Fic: Boys of Summer
Title: Boys of Summer
Rating: 15ish. Angsty.
Characters: Ianto, passing mention of others.
Spoilers: Meat.
Summary: Inspired by Owen's 'Anything could happen up there' comment in Meat. The title is taken from Dylan Thomas' 'I see the boys of summer'. I'm not sure if this works, partly because my feelings for the valleys are complicated.
I see the boys of summer, Ianto thought, even though he didn't. And their fucking ruin. He frowned at the sun on the tattered daffodils and the green grass of the park across the road. The boys were in the pub behind him, and why not? They had nothing else to do today but sign on and watch the races on Sky Sports.
Ianto had personally retconned the brothers, the sons of flint and pitch, or was it pitch and flint- he suppressed a twinge of annoyance for not being able to remember- not two days before. So now here was here on a bloody council estate doing another unpleasant job nobody else at Torchwood would dream of sullying their hands with. Ianto's mouth twisted sourly, and he didn't bother quashing that.
Something for myself, one of them had said. Something other than this. Leftover curry and chips, buy four tins get a fifth free. It hadn't been hard to slip the young men back into their old lives. If any of them noticed a bit of memory loss, what of it. One day was much like another. Up here in the valleys where anything could happen, according to Owen.
He wasn't being fair. Ianto sighed and drew a hand over his eyes. His Nan would have had no time for angst, and even less for self-pity. She was strong. There were plenty of people in Merthyr Tydfil who were happy, and many more than that who did the best they could every day and made a good job of it too. Just because Ianto had wanted to get out...
And he had, more than anything. Be a good boy, Ianto, do your homework and sit quietly in chapel. Be polite and clean and people will like you. You'll get your A levels and go to university and make your parents proud, get a good job and a nice car and a wonderful wife and a big house with a garden and a dog a long way away from here where nobody will ever call you a fag ever again.
Desperate people have been known to render desperate deeds. Ianto knew that better than most. The suicide rate around here had been high for years.
He could have planted ideas in their heads along with the retcon. Easy to do for an expert. College courses, maybe. Something. Anything. But the truth was, he didn't know what. Ianto Jones had gotten his A levels and gone off to university and then to a fancy job in London. The woman who would have been his wife was very, very dead and if his parents could see who he was shagging now they'd be anything but proud. There was no house, no dog, and a man had killed himself in the nice car.
The Ianto Jones who stood in the pub doorway in Merthyr was the same Ianto Jones who'd sheltered from the rain in a hundred doorways just the same. He still wanted the same things, and it filled him with slightly hysterical amusement that he was no closer to having safety, security, comfort, friends, or a lover who loved him, than he had been as a lonely teenager.
'Alright.'
Ianto nodded in reply as a summer boy passed him and trudged off down the street. Ianto wished him luck, even though he was a right bastard and directly responsible for the torture and death of an innocent entity. Above them both rose the bright green hills and the old quarry cliffs. The daffodils were fading, but the bluebells would be out soon. He could come back in a couple of weeks and see them, perhaps. Cardiff wasn't far. Ianto flicked his cigarette out and threw it in the bin.
Rating: 15ish. Angsty.
Characters: Ianto, passing mention of others.
Spoilers: Meat.
Summary: Inspired by Owen's 'Anything could happen up there' comment in Meat. The title is taken from Dylan Thomas' 'I see the boys of summer'. I'm not sure if this works, partly because my feelings for the valleys are complicated.
I see the boys of summer, Ianto thought, even though he didn't. And their fucking ruin. He frowned at the sun on the tattered daffodils and the green grass of the park across the road. The boys were in the pub behind him, and why not? They had nothing else to do today but sign on and watch the races on Sky Sports.
Ianto had personally retconned the brothers, the sons of flint and pitch, or was it pitch and flint- he suppressed a twinge of annoyance for not being able to remember- not two days before. So now here was here on a bloody council estate doing another unpleasant job nobody else at Torchwood would dream of sullying their hands with. Ianto's mouth twisted sourly, and he didn't bother quashing that.
Something for myself, one of them had said. Something other than this. Leftover curry and chips, buy four tins get a fifth free. It hadn't been hard to slip the young men back into their old lives. If any of them noticed a bit of memory loss, what of it. One day was much like another. Up here in the valleys where anything could happen, according to Owen.
He wasn't being fair. Ianto sighed and drew a hand over his eyes. His Nan would have had no time for angst, and even less for self-pity. She was strong. There were plenty of people in Merthyr Tydfil who were happy, and many more than that who did the best they could every day and made a good job of it too. Just because Ianto had wanted to get out...
And he had, more than anything. Be a good boy, Ianto, do your homework and sit quietly in chapel. Be polite and clean and people will like you. You'll get your A levels and go to university and make your parents proud, get a good job and a nice car and a wonderful wife and a big house with a garden and a dog a long way away from here where nobody will ever call you a fag ever again.
Desperate people have been known to render desperate deeds. Ianto knew that better than most. The suicide rate around here had been high for years.
He could have planted ideas in their heads along with the retcon. Easy to do for an expert. College courses, maybe. Something. Anything. But the truth was, he didn't know what. Ianto Jones had gotten his A levels and gone off to university and then to a fancy job in London. The woman who would have been his wife was very, very dead and if his parents could see who he was shagging now they'd be anything but proud. There was no house, no dog, and a man had killed himself in the nice car.
The Ianto Jones who stood in the pub doorway in Merthyr was the same Ianto Jones who'd sheltered from the rain in a hundred doorways just the same. He still wanted the same things, and it filled him with slightly hysterical amusement that he was no closer to having safety, security, comfort, friends, or a lover who loved him, than he had been as a lonely teenager.
'Alright.'
Ianto nodded in reply as a summer boy passed him and trudged off down the street. Ianto wished him luck, even though he was a right bastard and directly responsible for the torture and death of an innocent entity. Above them both rose the bright green hills and the old quarry cliffs. The daffodils were fading, but the bluebells would be out soon. He could come back in a couple of weeks and see them, perhaps. Cardiff wasn't far. Ianto flicked his cigarette out and threw it in the bin.