Of Masters and Kings
Title Of Masters and Kings
Topic Torchwood
Characters Ianto Jones/Jack Harkness Mentions Gwen Cooper
Genre Angst, General, AU
Rating PG
Summary Ianto Jones was the Master of secrets, but Jack Harkness was the King
Author's Note A oneshot for my Serial-Killer-Ianto series! Written for jooles34 for a mem of mine. It's on my page, check it out, still more spots open. This comes before "Behind Blue Eyes" but after "Halfway Out of the Dark." As a mini spoiler, I can also tell you that this ties in extremely with the long-fic that is coming Summer 2011. Enjoy ^_^
Secrets.
Such a simple word. Two syllables, five different letters. A word that every two year old knows, and every eighty year old never forgets. A short definition that only takes up one line in the printed Webster’s Dictionary, and half of one online. It’s funny, how such a short, simplistic word could be so daunting and damaging to a soul.
Ianto Jones was the master of secrets. When he was three, his babysitter had invited her boyfriend over and locked themselves in his tad’s bedroom, and Ianto never told. In school, this little girl, Lucy, always cheated off of him because she couldn’t think properly like he did. She never got caught. When he was five, the police asked him if his father was abusing him, and he never told them the truth. A year later, when they asked where he had gone, Ianto had replied with a shrug of his shoulders and a request for cookies. Not once did he glance at the woods in his back yard, inside of which a creek was flowing, a large tan bag full of skin and bones and rocks cemented in its belly. In school, he never told anyone that he was gay, or that Scotty Connick was too. During Uni, when the local police started to notice that all the homeless around campus were missing, he never picked up the phone and dialed the hotline number that was printed in thick black ink on the bottom of the missing persons poster that some hippie had put up. Twelve months ago, he went on a date with Jack Harkness. He had smiled at all the opportune moments, laughed when prompted, and even struck some civilized conversation. He never mentioned that his extracurricular activities. When Jack requested to move in, Ianto didn’t tell him about the false bottom in his closet floor.
Yes. Ianto Jones was the Master of secrets.
His key fit easily into the lock, and it turned with the fluid ease of a seasoned professional. The door swung open, and Ianto was met by the homey glow of the living room lamp and the flickering lights of the television set. He closed the door, taking off his coat and hanging it on the coat rack that was placed strategically in the entrance. His shoes slipped off and rested peacefully right next to the door, the toes of the items lined up perfectly perpendicular to the wall. If he hadn’t cleaned so often, there would be indents of the soles of the shoes in the exact spots that they rested now.
“Afternoon.” He replied to the grunt that came from the floor, where none other than the infamous Jack Harkness was sitting, his legs crossed and feet naked for all the world to see. He was rummaging through one of the boxes, one hand lost in the depths of cardboard, while the other was balancing a half-full wine glass of cherry soda. Jack liked to create the image of alcohol, but didn’t consume it. They were in the process of moving in together, and it was driving Ianto up the wall. His normally neat, precise atmosphere had been thrown into chaos, and not the organized kind. Jack, of course, chose to relieve the tension not by quickly unpacking, but by slowly unwinding Ianto in the bedroom, which helped during the action, but made everything else worse after, because that was another set of sheets that needed cleaning.
Ianto watched Jack out of the corner of his eye as he continued to shed, his suit jacket lying carefully over the back of the chair he used at their dinner table. He unbuttoned the top of his dress shirt; there was no tie to loosen, he didn’t wear ties. Ianto found that he couldn’t tie them on himself - only other people.
“Ianto!” Jack’s loud voice cut through the entire apartment. Ianto found himself turning to the voice, understanding that Jack wanted him to come. It scared him a little bit, that he was so used to this one man that being near him was almost instinctual. He first realized it a few weeks ago when Jack hadn’t been in his bed for almost four days in a row. There had been a huge case down at the station, and to celebrate closing it, Jack had a sleepover with Gwen, leaving Ianto alone. The man had told Jack it was fine. Alone was his preference, after all. But that last night, lying there by himself, the tick of his clock didn’t sooth him. The mindless counting of the sheep as they jumped into the fire and allowed themselves to burn didn’t lull him to sleep. Even the numbers he so carefully etched into his little black book hadn’t soothed his nerves. The next day, he had added a few more numbers to that book, and soiled another great tie. That had gotten rid of the uneasiness, and Ianto told himself that it was just withdraw from not having a release close enough to last month’s. Another secret he buried from himself.
But Ianto didn’t know how to cover the feeling that blossomed in his chest when he saw Jack smile, or how he felt after they were done and just lying him his bed. Those urges to wrap his arms around Jack’s torso. How he preferred to kiss Jack’s neck. How, in the mornings, he timed his schedule around Jack’s so that Ianto was never in the same room as Jack when the man tied his tie.
“Hmm?” Ianto hummed, walking back into the living room. He noticed the walking stick that was far enough from Jack that anyone walking in wouldn’t know it was his, but close enough to reach should he want to stand up.
“Check it out. Photo books. From when I was a kid.” Jack smiled, offering up a large, bound book that was wider than it was tall. Ianto sat down gracefully and carefully took the book, giving Jack a shy smile. Opening it to the first page, he focused on the pictures. He felt Jack’s breath as he breathed over his neck. The feeling of Jack’s chin on his shoulder. Jack’s hands on his waist. Ianto used to flinch away from such physical forwardness. Not anymore, though.
Jack on the playground, swinging from the monkey bars. He had this huge goofy grin on his face. Ianto could see the resemblance. The same piercing blue eyes, full of laughter. The hint of a jaw line, and the mischief written all over his body language.
Ianto flipped over a few pages, skimming the photographs. There were some with his family; his mother and father. Jack was a carbon copy of his father, except for his eyes. Those beautiful blue orbs were his mothers. She looked like a kind, caring woman who would spend all day at home baking pies and kissing her children on their forehead goodnight after having read them a bedtime story. Of course, Ianto never actually knew what people who did that looked like, but he guessed that if anyone did, it would have been Jack’s mom.
Another few pages. Jack was older now, probably nineteen, maybe twenty. It was him and Gwen, arms linked. They wore formal clothing. They were standing close together. Close enough to show to those who knew them that they were best friends, and for those who didn’t know them to think they were something more. Jack’s chin had grown out, and his hair was wild. There was a little bit of outline on his jaw and upper lip, like he had been trying so hard to grow facial hair, and wasn’t quite ready to shave it all off yet. His pearly whites almost blinded out the entire photo, and those eyes. Ianto felt his heart flutter. His eyes were as deep as they were today. Filled with knowledge and sadness - too much for a boy that old to be carrying around with him. The attribute that had caused Ianto to be attracted to him in the first place. The pain.
“You like that photo?” Jack said, his hand coming around Ianto’s body to trace the outline of the Polaroid.
Ianto nodded. “It’s you.”
Jack chuckled. “Yeah. It is.”
A kiss on the cheek. “I’m tired. Gonna take a quick cat-nap before digging in to the movies.” Jack waggled his eyebrows, and Ianto gave him another small smile. Just enough to show that he was entertained, but not enough to overdo it or feel fake. Ianto was great at that - showing feelings. After being around people for such a long time, he was really good at faking it, and keeping his real thoughts a secret.
Jack groaned and stood up, his knees popping. Ianto reached out and grabbed the walking stick, holding it up for Jack to take hold of.
“Thanks, love.” Jack replied, and hobbled off, leaning heavily on the stick. Ianto watched him go. He usually ignored the walking stick and chose to harbor the pain. He must be really tired - mentally as well as physically.
Ianto frowned. All Jack had been doing today was unpacking. The physical strain Ianto could understand; but mentally exhausted? He glanced at the photos. His eyebrows furrowed together, causing lines to show on his normally creaseless forehead. Ianto went back through the photos once more, paying special attention. Then it clicked. The childhood Jack in the photos was happy. But once he hit eleven, something had changed. He still smiled in all the pictures, but he carried himself different, and that haunted look had crept into those gorgeous blue eyes.
Ianto glanced at a family picture. They were in their house, playing a board game. The picture was a little fuzzy and at an odd angle, as if the person was too small to handle a camera correctly. Jack was laughing, and his father had a defeated look on his face. His mother was in the background, making something, possibly sandwiches for the next day. Ianto blinked.
There were three pieces on the board. Four pieces of bread open on the counter. Two lunchboxes.
Who took the picture.
Ianto set the photo book aside and pulled the large box towards him. He pulled out book after book. There was one of all Jack’s school
photos. One of him and all his dates through the years, and of just him and Gwen. Then there were a few loose ones scattered randomly throughout the box. Then, Ianto came to the bottom.
There was a thin box in there, small enough to only hold a few things. It was lightweight and the color of the cardboard. If Ianto hadn’t of been looking, he wouldn’t of seen it. But Ianto was looking. He was always looking.
He pulled it out, and was surprised to see that it was locked. He frowned, and glanced at the lock. Easy. He pulled the small paper clip out of his breast pocket (he always carried it with him in case of emergency on the job) and worked the lock. A few seconds later it fell away, and Ianto carefully opened the box.
The first thing he saw was a photo. It was jack, age ten. He was smiling that large smile that disappeared at age eleven, and had his arm slung around a younger boy who looked to be about seven. They were two different people, obviously, but the relation was clear. The same chin, same cocky smile. Same deep blue eyes.
Ianto’s hands were shaking. He placed the photo aside and dug into the other things in the box. That was the only photo, everything else was newspaper clippings. Ianto read the small black words, his eyes growing wide and his heartbeat picking up at every word he read.
Ianto Jones prided himself on never being surprised. Whatever life threw at him, he was always ready. His car broke down. It started to rain. He was running late for work. An interviewee wouldn’t answer his questions. The tie he was using wasn’t working. The pigs weren’t hungry.
He always had an answer for everything.
Until now.
'Last month, a young boy by the name of Grey Harkness went missing at the local Park. He was last seen by his brother, Jack Harkness, who had been charged with watching the little boy. The police have been doing everything they can to try and find the little boy, age eight at the time of abduction, but so far their work has been in vain. They did find signs of a struggle at the edge of the park near the trees, and a few people claimed they saw an unmarked white van pull off soon after Grey’s brother, Jack, had frantically called for him. If anyone knows any information about this boy, please call the following number. There is a money reward for information that leads to his safe return home and the capture of the kidnapper(s).’
The article was followed by a phone number and a picture of Grey Harkness. The kid in the photograph.
Ianto blinked.
He packed up the article and the photograph. There were other newspaper clippings in there as well, but Ianto didn’t read them. He didn’t have to. They were all about the same thing, each article growing bleaker and bleaker until they stopped printing them. The kidnapper had never been found. Neither had Grey’s body.
Ianto locked the box and placed it back in the bottom of the cardboard. He replaced the other photo books then scooted the box out of the way so no one would trip of the light was off when they were walking through. He picked himself up, straightened his jeans, then went to grab his laptop. He had found his next subject.
As Ianto was reading through the police reports regarding the abduction of Grey Harkness, a reality hit him.
Ianto Jones may be the Master of secrets, but Jack Harkness was the King.
Topic Torchwood
Characters Ianto Jones/Jack Harkness Mentions Gwen Cooper
Genre Angst, General, AU
Rating PG
Summary Ianto Jones was the Master of secrets, but Jack Harkness was the King
Author's Note A oneshot for my Serial-Killer-Ianto series! Written for jooles34 for a mem of mine. It's on my page, check it out, still more spots open. This comes before "Behind Blue Eyes" but after "Halfway Out of the Dark." As a mini spoiler, I can also tell you that this ties in extremely with the long-fic that is coming Summer 2011. Enjoy ^_^
Secrets.
Such a simple word. Two syllables, five different letters. A word that every two year old knows, and every eighty year old never forgets. A short definition that only takes up one line in the printed Webster’s Dictionary, and half of one online. It’s funny, how such a short, simplistic word could be so daunting and damaging to a soul.
Ianto Jones was the master of secrets. When he was three, his babysitter had invited her boyfriend over and locked themselves in his tad’s bedroom, and Ianto never told. In school, this little girl, Lucy, always cheated off of him because she couldn’t think properly like he did. She never got caught. When he was five, the police asked him if his father was abusing him, and he never told them the truth. A year later, when they asked where he had gone, Ianto had replied with a shrug of his shoulders and a request for cookies. Not once did he glance at the woods in his back yard, inside of which a creek was flowing, a large tan bag full of skin and bones and rocks cemented in its belly. In school, he never told anyone that he was gay, or that Scotty Connick was too. During Uni, when the local police started to notice that all the homeless around campus were missing, he never picked up the phone and dialed the hotline number that was printed in thick black ink on the bottom of the missing persons poster that some hippie had put up. Twelve months ago, he went on a date with Jack Harkness. He had smiled at all the opportune moments, laughed when prompted, and even struck some civilized conversation. He never mentioned that his extracurricular activities. When Jack requested to move in, Ianto didn’t tell him about the false bottom in his closet floor.
Yes. Ianto Jones was the Master of secrets.
His key fit easily into the lock, and it turned with the fluid ease of a seasoned professional. The door swung open, and Ianto was met by the homey glow of the living room lamp and the flickering lights of the television set. He closed the door, taking off his coat and hanging it on the coat rack that was placed strategically in the entrance. His shoes slipped off and rested peacefully right next to the door, the toes of the items lined up perfectly perpendicular to the wall. If he hadn’t cleaned so often, there would be indents of the soles of the shoes in the exact spots that they rested now.
“Afternoon.” He replied to the grunt that came from the floor, where none other than the infamous Jack Harkness was sitting, his legs crossed and feet naked for all the world to see. He was rummaging through one of the boxes, one hand lost in the depths of cardboard, while the other was balancing a half-full wine glass of cherry soda. Jack liked to create the image of alcohol, but didn’t consume it. They were in the process of moving in together, and it was driving Ianto up the wall. His normally neat, precise atmosphere had been thrown into chaos, and not the organized kind. Jack, of course, chose to relieve the tension not by quickly unpacking, but by slowly unwinding Ianto in the bedroom, which helped during the action, but made everything else worse after, because that was another set of sheets that needed cleaning.
Ianto watched Jack out of the corner of his eye as he continued to shed, his suit jacket lying carefully over the back of the chair he used at their dinner table. He unbuttoned the top of his dress shirt; there was no tie to loosen, he didn’t wear ties. Ianto found that he couldn’t tie them on himself - only other people.
“Ianto!” Jack’s loud voice cut through the entire apartment. Ianto found himself turning to the voice, understanding that Jack wanted him to come. It scared him a little bit, that he was so used to this one man that being near him was almost instinctual. He first realized it a few weeks ago when Jack hadn’t been in his bed for almost four days in a row. There had been a huge case down at the station, and to celebrate closing it, Jack had a sleepover with Gwen, leaving Ianto alone. The man had told Jack it was fine. Alone was his preference, after all. But that last night, lying there by himself, the tick of his clock didn’t sooth him. The mindless counting of the sheep as they jumped into the fire and allowed themselves to burn didn’t lull him to sleep. Even the numbers he so carefully etched into his little black book hadn’t soothed his nerves. The next day, he had added a few more numbers to that book, and soiled another great tie. That had gotten rid of the uneasiness, and Ianto told himself that it was just withdraw from not having a release close enough to last month’s. Another secret he buried from himself.
But Ianto didn’t know how to cover the feeling that blossomed in his chest when he saw Jack smile, or how he felt after they were done and just lying him his bed. Those urges to wrap his arms around Jack’s torso. How he preferred to kiss Jack’s neck. How, in the mornings, he timed his schedule around Jack’s so that Ianto was never in the same room as Jack when the man tied his tie.
“Hmm?” Ianto hummed, walking back into the living room. He noticed the walking stick that was far enough from Jack that anyone walking in wouldn’t know it was his, but close enough to reach should he want to stand up.
“Check it out. Photo books. From when I was a kid.” Jack smiled, offering up a large, bound book that was wider than it was tall. Ianto sat down gracefully and carefully took the book, giving Jack a shy smile. Opening it to the first page, he focused on the pictures. He felt Jack’s breath as he breathed over his neck. The feeling of Jack’s chin on his shoulder. Jack’s hands on his waist. Ianto used to flinch away from such physical forwardness. Not anymore, though.
Jack on the playground, swinging from the monkey bars. He had this huge goofy grin on his face. Ianto could see the resemblance. The same piercing blue eyes, full of laughter. The hint of a jaw line, and the mischief written all over his body language.
Ianto flipped over a few pages, skimming the photographs. There were some with his family; his mother and father. Jack was a carbon copy of his father, except for his eyes. Those beautiful blue orbs were his mothers. She looked like a kind, caring woman who would spend all day at home baking pies and kissing her children on their forehead goodnight after having read them a bedtime story. Of course, Ianto never actually knew what people who did that looked like, but he guessed that if anyone did, it would have been Jack’s mom.
Another few pages. Jack was older now, probably nineteen, maybe twenty. It was him and Gwen, arms linked. They wore formal clothing. They were standing close together. Close enough to show to those who knew them that they were best friends, and for those who didn’t know them to think they were something more. Jack’s chin had grown out, and his hair was wild. There was a little bit of outline on his jaw and upper lip, like he had been trying so hard to grow facial hair, and wasn’t quite ready to shave it all off yet. His pearly whites almost blinded out the entire photo, and those eyes. Ianto felt his heart flutter. His eyes were as deep as they were today. Filled with knowledge and sadness - too much for a boy that old to be carrying around with him. The attribute that had caused Ianto to be attracted to him in the first place. The pain.
“You like that photo?” Jack said, his hand coming around Ianto’s body to trace the outline of the Polaroid.
Ianto nodded. “It’s you.”
Jack chuckled. “Yeah. It is.”
A kiss on the cheek. “I’m tired. Gonna take a quick cat-nap before digging in to the movies.” Jack waggled his eyebrows, and Ianto gave him another small smile. Just enough to show that he was entertained, but not enough to overdo it or feel fake. Ianto was great at that - showing feelings. After being around people for such a long time, he was really good at faking it, and keeping his real thoughts a secret.
Jack groaned and stood up, his knees popping. Ianto reached out and grabbed the walking stick, holding it up for Jack to take hold of.
“Thanks, love.” Jack replied, and hobbled off, leaning heavily on the stick. Ianto watched him go. He usually ignored the walking stick and chose to harbor the pain. He must be really tired - mentally as well as physically.
Ianto frowned. All Jack had been doing today was unpacking. The physical strain Ianto could understand; but mentally exhausted? He glanced at the photos. His eyebrows furrowed together, causing lines to show on his normally creaseless forehead. Ianto went back through the photos once more, paying special attention. Then it clicked. The childhood Jack in the photos was happy. But once he hit eleven, something had changed. He still smiled in all the pictures, but he carried himself different, and that haunted look had crept into those gorgeous blue eyes.
Ianto glanced at a family picture. They were in their house, playing a board game. The picture was a little fuzzy and at an odd angle, as if the person was too small to handle a camera correctly. Jack was laughing, and his father had a defeated look on his face. His mother was in the background, making something, possibly sandwiches for the next day. Ianto blinked.
There were three pieces on the board. Four pieces of bread open on the counter. Two lunchboxes.
Who took the picture.
Ianto set the photo book aside and pulled the large box towards him. He pulled out book after book. There was one of all Jack’s school
photos. One of him and all his dates through the years, and of just him and Gwen. Then there were a few loose ones scattered randomly throughout the box. Then, Ianto came to the bottom.
There was a thin box in there, small enough to only hold a few things. It was lightweight and the color of the cardboard. If Ianto hadn’t of been looking, he wouldn’t of seen it. But Ianto was looking. He was always looking.
He pulled it out, and was surprised to see that it was locked. He frowned, and glanced at the lock. Easy. He pulled the small paper clip out of his breast pocket (he always carried it with him in case of emergency on the job) and worked the lock. A few seconds later it fell away, and Ianto carefully opened the box.
The first thing he saw was a photo. It was jack, age ten. He was smiling that large smile that disappeared at age eleven, and had his arm slung around a younger boy who looked to be about seven. They were two different people, obviously, but the relation was clear. The same chin, same cocky smile. Same deep blue eyes.
Ianto’s hands were shaking. He placed the photo aside and dug into the other things in the box. That was the only photo, everything else was newspaper clippings. Ianto read the small black words, his eyes growing wide and his heartbeat picking up at every word he read.
Ianto Jones prided himself on never being surprised. Whatever life threw at him, he was always ready. His car broke down. It started to rain. He was running late for work. An interviewee wouldn’t answer his questions. The tie he was using wasn’t working. The pigs weren’t hungry.
He always had an answer for everything.
Until now.
'Last month, a young boy by the name of Grey Harkness went missing at the local Park. He was last seen by his brother, Jack Harkness, who had been charged with watching the little boy. The police have been doing everything they can to try and find the little boy, age eight at the time of abduction, but so far their work has been in vain. They did find signs of a struggle at the edge of the park near the trees, and a few people claimed they saw an unmarked white van pull off soon after Grey’s brother, Jack, had frantically called for him. If anyone knows any information about this boy, please call the following number. There is a money reward for information that leads to his safe return home and the capture of the kidnapper(s).’
The article was followed by a phone number and a picture of Grey Harkness. The kid in the photograph.
Ianto blinked.
He packed up the article and the photograph. There were other newspaper clippings in there as well, but Ianto didn’t read them. He didn’t have to. They were all about the same thing, each article growing bleaker and bleaker until they stopped printing them. The kidnapper had never been found. Neither had Grey’s body.
Ianto locked the box and placed it back in the bottom of the cardboard. He replaced the other photo books then scooted the box out of the way so no one would trip of the light was off when they were walking through. He picked himself up, straightened his jeans, then went to grab his laptop. He had found his next subject.
As Ianto was reading through the police reports regarding the abduction of Grey Harkness, a reality hit him.
Ianto Jones may be the Master of secrets, but Jack Harkness was the King.