The Road To Crickhowell
Title: The Road To Crickhowell
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG
Notes/Summary: In which old wounds are remembered, and there are no words. References to 1x06 - "Countrycide." Written for the July 15 prompt at horizonssing.
A note on locations: The scenes featuring Brynblaidd, the imaginary town in "Countrycide," were filmed near/in Penwyllt, which is a small town in the western half of the Brecon Beacons National Park (which, at 519 sq miles, is kind of huge). Being a practical guy, that's where I put it. Craig-y-Nos is close to it as well. Crickhowell and Tredegar, however, are on the eastern side of the park area. Point being, they're in that area again, but there's a fair amount of distance between the road they're on and Cannibal Town.
somewhere on a road between Tredegar and Crickhowell
Intellectually, Jack knew how awkward this must be for Ianto. They’re nowhere near Brynblaidd (which was far closer to Craig-y-Nos and Penwyllt than Crickhowell), but there was no mistaking the way Ianto’s jaw had tensed at the word ‘Brecon,’ or the way his knuckles had gone white when the word ‘camping’ had been used in conjunction with it.
Not that Ianto had said anything about it, of course. He’d simply gathered up the equipment, briefed Gwen on everything she needed to know about current projects, and popped back to his flat to pack a bag. Jack had taken that as nervous but dutiful assent, but now he wasn’t so sure. Ianto hadn’t spoken since they’d pulled onto the A470 well over thirty minutes ago.
“Listen,” Jack said, trying madly to find the right words. He didn’t dare promise that everything would be alright. They were working. Torchwood’s work virtually guaranteed that at least one thing that happened this weekend would be anything but ‘alright.’
Ianto stared out the window. “It’s fine, Jack.”
“Okay. I just --”
“It’s fine,” Ianto said, more firmly this time, and in a tone that expressed quite clearly that the matter was no longer up for discussion.
Jack kept his eyes on the road, and turned on the radio.
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG
Notes/Summary: In which old wounds are remembered, and there are no words. References to 1x06 - "Countrycide." Written for the July 15 prompt at horizonssing.
A note on locations: The scenes featuring Brynblaidd, the imaginary town in "Countrycide," were filmed near/in Penwyllt, which is a small town in the western half of the Brecon Beacons National Park (which, at 519 sq miles, is kind of huge). Being a practical guy, that's where I put it. Craig-y-Nos is close to it as well. Crickhowell and Tredegar, however, are on the eastern side of the park area. Point being, they're in that area again, but there's a fair amount of distance between the road they're on and Cannibal Town.
somewhere on a road between Tredegar and Crickhowell
Intellectually, Jack knew how awkward this must be for Ianto. They’re nowhere near Brynblaidd (which was far closer to Craig-y-Nos and Penwyllt than Crickhowell), but there was no mistaking the way Ianto’s jaw had tensed at the word ‘Brecon,’ or the way his knuckles had gone white when the word ‘camping’ had been used in conjunction with it.
Not that Ianto had said anything about it, of course. He’d simply gathered up the equipment, briefed Gwen on everything she needed to know about current projects, and popped back to his flat to pack a bag. Jack had taken that as nervous but dutiful assent, but now he wasn’t so sure. Ianto hadn’t spoken since they’d pulled onto the A470 well over thirty minutes ago.
“Listen,” Jack said, trying madly to find the right words. He didn’t dare promise that everything would be alright. They were working. Torchwood’s work virtually guaranteed that at least one thing that happened this weekend would be anything but ‘alright.’
Ianto stared out the window. “It’s fine, Jack.”
“Okay. I just --”
“It’s fine,” Ianto said, more firmly this time, and in a tone that expressed quite clearly that the matter was no longer up for discussion.
Jack kept his eyes on the road, and turned on the radio.