Torchwood Fic: Notable Figures
Title: Notable Figures
Author: eldarwannabe
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: G
Characters: Jack Harkness, Rhiannon Davies
Beta(s): ericadawn16 looked this over, and Roommate did the final grammar check.
Summary: Jack, after Ianto. There are still a few last things to take care of.
Notes: Warnings for post-COE compliance, and major angst.
***
Afterward, Jack went back to Cardiff. He went to Ianto's tiny flat, avoiding the Plass, avoiding Gwen. it wasn't hard to avoid Alice.
The flat was essentially tidy, the way Ianto always left it. The milk was bad.
That was how Jack processed everything. In little pieces. There was dust on the couch.
Jack sat down heavily on one of the chairs. He didn't move for hours.
At some point, the sun rose again.
Jack walked into the bedroom. There was a suit hanging on the door, still wrapped in plastic from the cleaners.
Jack lost a few more hours after that.
Later, the sun was shining. Jack opened the closet and put the suit away where it belonged. It matched the other ones. And the shirts.
Jack stared at the suits. Then he stared at the ties. The he stared at the shoes. Trainers, boots, and dress.
The sun set and rose and set again, and Jack didn't think about anything at all.
Slowly, he realized that he'd traced the whole flat over, giving each corner a moment, an hour. He lay on the bed, took food from the refrigerator.
He started to look in places he had never explored before. Closets, mostly, and a few cupboards. Under the sink.
He found an umbrella. A few presents, wrapped already. And boxes. Neatly stacked, in closet corners and shelves. Boxes.
They were all labeled in Ianto's neat cursive. Most of them were just marked, "LISA." Jack would have been surprised to see them, if he could muster surprise. Instead, he just opened the boxes to find neat stacks of dresses and jeans. Suits. Heels. Books. Camping gear. A camera. Pictures.
He put everything back the way he found it. Almost.
***
"So, you're Jack, then?"
Jack's eyes couldn't stop flickering around. This was Ianto's sister, this was his niece, his nephew, his brother-in-law. Johnny was watching him from across the room, the two children were playing video games loudly. The house was messy and lived in and loved.
Rhiannon sighed, and Jack's eyes snapped back to her. She looked like Ianto, the same open face, although it didn't look like she had quite gotten the hang of shutting it down the way Ianto did.
"Yes, Captain Jack Harkness." He was on autopilot, and he threw in his traditional smile, although he could feel it strain at the edges.
Rhiannon paused, then bit her lip. "You were Ianto's boss?"
When Jack confirmed it, her eyes darted around his face, his clothes, his hands. "Well, then." she said, and then she looked down at her hands before examining his face again. "American, are you?"
Jack wondered what she was thinking. What Ianto had said about him. Had Ianto spoken about him?
"Yes, I'm here concerning his will." Jack said, trying to bring himself back to professionalism.
Rhiannon's eyes widened, and she looked just like Ianto. Jack's breath caught. "He, he left most things to you." Jack floundered.
That wasn't strictly true. Ianto had assumed that all of his possessions were going back to Torchwood when he wrote Jack his last instructions. But Torchwood was gone, as far as Jack was concerned, and Jack wanted to do this right. He'd removed anything that pointed to Torchwood, to Jack or Gwen. Ianto's diary was heavy in his pocket. Everything else sat back the way Ianto left it, from the dishes in the dish rack to those sealed boxes in the very back of his hall closet. But Ianto, following his original assumption, has simply left instructions as to the transfer of his money
Jack fumbled for his papers. He's followed Ianto's requests exactly, except he trebled the amounts, everything he hadn't managed to sneak into Alice's hands somehow. She had emptied her accounts yesterday, and he couldn't find her. He left himself enough for the last few weeks on-planet.
"He left you all his money, in a few different accounts." Jack pushed some of the papers across the desk. "And he made trust funds for David and Mica, for when they turn eighteen." He pushed some more papers at her, and she finally looked down at them, gaping at the amounts. From what Jack had gathered, Ianto's biggest expenses were suits and rent. He ate most meals at the Hub, he didn't buy things for himself.
"This...can't..." Rhiannon skimmed the documentation, flipping through. All the accounts were set up in her name, except for the trust funds.
"It's all yours," Jack assured her. Torchwood Cardiff operated on a slightly smaller budget than London had, with a tiny fraction of the staff. Anything that didn't go into tech or repairs or food went toward pay cheques. Gwen had an entire collection of shoes she didn't wear, although she'd stopped when Rhys started house-hunting. Jack stopped that line of thinking.
Rhiannon looked at the papers, shuffling them a little. She put them down on the table.
"He never said."
Jack didn't know what to say anymore. He swore he would do this for Ianto, this last thing, but his script had run out, and he couldn't improvise. He opened his mouth and closed it, trying to remember the last time he had to extricate himself from an awkward situation. What was he supposed to say now, again?
"You and Ianto, yeah? You..." She seemed to want to ask him something, and Jack couldn't anymore. It was too much, too many things happening, and Jack stood up.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Davies. I have to...I. I'm sorry." He couldn't even fake the smile anymore, couldn't remember how to make it happen. He could only remember how to walk, to open doors and close them again. He had left them keys to Ianto's flat, and the number of a solicitor. He only needed to know how to get in a car, how to move the gear shift to go forward until he was gone, driving straight and away.
A standard galactic shipping route passed very near to Earth roughly every 80 days. Jack was going to miss the next one, with all of his technology buri--lost. But he was going to catch the one after that, if he had to build a communicator out of paperclips and car batteries. He was done here.
Author: eldarwannabe
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: G
Characters: Jack Harkness, Rhiannon Davies
Beta(s): ericadawn16 looked this over, and Roommate did the final grammar check.
Summary: Jack, after Ianto. There are still a few last things to take care of.
Notes: Warnings for post-COE compliance, and major angst.
***
Afterward, Jack went back to Cardiff. He went to Ianto's tiny flat, avoiding the Plass, avoiding Gwen. it wasn't hard to avoid Alice.
The flat was essentially tidy, the way Ianto always left it. The milk was bad.
That was how Jack processed everything. In little pieces. There was dust on the couch.
Jack sat down heavily on one of the chairs. He didn't move for hours.
At some point, the sun rose again.
Jack walked into the bedroom. There was a suit hanging on the door, still wrapped in plastic from the cleaners.
Jack lost a few more hours after that.
Later, the sun was shining. Jack opened the closet and put the suit away where it belonged. It matched the other ones. And the shirts.
Jack stared at the suits. Then he stared at the ties. The he stared at the shoes. Trainers, boots, and dress.
The sun set and rose and set again, and Jack didn't think about anything at all.
Slowly, he realized that he'd traced the whole flat over, giving each corner a moment, an hour. He lay on the bed, took food from the refrigerator.
He started to look in places he had never explored before. Closets, mostly, and a few cupboards. Under the sink.
He found an umbrella. A few presents, wrapped already. And boxes. Neatly stacked, in closet corners and shelves. Boxes.
They were all labeled in Ianto's neat cursive. Most of them were just marked, "LISA." Jack would have been surprised to see them, if he could muster surprise. Instead, he just opened the boxes to find neat stacks of dresses and jeans. Suits. Heels. Books. Camping gear. A camera. Pictures.
He put everything back the way he found it. Almost.
***
"So, you're Jack, then?"
Jack's eyes couldn't stop flickering around. This was Ianto's sister, this was his niece, his nephew, his brother-in-law. Johnny was watching him from across the room, the two children were playing video games loudly. The house was messy and lived in and loved.
Rhiannon sighed, and Jack's eyes snapped back to her. She looked like Ianto, the same open face, although it didn't look like she had quite gotten the hang of shutting it down the way Ianto did.
"Yes, Captain Jack Harkness." He was on autopilot, and he threw in his traditional smile, although he could feel it strain at the edges.
Rhiannon paused, then bit her lip. "You were Ianto's boss?"
When Jack confirmed it, her eyes darted around his face, his clothes, his hands. "Well, then." she said, and then she looked down at her hands before examining his face again. "American, are you?"
Jack wondered what she was thinking. What Ianto had said about him. Had Ianto spoken about him?
"Yes, I'm here concerning his will." Jack said, trying to bring himself back to professionalism.
Rhiannon's eyes widened, and she looked just like Ianto. Jack's breath caught. "He, he left most things to you." Jack floundered.
That wasn't strictly true. Ianto had assumed that all of his possessions were going back to Torchwood when he wrote Jack his last instructions. But Torchwood was gone, as far as Jack was concerned, and Jack wanted to do this right. He'd removed anything that pointed to Torchwood, to Jack or Gwen. Ianto's diary was heavy in his pocket. Everything else sat back the way Ianto left it, from the dishes in the dish rack to those sealed boxes in the very back of his hall closet. But Ianto, following his original assumption, has simply left instructions as to the transfer of his money
Jack fumbled for his papers. He's followed Ianto's requests exactly, except he trebled the amounts, everything he hadn't managed to sneak into Alice's hands somehow. She had emptied her accounts yesterday, and he couldn't find her. He left himself enough for the last few weeks on-planet.
"He left you all his money, in a few different accounts." Jack pushed some of the papers across the desk. "And he made trust funds for David and Mica, for when they turn eighteen." He pushed some more papers at her, and she finally looked down at them, gaping at the amounts. From what Jack had gathered, Ianto's biggest expenses were suits and rent. He ate most meals at the Hub, he didn't buy things for himself.
"This...can't..." Rhiannon skimmed the documentation, flipping through. All the accounts were set up in her name, except for the trust funds.
"It's all yours," Jack assured her. Torchwood Cardiff operated on a slightly smaller budget than London had, with a tiny fraction of the staff. Anything that didn't go into tech or repairs or food went toward pay cheques. Gwen had an entire collection of shoes she didn't wear, although she'd stopped when Rhys started house-hunting. Jack stopped that line of thinking.
Rhiannon looked at the papers, shuffling them a little. She put them down on the table.
"He never said."
Jack didn't know what to say anymore. He swore he would do this for Ianto, this last thing, but his script had run out, and he couldn't improvise. He opened his mouth and closed it, trying to remember the last time he had to extricate himself from an awkward situation. What was he supposed to say now, again?
"You and Ianto, yeah? You..." She seemed to want to ask him something, and Jack couldn't anymore. It was too much, too many things happening, and Jack stood up.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Davies. I have to...I. I'm sorry." He couldn't even fake the smile anymore, couldn't remember how to make it happen. He could only remember how to walk, to open doors and close them again. He had left them keys to Ianto's flat, and the number of a solicitor. He only needed to know how to get in a car, how to move the gear shift to go forward until he was gone, driving straight and away.
A standard galactic shipping route passed very near to Earth roughly every 80 days. Jack was going to miss the next one, with all of his technology buri--lost. But he was going to catch the one after that, if he had to build a communicator out of paperclips and car batteries. He was done here.