New WIP Fic: Gilt Cage. Fandom Torchwood/Doctor Who crossover Part 7
Author: Glenda
Rating: Adult Only
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Pairings: Jack/Ianto, Ianto/other.
Summary: Ianto has an historic stalker.
Just a reminder I do not own Torchwood, or Doctor some &%^@( jerk .... Well, just to let you know I make no money and only intend this for entertainment.
I listened to all of the radio plays this week and have like many been very moved by today`s. So all the plays as well as anything that has occured in TW so far is fair game for this story.
The feedback and comments have been great and feed the muse.
Chapter 7
Ianto jumped off the bed. He looked back at the fake Jack sprawled on the floor. He leaned over the bed to get a closer look. Maybe he had just over reacted. It smelled like his Jack.
No, he had to stop this. Whatever it was his kidnapper had slipped him in the alley was playing with his mind. There was no way this was his Jack and Ianto was a little ashamed of himself for allowing the mystery man to get as close as he did. All it took was a few sweet words and he was rolling over. God, he was pathetic.
He had a good long look at the man lying before him. Just more proof that he was not Jack. The guy laying there was a few years older than the man he occasionally shared a bed with. The grey in his hair appeared as dashing as his Jack. He shook his head; thinking of Jack as his was a long way down on a slippery slope that could only lead to heartache. Jack was a man no one could claim as his.
He returned his attention back to the body...person. This Jack was thinner and not in a good way. He was probably at least a stone lighter than the man he knew. But he still look damn good.
He was wearing Jack’s usual blue, but it was a more an industrial utilitarian looking jumper and pants he wore. Missing was the suspenders and the belt. It all looked and felt so wrong.
He gave his head a shake, and almost lost his lunch. He was feeling better but he wasn’t a hundred percent yet. Not that it mattered; he had to get a move on.
He ran his hands over his captor hoping to find something useful to use in his escape but there was nothing, no keys, mobile or an image producer. So, how in the hell was he managing to look just like his Jack?
Not his Jack. He had to stop thinking that way. Not after the display, he saw last night between Jack and Gwen. He still couldn’t believe that Jack had caved and allowed Gwen to not only get away with not having to retcon Rhys but to blatantly disregard Jack authority as head of Torchwood 3.
No, he didn’t have time for this stupid pity party. He looked down at himself, shocked to see he was almost naked. He looked around the opulent room for his clothes. The dark wood and rich fabrics made him feel overwhelmed. This house was one of the finest he had seen. A house fit for a king he was sure.
There was no way he wasn’t walking around a such place in nothing but his boxers. When he couldn’t find his pants right away, he grabbed the robe laying at the end of the bed. The robe was red silk and matched the colour of the sheets. Where in the hell was he? Some bad porn movie?
Time was becoming a factor; he had no idea how long his captor was going to stay out or how long it was going to take him to make his escape. He considered tying up the imposter but all he had to use was the belt from the robe and it was the only thing keeping his from being exposed.
He headed for the door. He hoped it wasn’t locked and if it was, what he was going to do about it but he was relieved when it opened with a loud click. He peered with one eye out from behind the well-built wooden door. The hallway was bright with light, showing off the wooden panelling. He wished he knew what time it was. His pocket watch was missing and his wristwatch was going ‘round and ‘round.
It was just another disadvantage but he could get around it. He had managed to get Lisa and all of her, its equipment out of Canary Wharf. Getting himself out of a pretty manor house shouldn’t be that much work.
A part of him was shouting inside that he should just find a quiet corner of the house to wait. Jack would eventually come looking for him, right? Right, said another part of his brain with a sarcastic groan, not when he had poor Gwen and her darling Rhys to worry about way more than looking for a part time shag.
He slipped out of the room. He had no idea which way to go so he picked right and hoped he was. The bright light was stabbing his eyes but he fought against the need to stop for a rest. He had to find a damn phone. In a house, this fancy he figured that there would be a study, and where better than a study to keep the damn phone.
Ianto was gripping at the walls to keep himself upright when he came to a large opened staircase. His stomach swirled as he looked down the rich white carpet. He had no idea what he was doing.
“Ianto! Stop, please. I can explain.” The voice was echoing around him. He had no idea what direction the voice was coming from. “Stop, you’re going to hurt yourself.”
“Jack?” It sounded so like him. But it wasn’t, was it? He had to keep going. If he didn’t save himself, who would?
Ianto grabbed onto the shiny banister and took his first shaky step down. He felt his knees giving out but he wouldn’t let go. He pulled himself up and took a few more before he made the mistake of looking down. The stairs suddenly stretch and shrunk like an accordion before him.
He forced himself to take another step but he missed. The next thing he knew, he was rolling down the stairs. He came to rest at the bottom, sitting on his ass, his head spinning and stomach churning.
“That is not the way to enter a room, Mr. Ianto.”
Ianto looked up and jumped at the sight of the man before him. At least he hoped he was a man. Maybe he was an alien. He had red eyes and a silver sheen to his skin. “Yeah, definitely alien.”
“I am a model 5000 domestic. Personally programmed by the Captain. My name is Wooster,” the thing said before him.
“Huh? A what? You’re a robot?” Ianto asked, trying to get to his feet.
“We prefer the term android, sir.” Wooster offered Ianto a hand. With one quick pull Ianto was back on his feet.
“Where the hell am I?”
“Goch Ddraig Manor.”
Ianto let the Welsh words fall over him. “Say that again.”
“Goch Ddraig Manor. The Captain picked the name out himself when he started building this place over a thousand years ago. He said he wanted a place to remind him of home.”
“Ianto!”
He looked up to see... For now, he didn’t have a choice but to call him Jack looking down from the top of the stairs. “Ianto are you okay?” Jack demanded rushing to the bottom of the stairs. He placed a gentle hand on Ianto’s chin. Jack’s blue eyes running up and down his body, looking for injuries, he assumed.
He nodded. He wasn’t sure he could speak without his tongue getting twisted with all the question he had.
“Wooster, can you get us something to drink?”
“Tea? Or perhaps something a little stronger?”
“Coffee?” Ianto choked out. “I could use the caffeine.”
“The Captain outlawed that around here a long time ago. I’ll make some hot chocolate with Abyssithia brandy.”
“No, coffee?” Ianto said in shock.
“If couldn’t have yours, I didn’t want anyone’s.”
“Jack?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“I think I’m pretty damn sure who I am.”
Ianto ran his hand through the grey hairs at Jack’s temple. “You’re old.”
“Oh, Ianto,” he laughed. “You have no idea.”
“Where the hell am I? And what’s with Goch Ddraig Manor. That’s Welsh. Red Dragon? That’s the name of the restaurant down from the Plas. We used to go there on team nights.”
“Our first date.”
“Date? Jack, we haven’t had a date yet.”
“But I asked you. I’m sure I remember that. You said yes in that office building, or hasn’t that happened yet?”
“You did, we just haven’t had any time. Jack, I think you had better start explaining what the hell is going on. I know you like the occasional role-play but this is insane. Dressing up to be younger, then older and getting some sucker to pretend to be a robot. And while we’re at it, for the last time where am I?”
“I think the better question you should be asking yourself is when are you.”
Ianto sighed. “Fine, Jack, I’m willing to play along with this. God knows it’s no stranger than naked hide and seek in the hub. When am I?”
“The year 5103.”
Ianto sat back down on the ground, hard.
~~\\~~
TBC
Rating: Adult Only
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Pairings: Jack/Ianto, Ianto/other.
Summary: Ianto has an historic stalker.
Just a reminder I do not own Torchwood, or Doctor some &%^@( jerk .... Well, just to let you know I make no money and only intend this for entertainment.
I listened to all of the radio plays this week and have like many been very moved by today`s. So all the plays as well as anything that has occured in TW so far is fair game for this story.
The feedback and comments have been great and feed the muse.
Chapter 7
Ianto jumped off the bed. He looked back at the fake Jack sprawled on the floor. He leaned over the bed to get a closer look. Maybe he had just over reacted. It smelled like his Jack.
No, he had to stop this. Whatever it was his kidnapper had slipped him in the alley was playing with his mind. There was no way this was his Jack and Ianto was a little ashamed of himself for allowing the mystery man to get as close as he did. All it took was a few sweet words and he was rolling over. God, he was pathetic.
He had a good long look at the man lying before him. Just more proof that he was not Jack. The guy laying there was a few years older than the man he occasionally shared a bed with. The grey in his hair appeared as dashing as his Jack. He shook his head; thinking of Jack as his was a long way down on a slippery slope that could only lead to heartache. Jack was a man no one could claim as his.
He returned his attention back to the body...person. This Jack was thinner and not in a good way. He was probably at least a stone lighter than the man he knew. But he still look damn good.
He was wearing Jack’s usual blue, but it was a more an industrial utilitarian looking jumper and pants he wore. Missing was the suspenders and the belt. It all looked and felt so wrong.
He gave his head a shake, and almost lost his lunch. He was feeling better but he wasn’t a hundred percent yet. Not that it mattered; he had to get a move on.
He ran his hands over his captor hoping to find something useful to use in his escape but there was nothing, no keys, mobile or an image producer. So, how in the hell was he managing to look just like his Jack?
Not his Jack. He had to stop thinking that way. Not after the display, he saw last night between Jack and Gwen. He still couldn’t believe that Jack had caved and allowed Gwen to not only get away with not having to retcon Rhys but to blatantly disregard Jack authority as head of Torchwood 3.
No, he didn’t have time for this stupid pity party. He looked down at himself, shocked to see he was almost naked. He looked around the opulent room for his clothes. The dark wood and rich fabrics made him feel overwhelmed. This house was one of the finest he had seen. A house fit for a king he was sure.
There was no way he wasn’t walking around a such place in nothing but his boxers. When he couldn’t find his pants right away, he grabbed the robe laying at the end of the bed. The robe was red silk and matched the colour of the sheets. Where in the hell was he? Some bad porn movie?
Time was becoming a factor; he had no idea how long his captor was going to stay out or how long it was going to take him to make his escape. He considered tying up the imposter but all he had to use was the belt from the robe and it was the only thing keeping his from being exposed.
He headed for the door. He hoped it wasn’t locked and if it was, what he was going to do about it but he was relieved when it opened with a loud click. He peered with one eye out from behind the well-built wooden door. The hallway was bright with light, showing off the wooden panelling. He wished he knew what time it was. His pocket watch was missing and his wristwatch was going ‘round and ‘round.
It was just another disadvantage but he could get around it. He had managed to get Lisa and all of her, its equipment out of Canary Wharf. Getting himself out of a pretty manor house shouldn’t be that much work.
A part of him was shouting inside that he should just find a quiet corner of the house to wait. Jack would eventually come looking for him, right? Right, said another part of his brain with a sarcastic groan, not when he had poor Gwen and her darling Rhys to worry about way more than looking for a part time shag.
He slipped out of the room. He had no idea which way to go so he picked right and hoped he was. The bright light was stabbing his eyes but he fought against the need to stop for a rest. He had to find a damn phone. In a house, this fancy he figured that there would be a study, and where better than a study to keep the damn phone.
Ianto was gripping at the walls to keep himself upright when he came to a large opened staircase. His stomach swirled as he looked down the rich white carpet. He had no idea what he was doing.
“Ianto! Stop, please. I can explain.” The voice was echoing around him. He had no idea what direction the voice was coming from. “Stop, you’re going to hurt yourself.”
“Jack?” It sounded so like him. But it wasn’t, was it? He had to keep going. If he didn’t save himself, who would?
Ianto grabbed onto the shiny banister and took his first shaky step down. He felt his knees giving out but he wouldn’t let go. He pulled himself up and took a few more before he made the mistake of looking down. The stairs suddenly stretch and shrunk like an accordion before him.
He forced himself to take another step but he missed. The next thing he knew, he was rolling down the stairs. He came to rest at the bottom, sitting on his ass, his head spinning and stomach churning.
“That is not the way to enter a room, Mr. Ianto.”
Ianto looked up and jumped at the sight of the man before him. At least he hoped he was a man. Maybe he was an alien. He had red eyes and a silver sheen to his skin. “Yeah, definitely alien.”
“I am a model 5000 domestic. Personally programmed by the Captain. My name is Wooster,” the thing said before him.
“Huh? A what? You’re a robot?” Ianto asked, trying to get to his feet.
“We prefer the term android, sir.” Wooster offered Ianto a hand. With one quick pull Ianto was back on his feet.
“Where the hell am I?”
“Goch Ddraig Manor.”
Ianto let the Welsh words fall over him. “Say that again.”
“Goch Ddraig Manor. The Captain picked the name out himself when he started building this place over a thousand years ago. He said he wanted a place to remind him of home.”
“Ianto!”
He looked up to see... For now, he didn’t have a choice but to call him Jack looking down from the top of the stairs. “Ianto are you okay?” Jack demanded rushing to the bottom of the stairs. He placed a gentle hand on Ianto’s chin. Jack’s blue eyes running up and down his body, looking for injuries, he assumed.
He nodded. He wasn’t sure he could speak without his tongue getting twisted with all the question he had.
“Wooster, can you get us something to drink?”
“Tea? Or perhaps something a little stronger?”
“Coffee?” Ianto choked out. “I could use the caffeine.”
“The Captain outlawed that around here a long time ago. I’ll make some hot chocolate with Abyssithia brandy.”
“No, coffee?” Ianto said in shock.
“If couldn’t have yours, I didn’t want anyone’s.”
“Jack?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“I think I’m pretty damn sure who I am.”
Ianto ran his hand through the grey hairs at Jack’s temple. “You’re old.”
“Oh, Ianto,” he laughed. “You have no idea.”
“Where the hell am I? And what’s with Goch Ddraig Manor. That’s Welsh. Red Dragon? That’s the name of the restaurant down from the Plas. We used to go there on team nights.”
“Our first date.”
“Date? Jack, we haven’t had a date yet.”
“But I asked you. I’m sure I remember that. You said yes in that office building, or hasn’t that happened yet?”
“You did, we just haven’t had any time. Jack, I think you had better start explaining what the hell is going on. I know you like the occasional role-play but this is insane. Dressing up to be younger, then older and getting some sucker to pretend to be a robot. And while we’re at it, for the last time where am I?”
“I think the better question you should be asking yourself is when are you.”
Ianto sighed. “Fine, Jack, I’m willing to play along with this. God knows it’s no stranger than naked hide and seek in the hub. When am I?”
“The year 5103.”
Ianto sat back down on the ground, hard.
~~\\~~
TBC