A blip in time: Ianto Jones; Torchwood fic, Ianto/Jack
Title: A blip in time: Ianto Jones
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Summary: Ianto watches Jack sleep. Kind of angsty. No spoilers, but relates to "The Dead Line"
Rating: High PG, borderline PG-13? I always rate high, though.
Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood, Jack or Ianto. They all belong to the BBC who, in my opinion, aren't treating them very nicely.
Author's Notes: I just wrote this up very very quickly just now, having been inspired while reading twdocotor's lovely fic, Moment. It doesn't really resemble the fic that much, just the fact that it's Ianto thinking about Jack while Jack's sleeping. But it's a great little one-shot, you should check it out! I've been struggling with my scifibigbang fic and writer's block, but I think this broke it! No beta, so please excuse any and all mistakes
When it came to Jack, Ianto was nothing. Well, almost nothing. Just a blip. Just a few years in centuries of a lifetime. If he died, when he died, Jack would feel sad, perhaps a bit torn, but no more than he did for Tosh and Owen and probably less than when Gwen dies. He had no illusions about that.
Ianto would have been ignorant of this had he not taken up the habit of watching Jack while he was asleep. Sometimes he slept peacefully, but most nights he thrashed, different names dribbled from his lips in pained breaths. He had loved so many people, just as he loved Ianto, and in the end he had to sleep in someone else's bed, mourning their loss years after.
For Ianto their time together was made up of tiny moments like this, curled up beside Jack's warm body as snow fell outside. For Jack it was made up of events: Lisa, the cannibals, his homecoming, the night before Tommy Brockless went back...the list went on.
And yet the questions niggled at the back of his brain, eating away at it like a worm. When would he become nothing more than a nightmare for Jack? When would the time come when he slept in someone else's embrace, his name whispered in the dark from his subconscious? It chilled Ianto's veins, made his stomach drop and his heart stop: he was going to die.
Maybe not today, hopefully not tomorrow, but some day and soon, he was going to die. He wasn't sure how he wanted to go: in a blaze of glory, a hero's death; or quietly, in old age? The second seemed highly unlikely given in Torchwood, yet he didn't want to let go of the possibility. He clung to it desperately, yet kept it buried deep inside. He didn't want to give himself false hope, but he feared what would happen if he let it go.
Jack shifted slightly in his sleep, mumbled something that sounded like taco fame (whatever the hell that meant) and tightened his arms around Ianto, bringing him closer. The increased warmth soon lulled Ianto back to sleep, but one thought traveled with him into his dreams: Ianto Jones may just be a moment in time, but he was determined to never be forgotten.
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Summary: Ianto watches Jack sleep. Kind of angsty. No spoilers, but relates to "The Dead Line"
Rating: High PG, borderline PG-13? I always rate high, though.
Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood, Jack or Ianto. They all belong to the BBC who, in my opinion, aren't treating them very nicely.
Author's Notes: I just wrote this up very very quickly just now, having been inspired while reading twdocotor's lovely fic, Moment. It doesn't really resemble the fic that much, just the fact that it's Ianto thinking about Jack while Jack's sleeping. But it's a great little one-shot, you should check it out! I've been struggling with my scifibigbang fic and writer's block, but I think this broke it! No beta, so please excuse any and all mistakes
When it came to Jack, Ianto was nothing. Well, almost nothing. Just a blip. Just a few years in centuries of a lifetime. If he died, when he died, Jack would feel sad, perhaps a bit torn, but no more than he did for Tosh and Owen and probably less than when Gwen dies. He had no illusions about that.
Ianto would have been ignorant of this had he not taken up the habit of watching Jack while he was asleep. Sometimes he slept peacefully, but most nights he thrashed, different names dribbled from his lips in pained breaths. He had loved so many people, just as he loved Ianto, and in the end he had to sleep in someone else's bed, mourning their loss years after.
For Ianto their time together was made up of tiny moments like this, curled up beside Jack's warm body as snow fell outside. For Jack it was made up of events: Lisa, the cannibals, his homecoming, the night before Tommy Brockless went back...the list went on.
And yet the questions niggled at the back of his brain, eating away at it like a worm. When would he become nothing more than a nightmare for Jack? When would the time come when he slept in someone else's embrace, his name whispered in the dark from his subconscious? It chilled Ianto's veins, made his stomach drop and his heart stop: he was going to die.
Maybe not today, hopefully not tomorrow, but some day and soon, he was going to die. He wasn't sure how he wanted to go: in a blaze of glory, a hero's death; or quietly, in old age? The second seemed highly unlikely given in Torchwood, yet he didn't want to let go of the possibility. He clung to it desperately, yet kept it buried deep inside. He didn't want to give himself false hope, but he feared what would happen if he let it go.
Jack shifted slightly in his sleep, mumbled something that sounded like taco fame (whatever the hell that meant) and tightened his arms around Ianto, bringing him closer. The increased warmth soon lulled Ianto back to sleep, but one thought traveled with him into his dreams: Ianto Jones may just be a moment in time, but he was determined to never be forgotten.