Unfinished fic meme
Meme stolen from athousanderrors, who stole it from gemstar69. Fragments of unfinished fic. Comments are love.
Ianto never got much time off, but he always did take time to come here every Sunday morning. When it was possible. When the Earth wasn't about to implode. And when angry giant purple insects weren't marching up Bute Street. And, more lately, when Jack wasn't around and in the mood for lazy weekend sex. All of which added up to not very often at all, but when he could, he came. Even when it was sleeting like today, there was still a market on the embankment. The stalls were covered, but some of the produce was out in the open. Ianto took his gloves off and picked up an organic red apple and it felt rough and smooth in patches and wet across both. It smelt like, well, it smelt like apples.
There are good things here, and they all smell like they're supposed to. Supermarket produce sometimes smelled like nothing at all, which annoyed him. Taking his time, Ianto tried a couple of different cubes of cheese from the row of sample plates and tasted them carefully them before choosing one. It came wrapped in yellow wax and sat pleasantly heavy in his hand. He thanked the stallholder and moved on. Vegetables, fruit, fish, meat (before Brynblaidd, back when he could stand the sight and the smell of raw red flesh), and real bread. Most of Ianto's groceries could be bought here.
On days like today, when he had time, Ianto cooked for himself. Consciously, he disliked the sameness of bought meals, but in truth, he did it because he likes to cook. In between free days, Ianto ate greasy takeaway with the rest of the team because it was quick and convenient, but today, he bought fresh produce from the market and made things, sometimes elaborate things that took time and care. At first, when he was learning, it took longer, and doing everything properly and painstakingly was a form of defiance. That was a long time ago, when he was a lonely boy in London, with an embarrassing accent and certain knowledge that he looked stupid in a suit. Now he liked the sense of accomplishment as well as the taste of the food he'd prepared.
Ianto taught himself to cook from books and from tv shows, although he would never admit to the latter. No-one taught him. He experimented, tried things, found out what he liked. Some tastes were good straight away, like kiwi fruit and pumpkin soup. Others, like olives and straight soda water, took longer to get used to, but after a while he found himself appreciating where they fitted into the culinary spectrum. Almost everything tasted better than soggy chips and cold baked beans from the chippy up the road from the hub. Ianto hated how the grease seeped out and made the newspaper wrapping go transparent. Back in the present, the smell of olive tapenade from the end of the market drew him closer.
Ianto sat on the roof of the hub, with the daffodils all around him. The concrete block he used as a bench was cold, but the morning sun warmed his face and his hands. The bees buzzed in a way that could be mistaken for busy, but to Ianto's practised eyes they were agitated. That meant a busy day ahead, so he checked his pager was on and then put it back in his pocket, enjoying the peace and quiet while it lasted.
'Brilliant. Absolutely bloody brilliant!'
He turned, and saw a small man in a brown suit and trainers throw up his hands in delight at the sight in front of him- the beehives and the daffodils.
The face and the clothes were familiar, from the photographs neatly stored in Ianto's files. Ianto felt a faint twinge of satisfaction at being right in several ways at once. It welled up and was gone, like all his emotions now, but it counted as a good thing anyway. One of the little tiny pluses on his mental clipboard.
The man who stepped out of the service door after him, ducking because it was a small door and he was tall, produced no reaction at all.
'Ianto.' Jack smiled broadly, and stepped closer. He was wearing a greatcoat in the sun.
'Good morning Captain, and Doctor.'
'You' the Doctor pointed at Ianto, 'Are fantastic. I can see why Rose liked you.'
'I'm sorry Sir, I don't quite follow' Ianto said politely. The Doctor beamed.
'Oh, when our friend was a transdimensional semi-omniscient entity composed purely of energy, she left a little bit of graffiti here. A sort of tag written in the rift.'
'Ah. That. Yes. Sorry to disappoint you, Doctor, but that wasn't your friend, it was me.'
The Doctor's expression became a blank stare, and Ianto looked faintly apologetic. He cleared his throat and explained. 'Over the years a number of items have come through the rift that are shielded against its energy. I sealed pieces of their casings in concrete' Ianto gestured to the concrete blocks the daffodils pots sat on 'and arranged them to spell out Bad Wolf.'
'But the rift isn't stationary' Jack cut in.
'And it doesn't cut through the Earth at a constant angle, I know, Captain. That's what the bees are for. They help me identify the alignment of the rift, so I can move the blocks accordingly and swap solid concrete for encased rift shielding. Simple geometry, it is. The bees have also proved very useful in pinpointing rift activity as far away as Dinas Powys-'
That had been the point at which Owen moved from muttering darkly to outright refusing to be seen with him in the field. Walking around carrying a little cage with a dozen bees in it did look slightly odd, Ianto knew, but it was very effective.
'And I'm expecting a nice bit of honey when the time comes.'
'Fantastic' the Doctor repeated, sniffing a white and orange flower. 'A bit mental, but fantastic.'
'Traditionally bees were considered to be sensitive to magic. Experiments proved that they can sense rift activity, and from there it seemed like a logical progression' Ianto said, mildly.
'How did you know about the Bad Wolf?'
'Research. You've always been a great researcher' Jack said, before Ianto could say answer.
Jack felt slightly off balance. Not only because his familiar empty roof had been turned into a flower garden and playground for pollinating insects, but because of Ianto. He hadn't been sure what kind of reception to expect, only that he'd either be kissed or punched. Instead, Ianto just sat where he was and talked to the Doctor like they were two old ladies in a tea shop.
To get himself together, he turned away from the pair of them, the brown pinstripe and the black, and moved towards the edge of the roof and looked out over Cardiff like he'd done so many times before. It looked just the same.
In the hub, nothing had changed. His office was just as he'd left it, complete with neat piles of fresh documents in the in and out trays, some with a very good imitation on his signature on them. Tosh's hair had smelled just like he remembered, and Gwen had cried and been furious at the same time, like he'd expected her to. Owen had offered the same gruff welcome and demanded an explanation, just like he'd thought.
Behind him, Ianto and the Doctor were talking about prehistoric fish now. Apparently Ianto had started a collection of things that had ended up in the rift pool. Any critter that died or was caught trying to eat another was fed to Myfanwy, and that seemed like Ianto all over- preserving peace and good order in his little world. The Doctor seemed to have an amazing stock of knowledge about the evolution of early nudibranch species.
Owen yawned and rolled over. He scratched himself, only half awake, and wondered idly where the sheets had gone.
Padding through the grey rain-filtered light, he spotted both Ianto and the missing bed sheet. It was folded and wrapped around his waist. Characteristic bloody neatness. It made Owen want to rip it off and throw it on the floor, and crow in triumph. As for him there, Ianto, smug bastard probably knew.
'Welsh' Owen muttered, watching Ianto watching the rain-streaked view. He was thinking of Gwen standing at the same window, or remembering, maybe, because he felt nothing more than a vague sense of the passage of time. Ianto turned and raised an eyebrow. He'd tucked corner of the sheet in just below his navel on one side, creating a wedge of white dipping down...
Owen dragged his gaze back up, following the faint trail of dark hair that ran up Ianto's belly, firm and white. The suggestion of musculature under the skin gave the same hint, drawing the eye in towards his navel. Owen knew from experience that if he let his thumb trace that line, his little finger would touch thicker, wiry hair hidden by the sheet.
'Come back to bed' he grumbled. 'It's six in the fucking morning. Fucking Saturday for fuck's sake.'
'Some people would have stopped at “Come back to bed”' Ianto said. His lip curled. Owen glared at it.
'Some people wouldn't be staring pensively out the window at the crack of friggin' dawn. Are you missing your clipboard collection or practising dramatic looks in the reflection?'
'Neither.' Ianto smiled mock-fondly. 'Your legs kick in your sleep, like a puppy.'
Owen's mouth opened, and then shut. He glared again, and Ianto laughed.
'Damn' Ianto said peaceably and yawned, decorously covering his mouth. He reached both arms above his head, rolling up onto his toes and stretching his whole body. Tall bastard.
'What?'
'If I'd held a straight face for a moment longer, we could have had mutually annoyed sex.'
'I can't believe you even used that phrase' Owen scoffed. Ianto probably knew what his accent did to it, too.
'Thanks. Someone called for you' Tosh said, taking the carton of takeaway special fried rice from Ianto, who sighed.
'Torchwood One again?'
'Don't pretend you don't love it, tea boy' said Owen, grabbing his lunch without saying thankyou. Ianto spared a moment to hope his pork balls weren't properly cooked and contained a near-lethal dose of salmonella. Or even a lethal one.
'Yeah, some woman called Elle. She said you had the phone number.'
Ianto opened his mouth to say he didn't know anybody by that name when he caught sight of the notepad by Tosh's keyboard.
12.20pm ELLE O'DAY-VERSHAW
He blinked, mentally re-arranging the letters, and smiled.
+
The number he dialled wasn't listed in his directory under Elle, or O'Day, or Vershaw. A very English, very upper-class woman's voice answered.
'Hello, Ianto.'
'Ms O'Day-Vershaw, I presume?'
'Eve will do, assuming this is a secure line.'
'Of course. You don't think I'd provide anything less' Ianto said, mock-offended. Eve laughed.
'How are you, Ianto?'
'Can't complain.'
'You could. It is possible.'
'Well, if you're going to get technical about it.' Ianto paused. 'How are you?'
'Was that a tactful way of asking what I want?' Eve asked, playfully. 'I've missed your subtlety, Ianto.'
'It that a tactful way of saying you want to borrow it?'
'It might be. If you were free tonight and still own a good suit.'
'Where and when? And what?'
'The Hilton Ballroom at 9. Black tie. Behave yourself and there's something in it for you.'
'Eve, when have I not behaved myself?'
'Well, I recall Lisa being a little put out by your conduct at the Torchwood Christmas party three years ago.'
Ianto groaned, and Eve laughed. Lisa had laughed too, after a week or so of not forgiving him. She'd joked, later, that she was just holding out until she ran out of places to put the all roses he was bringing. Here and now, he sighed, aware that he was blushing ever-so-slightly.
'He deserved it. I don't care if he was the second cousin of an earl.'
'The younger brother, if I remember correctly. At least we're in Wales tonight, so there'll be no call to punch anyone for making jokes about your accent' she teased, gently.
'It wasn't just that. It was the fact that he was a weak-chinned inbred fox-hunting git who laughed like a horse at his own racist jokes about me and my country.'
'More weak-nosed, considering how easily it seemed to break.'
'I take offence at that. I had to hit it quite hard' Ianto said indignantly. Eve laughed again.
'I've missed you, Ianto. Both of you.'
Ianto never got much time off, but he always did take time to come here every Sunday morning. When it was possible. When the Earth wasn't about to implode. And when angry giant purple insects weren't marching up Bute Street. And, more lately, when Jack wasn't around and in the mood for lazy weekend sex. All of which added up to not very often at all, but when he could, he came. Even when it was sleeting like today, there was still a market on the embankment. The stalls were covered, but some of the produce was out in the open. Ianto took his gloves off and picked up an organic red apple and it felt rough and smooth in patches and wet across both. It smelt like, well, it smelt like apples.
There are good things here, and they all smell like they're supposed to. Supermarket produce sometimes smelled like nothing at all, which annoyed him. Taking his time, Ianto tried a couple of different cubes of cheese from the row of sample plates and tasted them carefully them before choosing one. It came wrapped in yellow wax and sat pleasantly heavy in his hand. He thanked the stallholder and moved on. Vegetables, fruit, fish, meat (before Brynblaidd, back when he could stand the sight and the smell of raw red flesh), and real bread. Most of Ianto's groceries could be bought here.
On days like today, when he had time, Ianto cooked for himself. Consciously, he disliked the sameness of bought meals, but in truth, he did it because he likes to cook. In between free days, Ianto ate greasy takeaway with the rest of the team because it was quick and convenient, but today, he bought fresh produce from the market and made things, sometimes elaborate things that took time and care. At first, when he was learning, it took longer, and doing everything properly and painstakingly was a form of defiance. That was a long time ago, when he was a lonely boy in London, with an embarrassing accent and certain knowledge that he looked stupid in a suit. Now he liked the sense of accomplishment as well as the taste of the food he'd prepared.
Ianto taught himself to cook from books and from tv shows, although he would never admit to the latter. No-one taught him. He experimented, tried things, found out what he liked. Some tastes were good straight away, like kiwi fruit and pumpkin soup. Others, like olives and straight soda water, took longer to get used to, but after a while he found himself appreciating where they fitted into the culinary spectrum. Almost everything tasted better than soggy chips and cold baked beans from the chippy up the road from the hub. Ianto hated how the grease seeped out and made the newspaper wrapping go transparent. Back in the present, the smell of olive tapenade from the end of the market drew him closer.
Ianto sat on the roof of the hub, with the daffodils all around him. The concrete block he used as a bench was cold, but the morning sun warmed his face and his hands. The bees buzzed in a way that could be mistaken for busy, but to Ianto's practised eyes they were agitated. That meant a busy day ahead, so he checked his pager was on and then put it back in his pocket, enjoying the peace and quiet while it lasted.
'Brilliant. Absolutely bloody brilliant!'
He turned, and saw a small man in a brown suit and trainers throw up his hands in delight at the sight in front of him- the beehives and the daffodils.
The face and the clothes were familiar, from the photographs neatly stored in Ianto's files. Ianto felt a faint twinge of satisfaction at being right in several ways at once. It welled up and was gone, like all his emotions now, but it counted as a good thing anyway. One of the little tiny pluses on his mental clipboard.
The man who stepped out of the service door after him, ducking because it was a small door and he was tall, produced no reaction at all.
'Ianto.' Jack smiled broadly, and stepped closer. He was wearing a greatcoat in the sun.
'Good morning Captain, and Doctor.'
'You' the Doctor pointed at Ianto, 'Are fantastic. I can see why Rose liked you.'
'I'm sorry Sir, I don't quite follow' Ianto said politely. The Doctor beamed.
'Oh, when our friend was a transdimensional semi-omniscient entity composed purely of energy, she left a little bit of graffiti here. A sort of tag written in the rift.'
'Ah. That. Yes. Sorry to disappoint you, Doctor, but that wasn't your friend, it was me.'
The Doctor's expression became a blank stare, and Ianto looked faintly apologetic. He cleared his throat and explained. 'Over the years a number of items have come through the rift that are shielded against its energy. I sealed pieces of their casings in concrete' Ianto gestured to the concrete blocks the daffodils pots sat on 'and arranged them to spell out Bad Wolf.'
'But the rift isn't stationary' Jack cut in.
'And it doesn't cut through the Earth at a constant angle, I know, Captain. That's what the bees are for. They help me identify the alignment of the rift, so I can move the blocks accordingly and swap solid concrete for encased rift shielding. Simple geometry, it is. The bees have also proved very useful in pinpointing rift activity as far away as Dinas Powys-'
That had been the point at which Owen moved from muttering darkly to outright refusing to be seen with him in the field. Walking around carrying a little cage with a dozen bees in it did look slightly odd, Ianto knew, but it was very effective.
'And I'm expecting a nice bit of honey when the time comes.'
'Fantastic' the Doctor repeated, sniffing a white and orange flower. 'A bit mental, but fantastic.'
'Traditionally bees were considered to be sensitive to magic. Experiments proved that they can sense rift activity, and from there it seemed like a logical progression' Ianto said, mildly.
'How did you know about the Bad Wolf?'
'Research. You've always been a great researcher' Jack said, before Ianto could say answer.
Jack felt slightly off balance. Not only because his familiar empty roof had been turned into a flower garden and playground for pollinating insects, but because of Ianto. He hadn't been sure what kind of reception to expect, only that he'd either be kissed or punched. Instead, Ianto just sat where he was and talked to the Doctor like they were two old ladies in a tea shop.
To get himself together, he turned away from the pair of them, the brown pinstripe and the black, and moved towards the edge of the roof and looked out over Cardiff like he'd done so many times before. It looked just the same.
In the hub, nothing had changed. His office was just as he'd left it, complete with neat piles of fresh documents in the in and out trays, some with a very good imitation on his signature on them. Tosh's hair had smelled just like he remembered, and Gwen had cried and been furious at the same time, like he'd expected her to. Owen had offered the same gruff welcome and demanded an explanation, just like he'd thought.
Behind him, Ianto and the Doctor were talking about prehistoric fish now. Apparently Ianto had started a collection of things that had ended up in the rift pool. Any critter that died or was caught trying to eat another was fed to Myfanwy, and that seemed like Ianto all over- preserving peace and good order in his little world. The Doctor seemed to have an amazing stock of knowledge about the evolution of early nudibranch species.
Owen yawned and rolled over. He scratched himself, only half awake, and wondered idly where the sheets had gone.
Padding through the grey rain-filtered light, he spotted both Ianto and the missing bed sheet. It was folded and wrapped around his waist. Characteristic bloody neatness. It made Owen want to rip it off and throw it on the floor, and crow in triumph. As for him there, Ianto, smug bastard probably knew.
'Welsh' Owen muttered, watching Ianto watching the rain-streaked view. He was thinking of Gwen standing at the same window, or remembering, maybe, because he felt nothing more than a vague sense of the passage of time. Ianto turned and raised an eyebrow. He'd tucked corner of the sheet in just below his navel on one side, creating a wedge of white dipping down...
Owen dragged his gaze back up, following the faint trail of dark hair that ran up Ianto's belly, firm and white. The suggestion of musculature under the skin gave the same hint, drawing the eye in towards his navel. Owen knew from experience that if he let his thumb trace that line, his little finger would touch thicker, wiry hair hidden by the sheet.
'Come back to bed' he grumbled. 'It's six in the fucking morning. Fucking Saturday for fuck's sake.'
'Some people would have stopped at “Come back to bed”' Ianto said. His lip curled. Owen glared at it.
'Some people wouldn't be staring pensively out the window at the crack of friggin' dawn. Are you missing your clipboard collection or practising dramatic looks in the reflection?'
'Neither.' Ianto smiled mock-fondly. 'Your legs kick in your sleep, like a puppy.'
Owen's mouth opened, and then shut. He glared again, and Ianto laughed.
'Damn' Ianto said peaceably and yawned, decorously covering his mouth. He reached both arms above his head, rolling up onto his toes and stretching his whole body. Tall bastard.
'What?'
'If I'd held a straight face for a moment longer, we could have had mutually annoyed sex.'
'I can't believe you even used that phrase' Owen scoffed. Ianto probably knew what his accent did to it, too.
'Thanks. Someone called for you' Tosh said, taking the carton of takeaway special fried rice from Ianto, who sighed.
'Torchwood One again?'
'Don't pretend you don't love it, tea boy' said Owen, grabbing his lunch without saying thankyou. Ianto spared a moment to hope his pork balls weren't properly cooked and contained a near-lethal dose of salmonella. Or even a lethal one.
'Yeah, some woman called Elle. She said you had the phone number.'
Ianto opened his mouth to say he didn't know anybody by that name when he caught sight of the notepad by Tosh's keyboard.
12.20pm ELLE O'DAY-VERSHAW
He blinked, mentally re-arranging the letters, and smiled.
+
The number he dialled wasn't listed in his directory under Elle, or O'Day, or Vershaw. A very English, very upper-class woman's voice answered.
'Hello, Ianto.'
'Ms O'Day-Vershaw, I presume?'
'Eve will do, assuming this is a secure line.'
'Of course. You don't think I'd provide anything less' Ianto said, mock-offended. Eve laughed.
'How are you, Ianto?'
'Can't complain.'
'You could. It is possible.'
'Well, if you're going to get technical about it.' Ianto paused. 'How are you?'
'Was that a tactful way of asking what I want?' Eve asked, playfully. 'I've missed your subtlety, Ianto.'
'It that a tactful way of saying you want to borrow it?'
'It might be. If you were free tonight and still own a good suit.'
'Where and when? And what?'
'The Hilton Ballroom at 9. Black tie. Behave yourself and there's something in it for you.'
'Eve, when have I not behaved myself?'
'Well, I recall Lisa being a little put out by your conduct at the Torchwood Christmas party three years ago.'
Ianto groaned, and Eve laughed. Lisa had laughed too, after a week or so of not forgiving him. She'd joked, later, that she was just holding out until she ran out of places to put the all roses he was bringing. Here and now, he sighed, aware that he was blushing ever-so-slightly.
'He deserved it. I don't care if he was the second cousin of an earl.'
'The younger brother, if I remember correctly. At least we're in Wales tonight, so there'll be no call to punch anyone for making jokes about your accent' she teased, gently.
'It wasn't just that. It was the fact that he was a weak-chinned inbred fox-hunting git who laughed like a horse at his own racist jokes about me and my country.'
'More weak-nosed, considering how easily it seemed to break.'
'I take offence at that. I had to hit it quite hard' Ianto said indignantly. Eve laughed again.
'I've missed you, Ianto. Both of you.'