From The Sidelines - Torchwood - Jack/Mickey/Ianto
Title: From The Sidelines
Pairing: Jack/Mickey/Ianto
Word Count: 1500
Rating: PG-13/light R
A/N: Written for 7_lies
Summary: The dead gather and watch (and gossip, and giggle, and guess.)
Watching their replacements moving in had been an… interesting experience. Morbidly fascinating for him and torturously heart-breaking for Tosh. She'd tried to hide it, of course. Stoic as ever. In this place, though… The other side… Emotions were more fluid. They diffused through the air like a toxic gas. Tosh could hide it all she wanted - but he could feel her sorrow.
Easier for him, of course. He'd already met Martha. Met her, known her, fancied the pants off her. As replacements went he could have done a lot worse.
Mickey, though - he was an unknown entity. He sat gingerly in Tosh's old seat, looking around at the Hub as if he expected pieces to start falling off and equipment to fall apart at any moment.
"Bit of a culture shock, isn't it?" Ianto suggested as he passed Tosh's - Mickey's now - desk. He smiled, looked around. "I used to work in Torchwood One."
"London, right?" Mickey checked and received a small nod. "Yeah. This is pretty different."
"A smaller operation. You'll get used to it."
Mickey flashed a smile, fast and fleeting. "I hope so, yeah."
Owen wandered away as they continued small-talking, silent footsteps taking him to another part of the Hub. He could hear Martha and Gwen chatting in the kitchen, catching up, trading stories. Two solider stopping to take a break. He'd been so proud of Gwen during the Dalek invasion. So proud of all of them - especially Tosh. She'd smiled to herself when he'd cheered and thrown an arm over her shoulders when her computer program had stopped time inside the Hub. It had felt like being real, being alive, all over again.
Faded fast, though. No scrap of happiness seemed to linger here for long.
He leaned against the kitchen counter and listened to Martha talking about her wedding plans and trading tips with Gwen: it felt almost normal. Only almost.
*
"I think they're avoiding each other," one of the other ghosts said, glancing between Jack and Mickey at their opposite ends of the Hub. The ghost was female and dressed in old-fashioned clothing, but so many of Torchwood's dead still haunted the place. It was hard to get a grip on everyone's names. He would do it eventually - he had all eternity to learn, after all.
"And why'd you think that?" he asked, trying to muster enough interest.
"They haven't spoken all day. Mickey leaves the room whenever Jack enters: he went out for lunch today instead of staying in like he usually does."
"So, really, they're not avoiding each other at all. Mickey's avoiding Jack." Owen smirked. "Smart guy."
Yet his eyes trickled worriedly between the pair: he could see what she meant. Mickey was artificially glued to the computer screen as if he couldn't possibly tear his eyes away - even though he was playing spider solitaire and nothing more - while Jack stood in the doorway of his office and watched.
"They left together last night, y'know," the other girl whispered. Her eyebrows quirked suggestively. "Jack walked Mickey back to his flat. Didn't come back for hours."
Owen closed his eyes to block that thought out. "Christ, that's an image I didn't need."
Interesting, though. He supposed Mickey and Martha couldn't truly be counted as part of the team until they'd shagged at least one other member. His gaze drifted, however, thoughtfully over to Ianto. "Does he know?" he asked. He didn't know the exact set-up of the situation between Jack and Ianto - and didn't want to know, to be honest - but he felt a little uncomfortable for him.
It was a feeling that faded rapidly as the other ghost giggled. "I'd say so. He went with them!"
"… Oh." Owen glanced around at the living: at Ianto's satisfied smirk and Mickey's too intense concentration and Jack's thoughtful concern. In the back of his mind he could already imagine the three of them together and - fuck. "This place is so twisted," he grumbled as he stood up to find Tosh.
He needed someone sane to talk to.
*
It didn't surprise any of the ghosts when Jack asked to speak to Mickey in his office at the end of the day. The only surprise, in fact, was that Mickey went quietly: no complaint or even a reluctant roll of his eyes. He shut down his computer and tapped his fingers restlessly as it turned itself off. Martha and Gwen disappeared, smiling and waving, and Ianto found excuses to stay behind late, reorganising files and dusting unnecessarily.
Eventually Mickey walked into Jack's office.
Eventually - after holding himself off for several long minutes - Owen followed.
He faded through the closed door. The room was full of the dead already, but Jack and Mickey didn't notice. Couldn’t notice. Jack leaned against the edge of his desk while Mickey sat uncomfortably in front of him, like a misbehaving pupil before the headmaster. Spotting Tosh in the corner, Owen muscled his way through the observing crowd to stand beside her - but she hushed him in distraction before he could ask what he'd missed.
"We're friends, aren't we?" Jack said, studying Mickey before him.
The question provided a disbelieving snort from Mickey. "'course we're friends," he said. "We saved the world together. That's gotta make us friends."
"Guess we're both got a lot of friends then," Jack said with a too bright grin. Fake, completely fake. He didn't believe Mickey any more than Owen did. "I don't understand why any of this is such a problem then."
"Well you wouldn't, would you? Captain Cheesecake."
As a murmur of gossip ran around the ghosts, Jack's eyebrows rose - but his smile grew a little more genuine. "Beefcake," he corrected out of habit.
"You can be both," Mickey grouched. He looked as if he was fighting a smile.
"I am multitalented," Jack agreed, but his bird-eyed attention was still firmly on the issue at hand: now Owen wished that he had followed through here earlier. He hated being lost. "Talk to me, Mickey."
"There's nothing to say!" Mickey said, flinging his hands up in frustration. "I'm not gonna be the tin dog again and that's it. Had enough of that with Rose."
"No one's saying you're the 'tin dog', Mickey."
"Fine. Third wheel. Call it whatever you want 'cos I'm still it. Unnecessary."
"The only one that thinks that is you."
"Bullshit," Mickey complained. "You and Ianto are… I don't even know what you are, but I know I'm not gonna be the guy you two invite along when you get bored."
Jack's smile was indulgent now. He stood up and stepped forward until he was much closer than social norms would allow. Two of his fingers brushed along the line of Mickey's cheekbone - and despite his frustration Mickey leaned into the soft touch. "We're friends," Jack stated. "I'm willing to be anything more than that you want. Willing to try, anyway. Just ask."
Mickey looked up at Jack, eyes dark and worried. All the dead in the room held their worthless breath as they waited for Mickey's response. He hadn't flinched away from Jack's slow, exploring fingers yet. That had to be a good sign.
He cleared his throat. "And Ianto?" Mickey asked. "What's he saying about all that?"
Jack chuckled. His fingers reached Mickey's lip and traced over them carefully. Owen felt an unwilling shiver trickle down his spine. "Ianto says the same as me. He likes you - a lot."
Mickey laughed, a bare breath. "I thought something seemed off about him."
Jack's fingers trailed down to tuck under Mickey's chin. "Yeah," he agreed breathily. "He's an odd little guy." The millimetre between their lips when he leaned down then paused seemed like the most important and frustrating distance in the world.
"C'mon," Owen urged - drawn in, captivated.
Mickey's hand raised and curled by the side of Jack's neck, pulling him in. Their lips finally clashed, hesitant at first then eager and greedy: they were lucky that they couldn't hear the applause and cheering that exploded from their hidden crowd.
Then again, Owen reasoned as he found himself clapping too, Jack'd probably get off on it.
When the kiss stretched on longer than was comfortable to watch, when Jack's coat was shed and the other clothes in the room looked like they were about to disappear too and when Ianto entered the room and seemed intent on joining them Owen looked away and cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Want to go and take a walk?" he suggested to Tosh.
She glanced to him for a second before back to the exploring hands and talented mouths of the living. "I'll, uh… I'm going to stick around for a little longer," she said. "I'll join you later."
Surprised, Owen nodded - and caught Alex's equally stunned gaze - and left, fading straight through the wall into the main, echoing room of the Hub. "Bloody hell," he muttered.
Alex laughed as he joined him, slinging an over-friendly arm over his shoulders. "That's our Jack for you," he said with a forgiving shrug.
Having his way with two fit guys while a group of beautiful female onlookers watched and drooled? Owen snorted in envious disgust.
Yeah, that was definitely 'their Jack' all over.
Pairing: Jack/Mickey/Ianto
Word Count: 1500
Rating: PG-13/light R
A/N: Written for 7_lies
Summary: The dead gather and watch (and gossip, and giggle, and guess.)
Watching their replacements moving in had been an… interesting experience. Morbidly fascinating for him and torturously heart-breaking for Tosh. She'd tried to hide it, of course. Stoic as ever. In this place, though… The other side… Emotions were more fluid. They diffused through the air like a toxic gas. Tosh could hide it all she wanted - but he could feel her sorrow.
Easier for him, of course. He'd already met Martha. Met her, known her, fancied the pants off her. As replacements went he could have done a lot worse.
Mickey, though - he was an unknown entity. He sat gingerly in Tosh's old seat, looking around at the Hub as if he expected pieces to start falling off and equipment to fall apart at any moment.
"Bit of a culture shock, isn't it?" Ianto suggested as he passed Tosh's - Mickey's now - desk. He smiled, looked around. "I used to work in Torchwood One."
"London, right?" Mickey checked and received a small nod. "Yeah. This is pretty different."
"A smaller operation. You'll get used to it."
Mickey flashed a smile, fast and fleeting. "I hope so, yeah."
Owen wandered away as they continued small-talking, silent footsteps taking him to another part of the Hub. He could hear Martha and Gwen chatting in the kitchen, catching up, trading stories. Two solider stopping to take a break. He'd been so proud of Gwen during the Dalek invasion. So proud of all of them - especially Tosh. She'd smiled to herself when he'd cheered and thrown an arm over her shoulders when her computer program had stopped time inside the Hub. It had felt like being real, being alive, all over again.
Faded fast, though. No scrap of happiness seemed to linger here for long.
He leaned against the kitchen counter and listened to Martha talking about her wedding plans and trading tips with Gwen: it felt almost normal. Only almost.
*
"I think they're avoiding each other," one of the other ghosts said, glancing between Jack and Mickey at their opposite ends of the Hub. The ghost was female and dressed in old-fashioned clothing, but so many of Torchwood's dead still haunted the place. It was hard to get a grip on everyone's names. He would do it eventually - he had all eternity to learn, after all.
"And why'd you think that?" he asked, trying to muster enough interest.
"They haven't spoken all day. Mickey leaves the room whenever Jack enters: he went out for lunch today instead of staying in like he usually does."
"So, really, they're not avoiding each other at all. Mickey's avoiding Jack." Owen smirked. "Smart guy."
Yet his eyes trickled worriedly between the pair: he could see what she meant. Mickey was artificially glued to the computer screen as if he couldn't possibly tear his eyes away - even though he was playing spider solitaire and nothing more - while Jack stood in the doorway of his office and watched.
"They left together last night, y'know," the other girl whispered. Her eyebrows quirked suggestively. "Jack walked Mickey back to his flat. Didn't come back for hours."
Owen closed his eyes to block that thought out. "Christ, that's an image I didn't need."
Interesting, though. He supposed Mickey and Martha couldn't truly be counted as part of the team until they'd shagged at least one other member. His gaze drifted, however, thoughtfully over to Ianto. "Does he know?" he asked. He didn't know the exact set-up of the situation between Jack and Ianto - and didn't want to know, to be honest - but he felt a little uncomfortable for him.
It was a feeling that faded rapidly as the other ghost giggled. "I'd say so. He went with them!"
"… Oh." Owen glanced around at the living: at Ianto's satisfied smirk and Mickey's too intense concentration and Jack's thoughtful concern. In the back of his mind he could already imagine the three of them together and - fuck. "This place is so twisted," he grumbled as he stood up to find Tosh.
He needed someone sane to talk to.
*
It didn't surprise any of the ghosts when Jack asked to speak to Mickey in his office at the end of the day. The only surprise, in fact, was that Mickey went quietly: no complaint or even a reluctant roll of his eyes. He shut down his computer and tapped his fingers restlessly as it turned itself off. Martha and Gwen disappeared, smiling and waving, and Ianto found excuses to stay behind late, reorganising files and dusting unnecessarily.
Eventually Mickey walked into Jack's office.
Eventually - after holding himself off for several long minutes - Owen followed.
He faded through the closed door. The room was full of the dead already, but Jack and Mickey didn't notice. Couldn’t notice. Jack leaned against the edge of his desk while Mickey sat uncomfortably in front of him, like a misbehaving pupil before the headmaster. Spotting Tosh in the corner, Owen muscled his way through the observing crowd to stand beside her - but she hushed him in distraction before he could ask what he'd missed.
"We're friends, aren't we?" Jack said, studying Mickey before him.
The question provided a disbelieving snort from Mickey. "'course we're friends," he said. "We saved the world together. That's gotta make us friends."
"Guess we're both got a lot of friends then," Jack said with a too bright grin. Fake, completely fake. He didn't believe Mickey any more than Owen did. "I don't understand why any of this is such a problem then."
"Well you wouldn't, would you? Captain Cheesecake."
As a murmur of gossip ran around the ghosts, Jack's eyebrows rose - but his smile grew a little more genuine. "Beefcake," he corrected out of habit.
"You can be both," Mickey grouched. He looked as if he was fighting a smile.
"I am multitalented," Jack agreed, but his bird-eyed attention was still firmly on the issue at hand: now Owen wished that he had followed through here earlier. He hated being lost. "Talk to me, Mickey."
"There's nothing to say!" Mickey said, flinging his hands up in frustration. "I'm not gonna be the tin dog again and that's it. Had enough of that with Rose."
"No one's saying you're the 'tin dog', Mickey."
"Fine. Third wheel. Call it whatever you want 'cos I'm still it. Unnecessary."
"The only one that thinks that is you."
"Bullshit," Mickey complained. "You and Ianto are… I don't even know what you are, but I know I'm not gonna be the guy you two invite along when you get bored."
Jack's smile was indulgent now. He stood up and stepped forward until he was much closer than social norms would allow. Two of his fingers brushed along the line of Mickey's cheekbone - and despite his frustration Mickey leaned into the soft touch. "We're friends," Jack stated. "I'm willing to be anything more than that you want. Willing to try, anyway. Just ask."
Mickey looked up at Jack, eyes dark and worried. All the dead in the room held their worthless breath as they waited for Mickey's response. He hadn't flinched away from Jack's slow, exploring fingers yet. That had to be a good sign.
He cleared his throat. "And Ianto?" Mickey asked. "What's he saying about all that?"
Jack chuckled. His fingers reached Mickey's lip and traced over them carefully. Owen felt an unwilling shiver trickle down his spine. "Ianto says the same as me. He likes you - a lot."
Mickey laughed, a bare breath. "I thought something seemed off about him."
Jack's fingers trailed down to tuck under Mickey's chin. "Yeah," he agreed breathily. "He's an odd little guy." The millimetre between their lips when he leaned down then paused seemed like the most important and frustrating distance in the world.
"C'mon," Owen urged - drawn in, captivated.
Mickey's hand raised and curled by the side of Jack's neck, pulling him in. Their lips finally clashed, hesitant at first then eager and greedy: they were lucky that they couldn't hear the applause and cheering that exploded from their hidden crowd.
Then again, Owen reasoned as he found himself clapping too, Jack'd probably get off on it.
When the kiss stretched on longer than was comfortable to watch, when Jack's coat was shed and the other clothes in the room looked like they were about to disappear too and when Ianto entered the room and seemed intent on joining them Owen looked away and cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Want to go and take a walk?" he suggested to Tosh.
She glanced to him for a second before back to the exploring hands and talented mouths of the living. "I'll, uh… I'm going to stick around for a little longer," she said. "I'll join you later."
Surprised, Owen nodded - and caught Alex's equally stunned gaze - and left, fading straight through the wall into the main, echoing room of the Hub. "Bloody hell," he muttered.
Alex laughed as he joined him, slinging an over-friendly arm over his shoulders. "That's our Jack for you," he said with a forgiving shrug.
Having his way with two fit guys while a group of beautiful female onlookers watched and drooled? Owen snorted in envious disgust.
Yeah, that was definitely 'their Jack' all over.