto took anti-depressants. He had for nearly 10 years actually; off and on at first, then, as he got older, all the time. At one point or another he had taken most of the major drugs on the market. One would work for a while, to the point where they seemed to have no effect at all. Then he’d switch to another, often taken in conjunction with a different drug. Once you took into account the various brands and dosages, the cocktail menu was almost endless. He could still remember the side effects of each and every one of them. One left a noxious chemical taste in the back of his throat if he didn’t drink enough water when he took it. Another provided truly magnificent intestinal cramps. Then there was the one that caused his nipples to secrete a clearish fluid. He didn’t take that one for very long.
Taking pills every day was as much a part of Ianto’s routine as eating breakfast. So ingrained that he sometimes wondered what he would be like without them. Actually, he knew exactly what he would be like and, in quiet times, would allow himself to fantasize about going there; being the man without balance. On those days he felt like he was being pulled toward the earth with heavy weights yoked around his shoulders. The bottom fell out from under him and he ached with misery. When this happened, Ianto would retreat to his bed, reality being such a hell that he could only shut down in response. For Ianto wallowing in despair was incredibly freeing. All of the darkness was allowed to take over, effectively pushing out all sense of responsibility or accountability. Nothing else mattered. In many ways he felt like he was going on a bender, gorging himself on desolation like a tick. These periods of self-pity could last anywhere from three to five days. Eventually he would get up, take a shower, get stoned, and begin to clean his flat.
Simple housekeeping was as much ambition as he could muster. The whole act took less than an hour, but it was just enough accomplishment to boost his mood so that he could take the next step, which was going to get his prescription refilled. After a day or two of medication and running small errands, Ianto would begin to feel better; level out a bit. He coasted on these plateaus until something tripped him up, starting the whole cycle over again.
But Ianto hadn’t felt like that for a while now. Once he moved to London and met Lisa, all he wanted to do was be in love. For those short years, the though of not getting up and taking a pill had never occurred to him. Right after Lisa died was the first time since school that Ianto had intentionally stopped taking his medication.
A week into his suspension, Ianto ran out of pills and he simply failed to get any more. He seldom if ever got out of bed, instead sleeping for marathon stretches at a time. Beneath all of the pain, he couldn’t help but be relieved. If Jack were going to kill him, he would have done it by now. Now he was free to spend his time the way he pleased; it didn’t seem to matter if he took his pills every day, he never left the house. It wasn’t until Jack stopped by one early evening about a week and a half after he had taken his last dose that Ianto realized that something was off.
Jack had come by his flat prior to this. He was polite and genuinely concerned, if unapologetic. Ianto was numb. The first two visits were tense affairs consisting of Ianto sitting motionless in the chair by the window, while Jack read the newspaper. On the third visit, Ianto asked Jack for the crossword puzzle. Ianto’s request startled Jack, but he silently handed over the appropriate section and went back to the feature he was reading. Ianto was relieved that Jack didn’t misinterpret his asking for the puzzle as a sign that he was ready to talk. The tiny words and boxes made his eyes swim. Ianto only managed to solve three clues before he gave up and began filling the boxes with random letters.
“Hey,” Jack called. Ianto must have been still for too long. “It looks like you’re stuck. Do you mind if I take a look?” He gestured toward the paper resting beneath Ianto’s limp fist. Ianto looked at the puzzle, then looked back at Jack. Even filled with nonsense, there was still more than half of the puzzle to be solved. His hesitation didn’t go unnoticed.
“It doesn’t matter if you scratched some out, Ianto. You don’t have to get it right every time.” Ianto handed the paper back to Jack, along with his pencil. Maybe he wouldn’t notice that none of those letters made actual words, much less correct answers.
Ianto watched Jack thumping the pencil on his thigh, working on the puzzle. At any moment he would see what was written and assume that Ianto had officially gone off the deep end. When Jack leaned forward and put the paper and pencil on the coffee table, Ianto almost asked him if he noticed the gibberish portion, but Jack had his coat on and the door open before he got the chance. Before he stepped out, Jack turned to Ianto, who was still seated in his chair.
“Next time I come over, I’ll bring a paper. We can do that one together,” and he left.
Ianto kept his eyes on the street, waiting for Jack to emerge. When he pulled away from the curb, Ianto picked up the puzzle. Now the grid was completely filled with random letters, numbers, and tiny symbols.
After that it became sort of a ritual. Jack would text Ianto to let him know he was coming over, this by express direction of Ianto, who quickly grew tired of Jack stopping by too late or while Ianto was looking at porn. So Jack would text, which meant it was time for Ianto to go buy a paper and have the water boiling and the correct page folded so that just the puzzle was visible by the time he got there. What are we if not creatures of habit?
Jack and Ianto would sit for hours, drinking coffee and pushing a folded newspaper back and forth across the table. Ianto preferred to work his puzzles in freshly sharpened pencil. He had a sharpener that he kept close at hand. About every third word, he would idly reach over and give the pencil a couple of twists, never bothering to look away from the clues. Jack worked his puzzles with the fountain pen he kept in his coat pocket. As much as he admired timeless accessories, Ianto hated the way the ink bled on the newsprint.
One day, in the third week of his suspension, Jack sent the usual message, telling Ianto he’d be there soon, whereupon Ianto roused himself and went to the newsstand. When Ianto got back, he took a quick shower, expecting to find Jack there when he got out. In fact, he had taken a longer shower than usual. While in there he let his mind wander a bit about what it would be like if Jack arrived and, seeing that Ianto was nowhere to be found in his 800 square foot flat, came looking for him, only to find him in the shower. Naturally this wandering mind lead to wandering hands. Things were progressing nicely and Ianto was about to come when the hot water ran out. The frigid water hit his skin like thousands of tiny needles, effectively eradicating any semblance of arousal or good will.
By the time he got dressed Ianto was as cross as two sticks. Nothing was on TV, he’d read every tabloid the newsagent had to offer, and, even thought it had stretched to a full two hours since he messaged, Jack still hadn’t shown. Out of spite, Ianto began working the puzzle on his own. Once he was done, (it didn’t take long to finish, he was quite practiced by now) Ianto’s black mood reduced him to sitting and staring out the window just like he had done a few weeks ago. He was so angry that, after forty-five minutes of staring at the street in front of his building, he somehow managed to miss Jack’s arrival. How he failed to spot that monster of a vehicle pulling up to the curb, he’ll never know.
The door buzzed loudly, startling Ianto and making his heart race. For a second he felt like he was vibrating right out of his skin. He had spent the time waiting creating conversations in his head about how, when Jack got there, he would tell Jack how he really felt about being made to wait. In all that time, he could have walked over to the library or gone to a movie, but no, he was waiting for Jack, who was completely oblivious to the rules of common courtesy! Not once did Ianto remind himself that in the past two weeks, the only time he left his flat was to go buy a newspaper approximately every 3-4 days.
Ianto pressed the buzzer and walked over to open the door front door. By the time Jack came in, Ianto had retreated to the chair by the window.
“I’m sorry it took so long,” Jack said as he hung his coat on the back of a kitchen chair and knelt to remove his boots. “The pterodactyl was making this terrible coughing noise, like she was choking.” Jack opened the refrigerator, stooping down to see if Ianto had something stashed at the back. Finding no treats, he closed it and wandered into the front room, collapsing on the sofa with a muffled thump.
“Owen and I had to watch her for a while trying to figure out what was wrong. We were going to sedate her and see what was going on, but then she barfed up what I’m pretty sure was a goat femur. Do goats even have femurs? Anyway, she’s fine, I’m late. I’m sorry.”
Jack’s excuse and apology were genuine; Ianto knew that. He also knew he should be more concerned about Myfanwy that he actually was at that moment, but for some reason he couldn’t let go if his irritation.
“I’m sure that in all those hours of waiting to witness pre-historic vomiting, you couldn’t have taken a moment to let me know you were running behind.”
Jack picked up on his acidic tone right away, arching his eyebrows in response.
“Well, well, well, looks like Myfanwy’s not the only one with something stuck in her craw. What’s your problem?”
“I don’t like being made to feel like an idiot sitting here waiting for you to show up.” He stood and stomped into the kitchen. On his way, he flicked the crossword puzzle at Jack’s chest. “Here, I fucking finished it already. Look, you can even read it; it’s not all sloppy. Don’t they teach penmanship where you’re from? Or was it taught by the same idiot who taught respect and punctuality.”
Rather than respond, Jack rose up from the couch and went to put his boots back on, making sure that Ianto saw him plant his foot right in the seat of one of the kitchen chairs, leaving a print of dirt and grass behind. Ianto’s eyes narrowed. It wasn’t until Jack put his coat back on that Ianto spoke.
“Where the hell are you going? You just got here.”
“I’m leaving because you’ve got a bee in your bonnet about something that A) was a matter of genuine concern and B) I already apologized for.” Jack’s fingers rested on his lapels briefly before his hands dropped to his sides. “Call me when you can stop acting like such a fucking baby.”
“Wait.” Ianto said, just as Jack turned to go. “Don’t go. Please. Sit down, I’ll make some coffee.”