Expendable, part Two
Title: Expendable, part two
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Characters: Jack/Ianto
Summary: A follow-up to Expendable, since someone asked for it and then 51st Century Fox planted a seed about why Jack had never been Director of Torchwood Three before Alex ‘bequeathed’ it to him at the turn of the century. It was 51st Century Fox’s speculation that Jack might have been focused on waiting for the Doctor. Thanks! I wasn't sure about this, and concrit is most welcome and appreciated.
Expendable, part two
“No, he killed me, too,” Jack had said. He had said it definitively and Ianto could feel the answer as if Jack had pressed it into his chest, pushing the truth into Ianto despite the fact that Ianto knew it was Alex who had died, not Jack. How many times had Jack been killed simply by a word?
Ianto knew what it was like to be staked by a phrase. Jack had done it to him, after all. “That’s not your girlfriend,” he had said. “She died a long time ago,” he had followed. Those words had murdered Ianto that night. Later, at the Brecon Beacons, the monster posing as a man had murdered him, too, simply with a threat and a meat cleaver in his hand. If he thought about it, Yvonne Hartman had killed him, too, simply by voicing her curiosity and never reining it in. No, whoever had made up the childhood mantra about sticks was stupidly naive, and Ianto figured Jack had suffered the arrows of others’ words about as often as he’d suffered a mortal wound.
As Ianto stood in front of the medical filing cabinet the next day, trying to bring some order to Owen’s chaos as a payback for losing at cards a few days ago, he wondered how Jack survived the lethal words of over a hundred and fifty years. It was such a long time to have to put up with humanity. Sometimes Ianto wanted to wash his hands of everyone himself, and he’d only been putting up with people for twenty-three years. He sighed to himself and continued filing for a while until he realized something without trying. He quietly closed the cabinet he was working on, climbed back to the main floor of the hub and paused long enough to fix a couple of cups of fresh coffee before making his way back to Jack’s office.
He stood in the doorway and watched quietly for a moment as Jack worked on typing up a report, his face scrunched in rapt concentration. He loved watching Jack work on reports for some reason. They brought a focus to Jack that was usually fleeting; Ianto could catch Jack focusing in the field, on a target, but to see him sustain that focus in such a contained environment was rare, and he liked it. So he stood and watched for a few minutes until Jack finally looked up at him with a smile.
“Are you going to drink both of those while you watch or is one of them for me?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms to relieve the tension of typing.
Ianto stepped in with a smile of his own and set one of the mugs down on the desk. “Want some company for a bit?” he asked as he made himself comfortable in the chair in front of the desk. Jack nodded and pulled his coffee to his lips, inhaling the sweet aroma before taking a sip.
“I hate writing reports.”
“I love watching you write them, though,” Ianto said with a grin. “Sexy.”
“You’re warped, Jones-Ianto-Jones,” Jack retorted. “What’ve you been up to?”
“Trying to sort Owen’s filing cabinet.”
“How’s that working out for you?” Jack asked.
“Rather poorly. Owen may be the one person who can trash a filing system worse than you can,” Ianto stated.
“And he’s not as sexy as me,” Jack replied, “So I win.”
“Well,” Ianto taunted, “He does have that nifty lab coat with the buttons. It smacks of cute.”
“Cute is not sexy. Lab coats are cute. Great coats are sexy. I still win.” Jack took a long drink of his coffee.
Ianto laughed, “Yeah, you win hands down. But you’re both rubbish at filing.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a minute before Jack asked, “What did you want to ask me?”
Ianto smiled at Jack’s perception and replied, “Well, aside from ‘how hard is it to put things beginning with J before things beginning with S’, I wondered about something in those files I went through yesterday.”
Jack nodded, but didn’t respond.
Ianto took a deep breath. Jack had told him he could just ask about his past, although he was reticent nonetheless. “Judging from the reports, Alex Hopkins left you in charge of Torchwood Three rather by default, would you agree?”
Jack set his coffee cup down a little roughly on his desk. After a pause, he answered, “Yes.”
Ianto plunged ahead, trying to trust his instincts. “That was at the turn of the century. Had no one offered you the Directorship before then? You’d been with the Institute over one hundred years.”
Jack leaned back in his chair, leaving his coffee cup on his desk. He sat quietly and just stared at Ianto for long enough that Ianto started to get uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, Jack. I was just wondering,” Ianto offered finally.
Jack shook his head, “Twice,” he said quietly. Ianto leaned forward in his chair. Jack continued, “I got offered the job twice before. Once in the mid-sixties and once before they brought Alex in.” His voice had dropped to almost a whisper.
“Why did you say no?” Ianto asked gently. He had read the report that had referenced the second job offer.
“The first time I said no because,” Jack paused and looked away. “Well, I thought he’d be coming any time. I had it on some authority that a hundred years had to pass before the Doctor showed up, and that was when the hundred years was on the cusp. I didn’t want to chance having to leave.” At that Jack looked up and offered an apologetic smile. Ianto returned it in kind.
“And the second?” Ianto pushed. Jack didn’t answer.
After a beat Jack asked, “Why are you asking this, Ianto?”
Ianto shrugged. It was a good question, and, while he thought he knew the answer before he started, now he wasn’t so sure. It wouldn’t hurt to offer, though. “I thought maybe you blamed yourself for Alex’s crime. I was looking to confirm it.” He saw something akin to anger flare in Jack’s eyes for a moment.
“Why would I blame myself?” Jack queried coolly.
Ianto stood up and walked around to where Jack was sitting. Jack never took his eyes from Ianto’s face, and Ianto knelt down next to Jack and rested his hands on Jack’s knees. He looked up and replied, “Because if you’d accepted the job then the murder/suicide wouldn’t have happened, and you know it.”
Jack leaned forward so his face was close to Ianto’s and asked, in a flat voice, “So did you confirm it? Do I feel guilty?”
“Of course you do, Jack. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t. But you also explained yesterday why you should let that guilt go,” Ianto responded just as coolly.
Jack leaned back, obviously startled by Ianto’s answer. Ianto leaned forward into Jack’s space again, this time pushing himself up, leaning on the arms of Jack’s chair and brushing a kiss across his lips. “Every single Director killed you in some way. Taking their offer would have been suicide of the harshest kind, and who would ever do that willingly?”
Ianto watched as understanding dawned, and Jack leaned in and kissed Ianto long and slow.
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Characters: Jack/Ianto
Summary: A follow-up to Expendable, since someone asked for it and then 51st Century Fox planted a seed about why Jack had never been Director of Torchwood Three before Alex ‘bequeathed’ it to him at the turn of the century. It was 51st Century Fox’s speculation that Jack might have been focused on waiting for the Doctor. Thanks! I wasn't sure about this, and concrit is most welcome and appreciated.
Expendable, part two
“No, he killed me, too,” Jack had said. He had said it definitively and Ianto could feel the answer as if Jack had pressed it into his chest, pushing the truth into Ianto despite the fact that Ianto knew it was Alex who had died, not Jack. How many times had Jack been killed simply by a word?
Ianto knew what it was like to be staked by a phrase. Jack had done it to him, after all. “That’s not your girlfriend,” he had said. “She died a long time ago,” he had followed. Those words had murdered Ianto that night. Later, at the Brecon Beacons, the monster posing as a man had murdered him, too, simply with a threat and a meat cleaver in his hand. If he thought about it, Yvonne Hartman had killed him, too, simply by voicing her curiosity and never reining it in. No, whoever had made up the childhood mantra about sticks was stupidly naive, and Ianto figured Jack had suffered the arrows of others’ words about as often as he’d suffered a mortal wound.
As Ianto stood in front of the medical filing cabinet the next day, trying to bring some order to Owen’s chaos as a payback for losing at cards a few days ago, he wondered how Jack survived the lethal words of over a hundred and fifty years. It was such a long time to have to put up with humanity. Sometimes Ianto wanted to wash his hands of everyone himself, and he’d only been putting up with people for twenty-three years. He sighed to himself and continued filing for a while until he realized something without trying. He quietly closed the cabinet he was working on, climbed back to the main floor of the hub and paused long enough to fix a couple of cups of fresh coffee before making his way back to Jack’s office.
He stood in the doorway and watched quietly for a moment as Jack worked on typing up a report, his face scrunched in rapt concentration. He loved watching Jack work on reports for some reason. They brought a focus to Jack that was usually fleeting; Ianto could catch Jack focusing in the field, on a target, but to see him sustain that focus in such a contained environment was rare, and he liked it. So he stood and watched for a few minutes until Jack finally looked up at him with a smile.
“Are you going to drink both of those while you watch or is one of them for me?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms to relieve the tension of typing.
Ianto stepped in with a smile of his own and set one of the mugs down on the desk. “Want some company for a bit?” he asked as he made himself comfortable in the chair in front of the desk. Jack nodded and pulled his coffee to his lips, inhaling the sweet aroma before taking a sip.
“I hate writing reports.”
“I love watching you write them, though,” Ianto said with a grin. “Sexy.”
“You’re warped, Jones-Ianto-Jones,” Jack retorted. “What’ve you been up to?”
“Trying to sort Owen’s filing cabinet.”
“How’s that working out for you?” Jack asked.
“Rather poorly. Owen may be the one person who can trash a filing system worse than you can,” Ianto stated.
“And he’s not as sexy as me,” Jack replied, “So I win.”
“Well,” Ianto taunted, “He does have that nifty lab coat with the buttons. It smacks of cute.”
“Cute is not sexy. Lab coats are cute. Great coats are sexy. I still win.” Jack took a long drink of his coffee.
Ianto laughed, “Yeah, you win hands down. But you’re both rubbish at filing.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a minute before Jack asked, “What did you want to ask me?”
Ianto smiled at Jack’s perception and replied, “Well, aside from ‘how hard is it to put things beginning with J before things beginning with S’, I wondered about something in those files I went through yesterday.”
Jack nodded, but didn’t respond.
Ianto took a deep breath. Jack had told him he could just ask about his past, although he was reticent nonetheless. “Judging from the reports, Alex Hopkins left you in charge of Torchwood Three rather by default, would you agree?”
Jack set his coffee cup down a little roughly on his desk. After a pause, he answered, “Yes.”
Ianto plunged ahead, trying to trust his instincts. “That was at the turn of the century. Had no one offered you the Directorship before then? You’d been with the Institute over one hundred years.”
Jack leaned back in his chair, leaving his coffee cup on his desk. He sat quietly and just stared at Ianto for long enough that Ianto started to get uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, Jack. I was just wondering,” Ianto offered finally.
Jack shook his head, “Twice,” he said quietly. Ianto leaned forward in his chair. Jack continued, “I got offered the job twice before. Once in the mid-sixties and once before they brought Alex in.” His voice had dropped to almost a whisper.
“Why did you say no?” Ianto asked gently. He had read the report that had referenced the second job offer.
“The first time I said no because,” Jack paused and looked away. “Well, I thought he’d be coming any time. I had it on some authority that a hundred years had to pass before the Doctor showed up, and that was when the hundred years was on the cusp. I didn’t want to chance having to leave.” At that Jack looked up and offered an apologetic smile. Ianto returned it in kind.
“And the second?” Ianto pushed. Jack didn’t answer.
After a beat Jack asked, “Why are you asking this, Ianto?”
Ianto shrugged. It was a good question, and, while he thought he knew the answer before he started, now he wasn’t so sure. It wouldn’t hurt to offer, though. “I thought maybe you blamed yourself for Alex’s crime. I was looking to confirm it.” He saw something akin to anger flare in Jack’s eyes for a moment.
“Why would I blame myself?” Jack queried coolly.
Ianto stood up and walked around to where Jack was sitting. Jack never took his eyes from Ianto’s face, and Ianto knelt down next to Jack and rested his hands on Jack’s knees. He looked up and replied, “Because if you’d accepted the job then the murder/suicide wouldn’t have happened, and you know it.”
Jack leaned forward so his face was close to Ianto’s and asked, in a flat voice, “So did you confirm it? Do I feel guilty?”
“Of course you do, Jack. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t. But you also explained yesterday why you should let that guilt go,” Ianto responded just as coolly.
Jack leaned back, obviously startled by Ianto’s answer. Ianto leaned forward into Jack’s space again, this time pushing himself up, leaning on the arms of Jack’s chair and brushing a kiss across his lips. “Every single Director killed you in some way. Taking their offer would have been suicide of the harshest kind, and who would ever do that willingly?”
Ianto watched as understanding dawned, and Jack leaned in and kissed Ianto long and slow.