Route 412
Title: Route 412
Author: JerBearThompson
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Characters: Jack/Ianto
Summary: Ianto was on the bus when it happened. There was a sharp swerve, and then a warm body was falling down on top of him.
Disclaimer: We all worship at the shrine of the BBC.
Notes: For Elle! Because she wanted something really Jack/Ianto-y. Somehow developed from the Eagle vs. Shark quote, “I have two things to say. One: I am leaving tomorrow on a bus. Two: that could change.”
Ianto was on the bus when it happened. Here he was, happily pretending to read his newspaper while really listening in on the animate discussion occurring behind him on the advantages of fingerless gloves over the normal type, when there was a sudden sharp swerve and a warm body was falling down on top of him.
‘Hi,’ an overly bright, accented voice breathed over his face. Large hands steadied themselves on his shoulders, pushing him back until he could see the person just about sitting in his lap.
‘Sorry about that.’ The cheerfulness belied the sentiment and the man gave a brilliant grin, refusing to move his face more than twenty centimetres away from Ianto's.
‘It’s okay,’ Ianto murmured, trying to clear his head. ‘If you could just-’
‘Has anyone ever told you that you have really comfortable legs?’ The man proceeded to prove his point by shuffling around until he was essentially straddling Ianto’s lap. His breathing came out heavy, condensed. ‘Extraordinarily comfortable legs.’
Christ, he’s going to kiss me, Ianto thought hazily. A resound opposition to the thought filtered somewhere just outside of coherence.
The man leant closer, the tip of his nose lightly tracing over Ianto’s left cheekbone, then he laughed, a warm vibration against Ianto’s face.
Using one hand to steady himself against Ianto’s chest, the man leant further in until his lips were hovering just over Ianto’s ear. ‘I have a thing for breathing on people’s faces, you know. But only the ones I really like.’
Yes, well, you really should be getting off me now.
‘I bet you say that to all the pretty boys you fall on.’
Oops, got that mixed up. Ianto closed his eyes sharply.
The man laughed, running his fingers down Ianto’s chest until he Welshman drew a sharp intake of breath. The fingers came running back up again.
‘Just one,’ the man said, and then he was gone, and Ianto was left feeling light-headed and more than a little dizzy. His legs felt surprisingly cold without the heavy weight on top of them.
A quick survey of the bus saw the man standing at the door, giving him an amused smile.
‘Maybe we'll exchange names next time,’ he called, before stepping lightly off the bus, large blue coat billowing out behind him.
Ianto breathed in heavily and adjusted his tie, self-consciously. Yes, next time.
--
As it was, next time would be in a week and three days, and Ianto would be juggling coffee and a half-eaten bagel in one hand while the other attempted to turn the page of the newspaper he was actually reading this time.
There was a creak, a slight depression of the seat beside him, and the coffee was plucked from his hand.
‘For me? You shouldn’t have.’
Ianto gave a startled jump and turned to regard the man beside him.
He took a sip of Ianto’s coffee, before sliding it snugly back into Ianto’s hand, leaning in close.
‘Name’s Jack,’ he breathed over the side of Ianto’s face.
‘Just Jack?’ Ianto feigned disinterest as he turned his attention back to the stock market page.
‘Just Jack. For now.’
‘Pleasure,’ Ianto murmured, and gave a surprised yelp in the back of his throat as the paper was torn from his lap and replaced suddenly by a serious-faced man, blue eyes staring intently.
Jack non-too-gently grabbed both sides of Ianto’s face in his hands and pulled him in close, breath ghosting over the Welshman’s lips.
‘I'm Ianto,’ Ianto managed to get out, between the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.
‘Just Ianto?’ Jack humoured him, making no effort to move as he ran one hand from Ianto’s face to his coffee-holding hand, bringing both cup and hand up to his lips and taking another long sip, eyes still locked.
‘Thanks,’ Jack murmured when he was done, tucking the cup and Ianto’s fingers against the Welshman’s chest and tapping the side of his face gently.
‘See you around, then, Ianto.' As quickly as he came, he was gone.
Ianto cleared his throat and carefully retrieved his newspaper from the floor.
--
The third time, a mere six days after the second, Ianto was prepared. He had seen the tell-tale swish of navy coat appear beneath his book and he closed it with a snap, looking up expectantly.
Jack grinned, showing two rows of perfectly straight teeth.
‘Sit,’ Ianto demanded, and Jack raised his eyebrows before sitting dutifully beside Ianto. No sooner had his spine tourched the back of the seat than Ianto was swinging his leg over to straddle Jack’s lap.
‘This is a pleasant change,’ Jack hummed happily as he nuzzled into Ianto’s neck, just under his chin, his hands placed firmly on Ianto’s hips.
‘Stop that.’ Ianto forcefully brought Jack’s chin up to look him in the eyes. ‘Questions. Your name?’
‘I like this.’ Jack drummed his fingers against Ianto’s hips. ‘So forceful. Jack.’
‘Full name,’ Ianto held Jack’s chin secure.
‘Jack Harkness.’
‘Age, job, accent, and what it’s doing in Cardiff?’
‘Old enough to know better, doesn’t pay enough, American, because I saw you on a postcard and just had to come.’
‘Don’t patronise me.’ Ianto flopped back over into his seat, a little surprised when Jack’s head came to rest on his shoulder.
‘Your turn,’ the man mumbled.
‘Ianto Jones. Twenty-six, in the wrong profession, Welsh, probably because this is where I was born.’
‘You didn’t have to answer the last two.’ Jack tugged on Ianto’s arm, so that it fell down around his shoulders.
‘You asked,’ Ianto shrugged. ‘And what are you-’
‘Look, they’re watching.’
‘Where?’
‘To the left. Back a bit - no, be subtle about it.’
Ianto turned his head slowly, peripherals taking in the two teenage girls staring with wide eyes while the boy with them looked furiously at anything but the men.
‘I’m not your boyfriend, Jack.’
‘You could be.’ When Ianto stiffened considerably, Jack laughed and flung an arm across Ianto’s stomach, pulling him in close. ‘Humour me,’ he murmured against the skin of Ianto’s neck.
‘You're incorrigible,’ Ianto sighed, but tangled his fingers in Jack’s hair.
After a few minutes of putting on a show, the bus rolled to a squeaking halt.
‘Isn’t this your stop?’ Ianto asked into Jack’s hair.
‘I’ll call a taxi.’
Ianto laughed. ‘You know what? I think I will, too.’
Ignoring Jack’s muffled cry of protest, Ianto untangled himself from the American and swung himself down the aisle, a large grin plastered across his face. He didn’t look back as he exited the bus, not even at Jack’s called, ‘I love you, Ianto Jones,’ much to the delight of the girls.
Ianto did not miss the flicker of disappointment Jack’s voice held.
--
It was close to four weeks later that they met for the fourth time, and this time Ianto noticed immediately when the man entered the bus.
He looked a mess.
He was minus the coat and it startled Ianto to realise how small he seemed, how oddly human. His hair was ruffled, eyes red and with the distinct look of someone who had shed tears recently. Shedding rather a lot, by the look of it. His hands were twitching minutely.
Ianto stood to greet him, guiding him down onto the seat and draping the American’s legs over his lap, letting the man’s head fall to his shoulder.
He didn’t ask, Jack would speak when he was ready.
Apparently today was not that day, and he spent the entire bus trip alternating between rasping out grating cries and sitting quiet against Ianto’s chest.
Jack’s stop came and went and still, he did not move. Ianto’s stop came next and he watched it pass out the window, rubbing Jack’s back and neck and shoulders, occasionally humming against his forehead. When the bus came to the depot, Ianto soothed Jack until he was stable enough to be guided down onto the tarmac, where Ianto put him into a taxi and demanded he go home.
Faced with a feeble smile of thanks, Ianto patted Jack’s cheek and shut the taxi door, waiting until he lost sight before hailing another to take himself to work.
He would later find out from the local newspaper of the road incident that had claimed a Mr and Mrs Harkness, aged sixty-six and sixty-two, respectively.
--
A week and a day later came the fifth time.
Jack plonked down beside Ianto, all happy smiles and meditative oblivion. The state of his complexion told Ianto otherwise, but he played along dutifully.
‘Hey, gorgeous, no coffee today?’
‘Not today, honey,’ Ianto responded warmly.
‘Shame.’ Jack became suddenly very interested with Ianto’s hands, tugging long fingers out straight before bending them this way and that.
‘You have lovely hands,’ Jack commented idly, before lacing the fingers with his own and leaning into Ianto’s personal space, joined hands tucked securely between their chests. ‘You’d look great with a goatee,’ he murmured, inches from Ianto’s mouth.
‘Yeah?’
Jack hummed in affirmation, holding Ianto’s gaze for a moment. ‘You’d better be careful,’ he began in a small voice. ‘Because one day you’re going to do something to trip me. And when you do, I’ll fall hard.’
Ianto laughed abruptly and before he had finished, Jack was gone, stalking backward along the aisle, leer a little too close to sincere.
It took Ianto a moment to properly process the words, and a lot longer to process the manner in which they were said.
--
Jack showed up only two days later, falling half on top of Ianto and hugging him tightly.
‘I missed you,’ he breathed, dragging his lips down Ianto’s cheek and along his chin.
‘Jack Harkness, you say that like we’re in a relationship.’
Jack momentarily paused the movement of his lips. ‘Aren’t we?’
‘No,’ Ianto said firmly, but not unkindly. ‘I don’t believe we are.’
‘Well, we should be.’ Jack resumed his tracing of Ianto’s bone structure. Ianto pulled his face away.
‘How do you even know I like men?’
‘Your hands.’
Ianto felt a deep heat in his face as he realised the placement of his hands, low on Jack’s hips.
‘This is worse than making out in public,’ Ianto muttered, more to himself than to Jack. He replied, regardless.
‘We could do that, if you wanted.’
‘Or we could not.’ Ianto laughed, carefully shifting to sit on his hands. ‘Your stop, captain.’
Jack’s head whipped to the window and back, eyes suddenly bright. ‘Captain, I like that. Captain Jack Harkness. Call me that from now on.’
‘Aye aye.’ Ianto grinned and noticed immediately the way Jack was restraining himself, arms tense strained.
‘My stop,’ Jack said quietly. Ianto nodded, pushing Jack off him, into the aisle.
--
The seventh, eighth and ninth times they met were all between two and three days apart, and they fell into a pattern of near sharing a seat, touching soft and asking big and small, until trivial questions merged into fond synthetic memory.
The tenth and eleventh times were essentially the same but with added coffee that Jack would take from Ianto without asking, drain and return to Ianto’s waiting hand. It was a small trade for the added dramatic tones and fluent gestures that a shot of caffeine granted the man’s stories.
The twelfth time was different. It was nearing three weeks since the last, which had been spent whispering obscene stories in suggestive tones behind a sour old woman. The first few days that Jack failed to appear, Ianto dismissed easily. After a week, he began to get nervous, and after two weeks he was downright agitated with a feeling he couldn’t quite identify.
He kept running their past conversations over in his mind. Had Jack said he was leaving for a while? Had Ianto said something to offend him? Was he losing what fickle interest Ianto believed he truly had?
A day short of three weeks, Ianto threw in the towel. He exited the bus at Jack’s stop and followed the directed of the small crowd, asking for directions to the Torchwood Institute. Jack had claimed it to be an organisation outside the police but Ianto suspected they were connected somehow. It was a bit difficult for them not to be connected, as the Torchwood Institute served clinic of sorts for those who had been robbed, abused or injured due to no fault of their own. The police would go out, solve the problem, arrest who needed arresting and often brought the victims back to the clinic - whether for a cup of tea or an overnight stay with injuries.
The fourth person he asked pointed Ianto in the direction of a clump of trees in the far distance and it took Ianto a good seven minutes to get close enough to see the cluster of semi-joined white buildings affront a state forest.
He enquired at the front desk for a Mr Jack Harkness and the woman gave him a pitying smile, saying the American was unfortunately stuck in meetings all day with the board, but should be finished between four and five in the afternoon. Ianto thanked her and politely asked her to refrain from telling Jack of his visit.
He cursed himself as he hailed a taxi outside for looking so foolish. They weren’t in a relationship, Ianto had said so himself. They were just friends, people who enjoyed each other’s company. Hell, not even that. They hadn’t met outside the atmosphere of a bus. It was pathetic. He played no role in Jack’s life.
At two o’clock, Ianto was startled to receive a phone call from the front office, informing him there was a man here to see him. He tucked his chair in beneath his desk, carefully adjusting his tie and righting himself before leaving the room.
His heart stuttered as saw not Jack, but a middle-aged man holding his hat nervously, sitting on one of the waiting chairs. Ianto stepped forward to introduce himself when a hand caught him from behind.
‘Ianto.’
He exhaled heavily, turning to face the American who had spoken.
‘I need to talk to you,’ Jack said, and before Ianto could protest, he was being ushered out the door to a nearby bench. Jack pushed Ianto but remained standing.
‘I have to tell you something.’
‘Jack, why-’
‘No, just listen. I’m going to tell you something. I’m going to tell you once, and then I am going to walk away, you hear me?’
Ianto clasped his hands anxiously. This was it. Jack had come to tell him it was over - whatever it was they had in the first place. Bus trips, that was all. It sat bitter inside Ianto’s mind. Just bus trips.
‘I’ve been offered a promotion. To a hospital, a large one. The Royal Prince Alfred Hospital. It’s in Australia. They want me to fly out from London as soon as I possibly can.’ He took another deep breath and touched a fleeting hand to Ianto’s mouth, then his shoulder.
‘So I have two things to say to you. One, I am leaving tomorrow on a bus at four o’clock.’
Ianto’s heartbeat stammered to a half, just for a moment.
‘Two,’ Jack continued, ‘that could change.’
He watched Ianto carefully, and Ianto swallowed. He didn’t say anything. Not a thing. Jack nodded, breath whistling out and hand rubbing at his eyes. He turned and began to walk, and Ianto said not a thing.
--
He wasn’t sure if they would meet for a thirteenth time. It was three o’clock, and he had one more hour to make up his mind before Jack was gone. He had two things in his mind, a whimsical desire caught up inside a logical progression of thought.
Jack had an opportunity. He could get out, see the world, with job security and good pay. He could leave behind the grief that lay with a newspaper folded inside Ianto’s cupboard. He could see new busses.
And Ianto. Ianto had seen him outside of a bus. Ianto had seen him in the real world. It brought a strange, gleeful uncertainty that Ianto’s logic couldn’t untangle.
Three minutes to four found Ianto still sitting inside his house, eyes cast against the wall, hand running over the neat goatee he had grown on a memory of lost words.
--
The third hundred and seventy-second time they met, it was exactly a year after the thirteenth time, and Ianto woke to find Jack sprawled at an angle from him, snoring into the conjunction of Ianto’s shoulder and neck. He wasn’t sure if it still classified as meeting if one of them was asleep, or if the people in question lived together.
Ianto rubbed blearily at his forehead and cast his eyes over to the clock, where the keys sat. To their house, to their car. The time blinked at him in much the same way as the dog did, heavy head lifted, waiting for a signal. Ianto patted his hand and the dog leapt up onto the bed, resting between them, muzzle across Ianto’s arm, Jack’s sleepy fingers curling into its fur.
--
Ianto cursed bitterly as he stood at the front of the bus, waiting for it to pull into the stop where the one he wanted had just departed.
‘Where’s that bus going?’ he asked the driver, pointing to the one merging into the traffic on the road.
The driver shrugged. ‘London, I’ll bet.’
‘Yes, but…’ Ianto ran a hand through his hair. ‘Do you know where it stops next? Anywhere close by?’
The driver perked up. ‘Is this one of those movie things?’
Ianto didn’t know what his expression portrayed but the driver softened and fished out a mobile phone, chatting animatedly for a minute as Ianto stood aside to allow passengers to move past him, before hanging up the phone and turning back to Ianto.
‘He's going to stop for you at Route 412. Run. Catch a cab, boy, and go. He’s not going to wait for very long.’
Ianto nearly kissed him, shaking his hand enthusiastically and thanking him sincerely.
‘Bus Route 412,’ Ianto breathed once he’d hailed a taxi, selecting a few high- numbered notes from his wallet and shoving them where the driver could see. The wheels hadn’t properly halted at its stop when Ianto wrenched the door open and took off at a sprint to the bus sitting patiently at the stop.
He jumped the steps two at a time, panting out an apology to the bus driver, and was about to jog down the aisle when he stopped.
Jack had stood, standing toward the back of the bus, hand clasped at the handle.
‘Would you like to take a seat, please, sir?’
Ianto nodded. He took a slow step forward. ‘Is it too late to take the second option?’’ he asked.
Jack grinned, warring on uncertainty. ‘Not yet.’
Ianto nodded. He maneuvered himself down the aisle, limbs heavy. Before he reached Jack, he slowed again. ‘Can I take that option, then.’
Jack’s face split into a grin, reaching out to grasp Ianto to him, hands at his chest and Ianto’s on his face with Ianto’s mouth somewhere in between.
‘Erm…’ the driver called uncomfortably, ‘could you please stop that. No kissing on the bus, it’s policy.’
‘Off.’ Jack pushed at Ianto’s chest. ‘Off, now. Captain’s orders.’
Ianto grabbed at his arm, making sure he was following when he propelled Ianto back down the aisle. The driver pulled Jack’s bags from the compartment on the side of the bus and Ianto meant to thank him but his time was stolen between Jack’s mouth and Jack’s hands on him, until they were standing alone amid a pile of suitcases, vehicle nowhere in sight.
‘Thank you,’ Jack breathed joyfully. ‘Thank you, God.’
‘Come on, Jack,’ Ianto said, lifting one of the suitcases in his hand. ‘Next stop: home.’
Author: JerBearThompson
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Characters: Jack/Ianto
Summary: Ianto was on the bus when it happened. There was a sharp swerve, and then a warm body was falling down on top of him.
Disclaimer: We all worship at the shrine of the BBC.
Notes: For Elle! Because she wanted something really Jack/Ianto-y. Somehow developed from the Eagle vs. Shark quote, “I have two things to say. One: I am leaving tomorrow on a bus. Two: that could change.”
Ianto was on the bus when it happened. Here he was, happily pretending to read his newspaper while really listening in on the animate discussion occurring behind him on the advantages of fingerless gloves over the normal type, when there was a sudden sharp swerve and a warm body was falling down on top of him.
‘Hi,’ an overly bright, accented voice breathed over his face. Large hands steadied themselves on his shoulders, pushing him back until he could see the person just about sitting in his lap.
‘Sorry about that.’ The cheerfulness belied the sentiment and the man gave a brilliant grin, refusing to move his face more than twenty centimetres away from Ianto's.
‘It’s okay,’ Ianto murmured, trying to clear his head. ‘If you could just-’
‘Has anyone ever told you that you have really comfortable legs?’ The man proceeded to prove his point by shuffling around until he was essentially straddling Ianto’s lap. His breathing came out heavy, condensed. ‘Extraordinarily comfortable legs.’
Christ, he’s going to kiss me, Ianto thought hazily. A resound opposition to the thought filtered somewhere just outside of coherence.
The man leant closer, the tip of his nose lightly tracing over Ianto’s left cheekbone, then he laughed, a warm vibration against Ianto’s face.
Using one hand to steady himself against Ianto’s chest, the man leant further in until his lips were hovering just over Ianto’s ear. ‘I have a thing for breathing on people’s faces, you know. But only the ones I really like.’
Yes, well, you really should be getting off me now.
‘I bet you say that to all the pretty boys you fall on.’
Oops, got that mixed up. Ianto closed his eyes sharply.
The man laughed, running his fingers down Ianto’s chest until he Welshman drew a sharp intake of breath. The fingers came running back up again.
‘Just one,’ the man said, and then he was gone, and Ianto was left feeling light-headed and more than a little dizzy. His legs felt surprisingly cold without the heavy weight on top of them.
A quick survey of the bus saw the man standing at the door, giving him an amused smile.
‘Maybe we'll exchange names next time,’ he called, before stepping lightly off the bus, large blue coat billowing out behind him.
Ianto breathed in heavily and adjusted his tie, self-consciously. Yes, next time.
--
As it was, next time would be in a week and three days, and Ianto would be juggling coffee and a half-eaten bagel in one hand while the other attempted to turn the page of the newspaper he was actually reading this time.
There was a creak, a slight depression of the seat beside him, and the coffee was plucked from his hand.
‘For me? You shouldn’t have.’
Ianto gave a startled jump and turned to regard the man beside him.
He took a sip of Ianto’s coffee, before sliding it snugly back into Ianto’s hand, leaning in close.
‘Name’s Jack,’ he breathed over the side of Ianto’s face.
‘Just Jack?’ Ianto feigned disinterest as he turned his attention back to the stock market page.
‘Just Jack. For now.’
‘Pleasure,’ Ianto murmured, and gave a surprised yelp in the back of his throat as the paper was torn from his lap and replaced suddenly by a serious-faced man, blue eyes staring intently.
Jack non-too-gently grabbed both sides of Ianto’s face in his hands and pulled him in close, breath ghosting over the Welshman’s lips.
‘I'm Ianto,’ Ianto managed to get out, between the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.
‘Just Ianto?’ Jack humoured him, making no effort to move as he ran one hand from Ianto’s face to his coffee-holding hand, bringing both cup and hand up to his lips and taking another long sip, eyes still locked.
‘Thanks,’ Jack murmured when he was done, tucking the cup and Ianto’s fingers against the Welshman’s chest and tapping the side of his face gently.
‘See you around, then, Ianto.' As quickly as he came, he was gone.
Ianto cleared his throat and carefully retrieved his newspaper from the floor.
--
The third time, a mere six days after the second, Ianto was prepared. He had seen the tell-tale swish of navy coat appear beneath his book and he closed it with a snap, looking up expectantly.
Jack grinned, showing two rows of perfectly straight teeth.
‘Sit,’ Ianto demanded, and Jack raised his eyebrows before sitting dutifully beside Ianto. No sooner had his spine tourched the back of the seat than Ianto was swinging his leg over to straddle Jack’s lap.
‘This is a pleasant change,’ Jack hummed happily as he nuzzled into Ianto’s neck, just under his chin, his hands placed firmly on Ianto’s hips.
‘Stop that.’ Ianto forcefully brought Jack’s chin up to look him in the eyes. ‘Questions. Your name?’
‘I like this.’ Jack drummed his fingers against Ianto’s hips. ‘So forceful. Jack.’
‘Full name,’ Ianto held Jack’s chin secure.
‘Jack Harkness.’
‘Age, job, accent, and what it’s doing in Cardiff?’
‘Old enough to know better, doesn’t pay enough, American, because I saw you on a postcard and just had to come.’
‘Don’t patronise me.’ Ianto flopped back over into his seat, a little surprised when Jack’s head came to rest on his shoulder.
‘Your turn,’ the man mumbled.
‘Ianto Jones. Twenty-six, in the wrong profession, Welsh, probably because this is where I was born.’
‘You didn’t have to answer the last two.’ Jack tugged on Ianto’s arm, so that it fell down around his shoulders.
‘You asked,’ Ianto shrugged. ‘And what are you-’
‘Look, they’re watching.’
‘Where?’
‘To the left. Back a bit - no, be subtle about it.’
Ianto turned his head slowly, peripherals taking in the two teenage girls staring with wide eyes while the boy with them looked furiously at anything but the men.
‘I’m not your boyfriend, Jack.’
‘You could be.’ When Ianto stiffened considerably, Jack laughed and flung an arm across Ianto’s stomach, pulling him in close. ‘Humour me,’ he murmured against the skin of Ianto’s neck.
‘You're incorrigible,’ Ianto sighed, but tangled his fingers in Jack’s hair.
After a few minutes of putting on a show, the bus rolled to a squeaking halt.
‘Isn’t this your stop?’ Ianto asked into Jack’s hair.
‘I’ll call a taxi.’
Ianto laughed. ‘You know what? I think I will, too.’
Ignoring Jack’s muffled cry of protest, Ianto untangled himself from the American and swung himself down the aisle, a large grin plastered across his face. He didn’t look back as he exited the bus, not even at Jack’s called, ‘I love you, Ianto Jones,’ much to the delight of the girls.
Ianto did not miss the flicker of disappointment Jack’s voice held.
--
It was close to four weeks later that they met for the fourth time, and this time Ianto noticed immediately when the man entered the bus.
He looked a mess.
He was minus the coat and it startled Ianto to realise how small he seemed, how oddly human. His hair was ruffled, eyes red and with the distinct look of someone who had shed tears recently. Shedding rather a lot, by the look of it. His hands were twitching minutely.
Ianto stood to greet him, guiding him down onto the seat and draping the American’s legs over his lap, letting the man’s head fall to his shoulder.
He didn’t ask, Jack would speak when he was ready.
Apparently today was not that day, and he spent the entire bus trip alternating between rasping out grating cries and sitting quiet against Ianto’s chest.
Jack’s stop came and went and still, he did not move. Ianto’s stop came next and he watched it pass out the window, rubbing Jack’s back and neck and shoulders, occasionally humming against his forehead. When the bus came to the depot, Ianto soothed Jack until he was stable enough to be guided down onto the tarmac, where Ianto put him into a taxi and demanded he go home.
Faced with a feeble smile of thanks, Ianto patted Jack’s cheek and shut the taxi door, waiting until he lost sight before hailing another to take himself to work.
He would later find out from the local newspaper of the road incident that had claimed a Mr and Mrs Harkness, aged sixty-six and sixty-two, respectively.
--
A week and a day later came the fifth time.
Jack plonked down beside Ianto, all happy smiles and meditative oblivion. The state of his complexion told Ianto otherwise, but he played along dutifully.
‘Hey, gorgeous, no coffee today?’
‘Not today, honey,’ Ianto responded warmly.
‘Shame.’ Jack became suddenly very interested with Ianto’s hands, tugging long fingers out straight before bending them this way and that.
‘You have lovely hands,’ Jack commented idly, before lacing the fingers with his own and leaning into Ianto’s personal space, joined hands tucked securely between their chests. ‘You’d look great with a goatee,’ he murmured, inches from Ianto’s mouth.
‘Yeah?’
Jack hummed in affirmation, holding Ianto’s gaze for a moment. ‘You’d better be careful,’ he began in a small voice. ‘Because one day you’re going to do something to trip me. And when you do, I’ll fall hard.’
Ianto laughed abruptly and before he had finished, Jack was gone, stalking backward along the aisle, leer a little too close to sincere.
It took Ianto a moment to properly process the words, and a lot longer to process the manner in which they were said.
--
Jack showed up only two days later, falling half on top of Ianto and hugging him tightly.
‘I missed you,’ he breathed, dragging his lips down Ianto’s cheek and along his chin.
‘Jack Harkness, you say that like we’re in a relationship.’
Jack momentarily paused the movement of his lips. ‘Aren’t we?’
‘No,’ Ianto said firmly, but not unkindly. ‘I don’t believe we are.’
‘Well, we should be.’ Jack resumed his tracing of Ianto’s bone structure. Ianto pulled his face away.
‘How do you even know I like men?’
‘Your hands.’
Ianto felt a deep heat in his face as he realised the placement of his hands, low on Jack’s hips.
‘This is worse than making out in public,’ Ianto muttered, more to himself than to Jack. He replied, regardless.
‘We could do that, if you wanted.’
‘Or we could not.’ Ianto laughed, carefully shifting to sit on his hands. ‘Your stop, captain.’
Jack’s head whipped to the window and back, eyes suddenly bright. ‘Captain, I like that. Captain Jack Harkness. Call me that from now on.’
‘Aye aye.’ Ianto grinned and noticed immediately the way Jack was restraining himself, arms tense strained.
‘My stop,’ Jack said quietly. Ianto nodded, pushing Jack off him, into the aisle.
--
The seventh, eighth and ninth times they met were all between two and three days apart, and they fell into a pattern of near sharing a seat, touching soft and asking big and small, until trivial questions merged into fond synthetic memory.
The tenth and eleventh times were essentially the same but with added coffee that Jack would take from Ianto without asking, drain and return to Ianto’s waiting hand. It was a small trade for the added dramatic tones and fluent gestures that a shot of caffeine granted the man’s stories.
The twelfth time was different. It was nearing three weeks since the last, which had been spent whispering obscene stories in suggestive tones behind a sour old woman. The first few days that Jack failed to appear, Ianto dismissed easily. After a week, he began to get nervous, and after two weeks he was downright agitated with a feeling he couldn’t quite identify.
He kept running their past conversations over in his mind. Had Jack said he was leaving for a while? Had Ianto said something to offend him? Was he losing what fickle interest Ianto believed he truly had?
A day short of three weeks, Ianto threw in the towel. He exited the bus at Jack’s stop and followed the directed of the small crowd, asking for directions to the Torchwood Institute. Jack had claimed it to be an organisation outside the police but Ianto suspected they were connected somehow. It was a bit difficult for them not to be connected, as the Torchwood Institute served clinic of sorts for those who had been robbed, abused or injured due to no fault of their own. The police would go out, solve the problem, arrest who needed arresting and often brought the victims back to the clinic - whether for a cup of tea or an overnight stay with injuries.
The fourth person he asked pointed Ianto in the direction of a clump of trees in the far distance and it took Ianto a good seven minutes to get close enough to see the cluster of semi-joined white buildings affront a state forest.
He enquired at the front desk for a Mr Jack Harkness and the woman gave him a pitying smile, saying the American was unfortunately stuck in meetings all day with the board, but should be finished between four and five in the afternoon. Ianto thanked her and politely asked her to refrain from telling Jack of his visit.
He cursed himself as he hailed a taxi outside for looking so foolish. They weren’t in a relationship, Ianto had said so himself. They were just friends, people who enjoyed each other’s company. Hell, not even that. They hadn’t met outside the atmosphere of a bus. It was pathetic. He played no role in Jack’s life.
At two o’clock, Ianto was startled to receive a phone call from the front office, informing him there was a man here to see him. He tucked his chair in beneath his desk, carefully adjusting his tie and righting himself before leaving the room.
His heart stuttered as saw not Jack, but a middle-aged man holding his hat nervously, sitting on one of the waiting chairs. Ianto stepped forward to introduce himself when a hand caught him from behind.
‘Ianto.’
He exhaled heavily, turning to face the American who had spoken.
‘I need to talk to you,’ Jack said, and before Ianto could protest, he was being ushered out the door to a nearby bench. Jack pushed Ianto but remained standing.
‘I have to tell you something.’
‘Jack, why-’
‘No, just listen. I’m going to tell you something. I’m going to tell you once, and then I am going to walk away, you hear me?’
Ianto clasped his hands anxiously. This was it. Jack had come to tell him it was over - whatever it was they had in the first place. Bus trips, that was all. It sat bitter inside Ianto’s mind. Just bus trips.
‘I’ve been offered a promotion. To a hospital, a large one. The Royal Prince Alfred Hospital. It’s in Australia. They want me to fly out from London as soon as I possibly can.’ He took another deep breath and touched a fleeting hand to Ianto’s mouth, then his shoulder.
‘So I have two things to say to you. One, I am leaving tomorrow on a bus at four o’clock.’
Ianto’s heartbeat stammered to a half, just for a moment.
‘Two,’ Jack continued, ‘that could change.’
He watched Ianto carefully, and Ianto swallowed. He didn’t say anything. Not a thing. Jack nodded, breath whistling out and hand rubbing at his eyes. He turned and began to walk, and Ianto said not a thing.
--
He wasn’t sure if they would meet for a thirteenth time. It was three o’clock, and he had one more hour to make up his mind before Jack was gone. He had two things in his mind, a whimsical desire caught up inside a logical progression of thought.
Jack had an opportunity. He could get out, see the world, with job security and good pay. He could leave behind the grief that lay with a newspaper folded inside Ianto’s cupboard. He could see new busses.
And Ianto. Ianto had seen him outside of a bus. Ianto had seen him in the real world. It brought a strange, gleeful uncertainty that Ianto’s logic couldn’t untangle.
Three minutes to four found Ianto still sitting inside his house, eyes cast against the wall, hand running over the neat goatee he had grown on a memory of lost words.
--
The third hundred and seventy-second time they met, it was exactly a year after the thirteenth time, and Ianto woke to find Jack sprawled at an angle from him, snoring into the conjunction of Ianto’s shoulder and neck. He wasn’t sure if it still classified as meeting if one of them was asleep, or if the people in question lived together.
Ianto rubbed blearily at his forehead and cast his eyes over to the clock, where the keys sat. To their house, to their car. The time blinked at him in much the same way as the dog did, heavy head lifted, waiting for a signal. Ianto patted his hand and the dog leapt up onto the bed, resting between them, muzzle across Ianto’s arm, Jack’s sleepy fingers curling into its fur.
--
Ianto cursed bitterly as he stood at the front of the bus, waiting for it to pull into the stop where the one he wanted had just departed.
‘Where’s that bus going?’ he asked the driver, pointing to the one merging into the traffic on the road.
The driver shrugged. ‘London, I’ll bet.’
‘Yes, but…’ Ianto ran a hand through his hair. ‘Do you know where it stops next? Anywhere close by?’
The driver perked up. ‘Is this one of those movie things?’
Ianto didn’t know what his expression portrayed but the driver softened and fished out a mobile phone, chatting animatedly for a minute as Ianto stood aside to allow passengers to move past him, before hanging up the phone and turning back to Ianto.
‘He's going to stop for you at Route 412. Run. Catch a cab, boy, and go. He’s not going to wait for very long.’
Ianto nearly kissed him, shaking his hand enthusiastically and thanking him sincerely.
‘Bus Route 412,’ Ianto breathed once he’d hailed a taxi, selecting a few high- numbered notes from his wallet and shoving them where the driver could see. The wheels hadn’t properly halted at its stop when Ianto wrenched the door open and took off at a sprint to the bus sitting patiently at the stop.
He jumped the steps two at a time, panting out an apology to the bus driver, and was about to jog down the aisle when he stopped.
Jack had stood, standing toward the back of the bus, hand clasped at the handle.
‘Would you like to take a seat, please, sir?’
Ianto nodded. He took a slow step forward. ‘Is it too late to take the second option?’’ he asked.
Jack grinned, warring on uncertainty. ‘Not yet.’
Ianto nodded. He maneuvered himself down the aisle, limbs heavy. Before he reached Jack, he slowed again. ‘Can I take that option, then.’
Jack’s face split into a grin, reaching out to grasp Ianto to him, hands at his chest and Ianto’s on his face with Ianto’s mouth somewhere in between.
‘Erm…’ the driver called uncomfortably, ‘could you please stop that. No kissing on the bus, it’s policy.’
‘Off.’ Jack pushed at Ianto’s chest. ‘Off, now. Captain’s orders.’
Ianto grabbed at his arm, making sure he was following when he propelled Ianto back down the aisle. The driver pulled Jack’s bags from the compartment on the side of the bus and Ianto meant to thank him but his time was stolen between Jack’s mouth and Jack’s hands on him, until they were standing alone amid a pile of suitcases, vehicle nowhere in sight.
‘Thank you,’ Jack breathed joyfully. ‘Thank you, God.’
‘Come on, Jack,’ Ianto said, lifting one of the suitcases in his hand. ‘Next stop: home.’