Is it a fully fledged fic if it has nearly a thousand words??
Title: The Art of Communication
Author: mad_jaks
Characters: Jack, Martha (implied Jack/Martha, assumed Jack/Ianto)
Challenge: For unfeathered who drabble memed me to write Jack, Martha or Jack/Martha: more of their dynamic.
Rating: PG13 (correct me if I'm wrong)
Notes: You've spotted it isn't a drabble? What can I say? It grew!
Summary: Six months after they parted from each other late night phone calls are simply part of Jack and Martha's routine.
Disclaimer: Not mine - making no money
Word count: 935
Many thanks to donutsweeper and _medley_ especially the latter who had to put up with a majorly scrambled final draft that I've just spent an hour fixing to make it postable.
The Art of Communication
Jack looked up, rubbed a hand over his face and stretched, hugely. Either his eyes were getting old or it was time they replaced the council's camera on that particular section of road with some tech of their own. All he was getting clearly off these was the time stamp, though he didn't doubt Ianto'd be able to do something with them. He checked his watch - eleven thirty - not too late for an old friend to be ringing but still he prowled round his desk before picking up the phone.
“So,” he said, before Martha even had a chance catch her breath, “doing anything interesting tonight?”
“And hello to you too, Jack.” He could hear her grinning down the phone and, in the background, a man's voice, low and indistinct. “As a matter of fact-” She yelped and the next thing he heard was a thud as her phone hit the floor. After a moment's frantic fumbling her end (it sounded like she had a year's supply of toffee wrappers floating around somewhere) she was back, sounding, if anything, even more breathless.
His lips twitched. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Maybe.”
“Sorry.”
“No you're not...”
“True.” He really wasn't, at least, he didn't think he was. “Is he any good?”
“Jack!”
“Okay then, what's he like?”
“Very nice actually...”
“And?”
“He's a doctor...”
Doctor with a lower case 'd' he interpreted - he knew that feeling. “You want that I should tell you to enjoy yourself?”
“I... I think we can manage that on our own, thanks.” The soft thwump of a pillow landing on someone's head silenced the noises behind her and Jack got a sudden, clear image of whoever he was sliding off the bed, slightly rumpled, maybe a little bit grouchy because he'd heard her talking to another guy. He probably thought it was some old flame: well he wouldn't be wrong about the old. He had nice buns, Jack suddenly decided, he was bound to have if Jack knew Martha.
“Want me to talk to him?”
“What!? No!”
“He's standing there looking at you, isn't he?”
“Ye-es.”
“So pass him the phone. You can tell him I'm your gay best pal or something...”
So that was what an eye roll sounded like over the phone.
“Like he won't think that's weird...”
“I can tell him how much I love that thing you're doing with your nose right now...” He crooned.
Total silence
“Martha?”
“Jack.” Okay, that was a tone he knew. She was pissed off. With him, she was never pissed off with him. The Doctor? Yes. Him? Never, well not since he'd taught her how to do that neat little trick he did with his fingers anyway. “You're not.” She had the phone so close to her lips that her breath was distorting the signal. “I mean you haven't.... Please tell me you aren't... Watching me?”
“In the bedroom?” It came out louder than he'd hoped. “What sort of guy do you think I am?”
“The evil, Big Brother type.” She was only part teasing.
“Not me.” Even to himself his voice sounded raw.
“Oh god I know that,” she said, hastily, “look I'm-”
“Don't.” He rubbed the back of his neck, glared for a second at the pile of photos on his desk, then beckoned to Ianto through the plate glass. “Has he gone yet?”
“Tom?”
“If that's his name.”
“He's in the kitchen brewing up...”
“You have got him well trained, haven't you?”
Standing in the doorway Ianto was doing a pretty poor impersonation of someone not trying to listen: he raised an eyebrow and Jack put a finger to his lips in warning.
“Well, you know, after you and the Doctor and...” She really didn't need to finish that sentence for either of them. “Organising one bloke's easy!”
“I can imagine. Look I'm sorry for disturbing you. Really. Go, do whatever it is you have to do to make up with him.”
“You're sure?”
“I'm sure. Have a nice evening. And Martha? Don't forget to twist before you stroke.”
“You-” She was still laughing as he disconnected.
“Never took you for an Agony Aunt, Sir.” It was still office hours so he got the 'Sir' even though Ianto was smirking at him.
“Well, that's good to know.” Jack slid his bum off his desk. “I look dreadful in a frock.”
“Oh I don't know...” Ianto's smirk deepened.
“Not now...” Jack growled, mock severely. He thrust his stack of papers into Ianto's arms. “Couple of jobs for you. First, I need you to turn down the surveillance on Doctor Jones for a while.” He scowled, as a sudden thought struck him. “There's definitely no equipment in her flat is there?”
“Not in, Sir. No.” Ianto did affronted very well - dignified while still managing to look like he'd been smacked him in the face with a wet fish was hard to pull off. “You were quite specific about that from the beginning: strictly need to know; monitor and report only; nothing intrusive; nothing 'remotely Spock' were your exact words I believe.”
Well, that was a relief. “Next, I'm looking for the guy that leaves her place later tonight - maybe tomorrow morning.” Jack tapped the grainy CCTV still on the top of the pile. “In this car. I want to know exactly who is, where he came from. The works. Got that?”
“Yes Sir.”
“Top priority, she-”
“Deserves our very best care and attention...” Ianto's smile didn't reach his eyes. “I understand.”
Office hours or not, Jack was tempted to throw his arms round him but, “Thanks,” he said simply, instead.
ETA *sighs* it even has formatting in it now... I so didn't notice last night what with all the trauma and everything :S
Author: mad_jaks
Characters: Jack, Martha (implied Jack/Martha, assumed Jack/Ianto)
Challenge: For unfeathered who drabble memed me to write Jack, Martha or Jack/Martha: more of their dynamic.
Rating: PG13 (correct me if I'm wrong)
Notes: You've spotted it isn't a drabble? What can I say? It grew!
Summary: Six months after they parted from each other late night phone calls are simply part of Jack and Martha's routine.
Disclaimer: Not mine - making no money
Word count: 935
Many thanks to donutsweeper and _medley_ especially the latter who had to put up with a majorly scrambled final draft that I've just spent an hour fixing to make it postable.
The Art of Communication
Jack looked up, rubbed a hand over his face and stretched, hugely. Either his eyes were getting old or it was time they replaced the council's camera on that particular section of road with some tech of their own. All he was getting clearly off these was the time stamp, though he didn't doubt Ianto'd be able to do something with them. He checked his watch - eleven thirty - not too late for an old friend to be ringing but still he prowled round his desk before picking up the phone.
“So,” he said, before Martha even had a chance catch her breath, “doing anything interesting tonight?”
“And hello to you too, Jack.” He could hear her grinning down the phone and, in the background, a man's voice, low and indistinct. “As a matter of fact-” She yelped and the next thing he heard was a thud as her phone hit the floor. After a moment's frantic fumbling her end (it sounded like she had a year's supply of toffee wrappers floating around somewhere) she was back, sounding, if anything, even more breathless.
His lips twitched. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Maybe.”
“Sorry.”
“No you're not...”
“True.” He really wasn't, at least, he didn't think he was. “Is he any good?”
“Jack!”
“Okay then, what's he like?”
“Very nice actually...”
“And?”
“He's a doctor...”
Doctor with a lower case 'd' he interpreted - he knew that feeling. “You want that I should tell you to enjoy yourself?”
“I... I think we can manage that on our own, thanks.” The soft thwump of a pillow landing on someone's head silenced the noises behind her and Jack got a sudden, clear image of whoever he was sliding off the bed, slightly rumpled, maybe a little bit grouchy because he'd heard her talking to another guy. He probably thought it was some old flame: well he wouldn't be wrong about the old. He had nice buns, Jack suddenly decided, he was bound to have if Jack knew Martha.
“Want me to talk to him?”
“What!? No!”
“He's standing there looking at you, isn't he?”
“Ye-es.”
“So pass him the phone. You can tell him I'm your gay best pal or something...”
So that was what an eye roll sounded like over the phone.
“Like he won't think that's weird...”
“I can tell him how much I love that thing you're doing with your nose right now...” He crooned.
Total silence
“Martha?”
“Jack.” Okay, that was a tone he knew. She was pissed off. With him, she was never pissed off with him. The Doctor? Yes. Him? Never, well not since he'd taught her how to do that neat little trick he did with his fingers anyway. “You're not.” She had the phone so close to her lips that her breath was distorting the signal. “I mean you haven't.... Please tell me you aren't... Watching me?”
“In the bedroom?” It came out louder than he'd hoped. “What sort of guy do you think I am?”
“The evil, Big Brother type.” She was only part teasing.
“Not me.” Even to himself his voice sounded raw.
“Oh god I know that,” she said, hastily, “look I'm-”
“Don't.” He rubbed the back of his neck, glared for a second at the pile of photos on his desk, then beckoned to Ianto through the plate glass. “Has he gone yet?”
“Tom?”
“If that's his name.”
“He's in the kitchen brewing up...”
“You have got him well trained, haven't you?”
Standing in the doorway Ianto was doing a pretty poor impersonation of someone not trying to listen: he raised an eyebrow and Jack put a finger to his lips in warning.
“Well, you know, after you and the Doctor and...” She really didn't need to finish that sentence for either of them. “Organising one bloke's easy!”
“I can imagine. Look I'm sorry for disturbing you. Really. Go, do whatever it is you have to do to make up with him.”
“You're sure?”
“I'm sure. Have a nice evening. And Martha? Don't forget to twist before you stroke.”
“You-” She was still laughing as he disconnected.
“Never took you for an Agony Aunt, Sir.” It was still office hours so he got the 'Sir' even though Ianto was smirking at him.
“Well, that's good to know.” Jack slid his bum off his desk. “I look dreadful in a frock.”
“Oh I don't know...” Ianto's smirk deepened.
“Not now...” Jack growled, mock severely. He thrust his stack of papers into Ianto's arms. “Couple of jobs for you. First, I need you to turn down the surveillance on Doctor Jones for a while.” He scowled, as a sudden thought struck him. “There's definitely no equipment in her flat is there?”
“Not in, Sir. No.” Ianto did affronted very well - dignified while still managing to look like he'd been smacked him in the face with a wet fish was hard to pull off. “You were quite specific about that from the beginning: strictly need to know; monitor and report only; nothing intrusive; nothing 'remotely Spock' were your exact words I believe.”
Well, that was a relief. “Next, I'm looking for the guy that leaves her place later tonight - maybe tomorrow morning.” Jack tapped the grainy CCTV still on the top of the pile. “In this car. I want to know exactly who is, where he came from. The works. Got that?”
“Yes Sir.”
“Top priority, she-”
“Deserves our very best care and attention...” Ianto's smile didn't reach his eyes. “I understand.”
Office hours or not, Jack was tempted to throw his arms round him but, “Thanks,” he said simply, instead.
ETA *sighs* it even has formatting in it now... I so didn't notice last night what with all the trauma and everything :S