Fic: The Stars Might Stick You Where You Stand (7/7)
Title: The Stars Might Stick You Where You Stand (7/7)
Author: methylethyl
Rating: NC-17 (very light NC-17)
Summary: Following the fall of Torchwood One, Jack Harkness went to ask Torchwood Three for a job. He didn’t expect to fall a little bit in love with its director, the practical and ever-calm Ianto Jones. He also probably didn’t expect that Ianto Jones would end up holding the answers to his most precious secret.
Disclaimer: TW & Co. does not belong to me.
The Stars Might Stick You Where You Stand
7. Ianto
They drive west.
Ianto doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jack so on edge.
“I need to tell you a few things, before we get there,” Ianto says, and he checks to see that Jack is paying attention.
Jack looks incredibly grateful for the distraction from his own thoughts.
“As you know, Gray was taken by the Rift, and then returned a few months later,” Ianto says, and he glances at Jack again before continuing. “Back in the eighties, Torchwood Three was a bit different. We didn’t…” He pauses again. “If you get taken by the Rift, the chances that you’ll land somewhere safe for a 21st century human are practically non-existent. People who come back through the Rift have almost always been through severe trauma.”
Out of the corner of his eye he sees Jack shudder. He allows a moment for Jack to pull himself together before continuing.
“It used to be that if people who came back through the Rift weren’t mentally stable, they were killed. It was thought that nothing else could be done. But I worked with a brilliant, wonderful man named Dylan Evans to create an alternative for them-he called it Tabula Rasa.”
“Blank slate,” Jack translates, sounding numb.
“Yes,” Ianto says, stealing another glance.
He regrets having this conversation in the car, but if they’d waited and had it in his office, he doesn’t know if they would have been able to see Gray tonight.
“Tabula Rasa is based off of retcon, but unlike retcon, you can wipe more than a year or two without risking mental instability,” Ianto explains, focusing on the road again. “It does a complete memory wipe, from birth. The person is left without a single personal memory.”
Ianto glances over.
Jack is silent, visibly digesting this piece of information. Ianto gives him a few minutes to process, then moves on to the next bit of information before Jack can get completely caught up in his thoughts.
“The Tabula Rasa is more stable than retcon, but if a person is triggered… The one time it happened, four people were brutally murdered before we were able to capture her,” Ianto tells him. “That’s why you can’t talk to Gray, or let him see you. The results of triggering him would be disastrous.”
Jack is pale.
“I’m sorry,” Ianto says, even though it’s meaningless.
“It was my fault, you know,” Jack says, eyes unfocused. “That he got taken. I wanted to race, he wanted to hold hands and run together, because he knew I was faster and I’d win. But I had to win. And when I looked back, he was gone. That was it.”
“Jack, you couldn’t have known. You couldn’t have done anything.”
Jack doesn’t respond.
Ianto opens his mouth to continue to persuade him that it wasn’t his fault, but then closes it when he realizes that now isn’t the time. He turns back to driving, and leaves Jack to his thoughts.
*
They arrive in a town just outside of Pembroke. They haven’t spoken since Ianto had explained the ramifications of the Tabula Rasa, and though he hasn’t said anything to Jack, it’s obvious that their journey is coming to an end. They’re off the motorway and driving down streets featuring rows of adorable little houses, with real front lawns instead a few steps that lead directly to the sidewalk.
Jack is absolutely silent, his shoulders visibly tense.
Ianto had locked the SUV at some point on the motorway, when the hum of the road would obscure the sound of the locks chucking into place, and then he’d flipped on the child safety feature that prevented any other lock-controls from being operational save for his own. Jack hasn’t noticed yet. Ianto really hopes that it doesn’t come to Jack noticing.
He makes a right onto another street featuring rows of houses, but this time he slows down further.
The house is just there, on the right. Ianto can see a lone figure in the front lawn.
They come to a stop on the left side of the road, and Ianto kills the engine.
“That’s where he lives,” Ianto says, nodding at the house where a little girl, no more than three, is dressed in a bathing suit and playing with the hose.
Jack sucks in a sharp audible breath.
“His name is William Nash, though he prefers Will. He’s been married to a woman named Colleen for the last five years, and that’s their daughter there, Claire.”
Jack stares at the little girl on the lawn.
“Tell me more,” he says hoarsely, not taking his eyes off of her.
“He’s a postman, but he likes to play piano for pubs whenever he can. He completely totaled his car at seventeen, walked away without a scratch. Went to uni to study philosophy for a bit, but dropped out. Hates cats with a passion.”
Ianto stops talking when he sees Jack’s face tighten, and he reaches over to take Jack’s hand.
Jack grabs on fiercely, and squeezes. Hard.
They sit and watch Claire play with the hose, shrieking when she gets herself wet and dropping the hose, only to pick it up moments later. She tramples through the bushes up front with the hose in hand, and then pours water onto the side of the green car in the drive. Her hair is light brown and curly, and her bathing suit has some cartoon character or other on it.
Then the front door opens and a tall, broad-shouldered man steps out.
“Gray,” Jack breathes.
Ianto grips Jack’s hand hard, praying that Jack won’t lose his senses and try to charge over to his little brother, despite Ianto’s warnings and very best precautionary measures.
But Jack doesn’t move.
He just sits there, tears pouring down his face, as Gray persuades his daughter to come inside. Claire drops the hose and goes running inside. Gray watches her go past with a fond look on his face, and then obligingly goes out and shuts off the hose, rolls it up and puts it away on a hook on the side of the house.
Gray gives their SUV a strange look, and Jack squeezes Ianto’s hand so hard that Ianto swears he can feel the bones grinding together. It’s agonizing. Ianto can practically see Jack physically restraining himself, lips moving to words that Ianto can’t hear.
Then Gray looks away and heads back into the house, closing the door behind himself.
Jack falls forward in his seat, yanking his hand out of Ianto’s and pushing his forehead up against clenched fists. The sun is setting, and Ianto knows that Gray won’t be coming out again. Every time he’s visited, which has been quite often over the last few months in some attempt to assuage his guilt over keeping this a secret from Jack, Claire is always in by eight, probably so that she can have a bath and get to bed so that Gray can get up early for his post route in the mornings.
So he starts up the car and focuses on the road, attempting to give Jack as much privacy as he can.
*
The drive back is a blur.
Ianto has been keeping this secret from Jack or months, now. He’s not used to exposing secrets. His ability to put the importance of keeping secrets over his own emotional well-being has always been one of his best qualities.
He’s strongly tempted to retcon Jack.
*
When Ianto pulls up to Jack’s flat, he parks the SUV and kills the engine, turning to look at Jack.
“How is this kinder?” Jack asks in a hoarse voice, not even looking at him. “My brother is dead. Everything he was, he knew, he loved-he’s dead. And there’s someone else living in his body. Tell me how this is kinder.”
“I’m sorry,” Ianto says.
“Is this what you’re going to do to that guy?” Jack asks, turning to look at him now. “The one who just came through the Rift, that you had to sort out before we left. You’re just going to wipe him out?”
“There’s a facility, now,” Ianto tells him softly. “It’s called Flat Holm. It’s for victims of the Rift, for them to try to heal.”
“And how many have gotten better?”
Ianto swallows. “None.”
Jack doesn’t reply.
Ianto considers the bottle of retcon in his pocket. He thinks about Jack clutching his hand and staring at his brother who is no longer his brother. He thinks about Jack leering at him as he pulled himself up on the bar in Ianto’s office. He thinks about Jack’s mouth on his, and Jack writhing in agony in a cell, and Jack attempting to bargain his way into Torchwood with an alien water bottle and a mucus-clearer.
He thinks about Jack spitting words at him in his office, face twisted in hurt and anger.
He thinks about Jack telling him that what happened to Suzie wasn’t his fault.
Ianto takes in a deep breath.
“I know that everything you’ve ever done for the last twenty-two years has been another step toward finding Gray,” Ianto says at last, looking at Jack even if Jack won’t look at him. “I know that’s the only reason that you joined the RAF, the only reason you joined Torchwood, the only reason you came searching for a job here in Cardiff, and possibly the only reason that you slept with me-”
Jack’s head snaps around to stare at him, mouth open, and Ianto waits but no words come out. Eventually, Ianto continues.
“-so I want you to take the rest of the week and figure out what it is you’re doing with your life now,” he says. “Why you’re here. What you want. And if you decide that you want to stay with Torchwood, show up for work on Monday. If you don’t want to stay, I’ll take care of everything.”
“Would you retcon me?” Jack asks.
“Yes,” Ianto replies, without hesitation.
“Would you miss me?”
Ianto pauses, but he can’t deny Jack the truth. Not now.
“Yes.”
Jack looks away, and puts his hand on the door handle. “Good night, Ianto.”
“Good night,” Ianto replies, though really, it hasn’t been.
Jack slams the door behind him.
*
Ianto spends the whole week debating whether or not to retcon Jack if he decides to stay with Torchwood. With each day that passes, he knows it will be increasingly difficult to get the level of retcon right and explain the missing three days, four days, five days…
But when he emerges from his bunker at six on Monday morning, well before anyone is supposed to be in, and sees Jack doing pull-ups on the bar in his office doorway, Ianto is overcome with the sensation of right.
“Good morning, Jack,” Ianto says, when he’s regained control. He finishes coming up the ladder and stands, watching Jack.
Jack grins, and pulls himself all the way up. “Morning. Decided to add to my morning work-out. Those chin-ups just weren’t doing it for me anymore.”
Ianto rolls his eyes. “Right. I take it you decided to stay, then?”
“I’ve got a new purpose in life,” Jack says. He drops from the bar, sweaty and red-faced but only panting a little. “I’m going to find out what you were doing in Torchwood in the 1980’s.”
Ianto raises his eyebrows, despite the flare of alarm he feels at the thought of having yet another of his secrets exposed. “Are you going to try to hack my computer again?”
He makes a note to change the encryptions of his files.
“Nope,” Jack says, and he takes a step toward Ianto. “I’m going to gain your trust, and hope that one day you’ll tell me. Because I didn’t sleep with you for Gray. I slept with you because I think you’re gorgeous and funny and also, I’m just a little bit in love with you.”
Silence.
“Oh,” Ianto says dumbly. “You-really?”
“Give it another month, and I think I’ll be up to smitten,” Jack confirms, a slightly sheepish look on his face. “And, you know, someone’s got to be here to keep Gwen in line. With me gone, she’d have you rehabilitating Weevils by the end of the summer.”
By now, there’s a small smile on Ianto’s face that he could shove away, if he wanted to, but he doesn’t.
“So, can I have a hug?” Jack asks, grin widening and his arms spreading, coming forward-
“Absolutely not!” Ianto cries, jumping back. “You’re covered in sweat, I just got this suit two weeks ago!”
“I’ll take a shower!” Jack says brightly, turning around and heading for Ianto’s office door. “And change my clothes. Then can I have a hug?”
“Yes, Jack,” Ianto replies, having regains his sense of calm that Jack had somehow managed to startle him out of. He has a tendency to do that, actually. “Then you can have a hug.”
He hears Jack laughing all the way down the stairs.
Ianto reaches into his pocket for the bottle of retcon resting there, ready to be used. He glances at the bottle as he pulls it out, and then opens his bottom desk drawer and drops the retcon in. This done, he goes to make himself a pot of his special brew.
He won’t make a cup for Jack, not yet.
But maybe in a few weeks.
- fin -
Sequel
Author: methylethyl
Rating: NC-17 (very light NC-17)
Summary: Following the fall of Torchwood One, Jack Harkness went to ask Torchwood Three for a job. He didn’t expect to fall a little bit in love with its director, the practical and ever-calm Ianto Jones. He also probably didn’t expect that Ianto Jones would end up holding the answers to his most precious secret.
Disclaimer: TW & Co. does not belong to me.
The Stars Might Stick You Where You Stand
7. Ianto
They drive west.
Ianto doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jack so on edge.
“I need to tell you a few things, before we get there,” Ianto says, and he checks to see that Jack is paying attention.
Jack looks incredibly grateful for the distraction from his own thoughts.
“As you know, Gray was taken by the Rift, and then returned a few months later,” Ianto says, and he glances at Jack again before continuing. “Back in the eighties, Torchwood Three was a bit different. We didn’t…” He pauses again. “If you get taken by the Rift, the chances that you’ll land somewhere safe for a 21st century human are practically non-existent. People who come back through the Rift have almost always been through severe trauma.”
Out of the corner of his eye he sees Jack shudder. He allows a moment for Jack to pull himself together before continuing.
“It used to be that if people who came back through the Rift weren’t mentally stable, they were killed. It was thought that nothing else could be done. But I worked with a brilliant, wonderful man named Dylan Evans to create an alternative for them-he called it Tabula Rasa.”
“Blank slate,” Jack translates, sounding numb.
“Yes,” Ianto says, stealing another glance.
He regrets having this conversation in the car, but if they’d waited and had it in his office, he doesn’t know if they would have been able to see Gray tonight.
“Tabula Rasa is based off of retcon, but unlike retcon, you can wipe more than a year or two without risking mental instability,” Ianto explains, focusing on the road again. “It does a complete memory wipe, from birth. The person is left without a single personal memory.”
Ianto glances over.
Jack is silent, visibly digesting this piece of information. Ianto gives him a few minutes to process, then moves on to the next bit of information before Jack can get completely caught up in his thoughts.
“The Tabula Rasa is more stable than retcon, but if a person is triggered… The one time it happened, four people were brutally murdered before we were able to capture her,” Ianto tells him. “That’s why you can’t talk to Gray, or let him see you. The results of triggering him would be disastrous.”
Jack is pale.
“I’m sorry,” Ianto says, even though it’s meaningless.
“It was my fault, you know,” Jack says, eyes unfocused. “That he got taken. I wanted to race, he wanted to hold hands and run together, because he knew I was faster and I’d win. But I had to win. And when I looked back, he was gone. That was it.”
“Jack, you couldn’t have known. You couldn’t have done anything.”
Jack doesn’t respond.
Ianto opens his mouth to continue to persuade him that it wasn’t his fault, but then closes it when he realizes that now isn’t the time. He turns back to driving, and leaves Jack to his thoughts.
*
They arrive in a town just outside of Pembroke. They haven’t spoken since Ianto had explained the ramifications of the Tabula Rasa, and though he hasn’t said anything to Jack, it’s obvious that their journey is coming to an end. They’re off the motorway and driving down streets featuring rows of adorable little houses, with real front lawns instead a few steps that lead directly to the sidewalk.
Jack is absolutely silent, his shoulders visibly tense.
Ianto had locked the SUV at some point on the motorway, when the hum of the road would obscure the sound of the locks chucking into place, and then he’d flipped on the child safety feature that prevented any other lock-controls from being operational save for his own. Jack hasn’t noticed yet. Ianto really hopes that it doesn’t come to Jack noticing.
He makes a right onto another street featuring rows of houses, but this time he slows down further.
The house is just there, on the right. Ianto can see a lone figure in the front lawn.
They come to a stop on the left side of the road, and Ianto kills the engine.
“That’s where he lives,” Ianto says, nodding at the house where a little girl, no more than three, is dressed in a bathing suit and playing with the hose.
Jack sucks in a sharp audible breath.
“His name is William Nash, though he prefers Will. He’s been married to a woman named Colleen for the last five years, and that’s their daughter there, Claire.”
Jack stares at the little girl on the lawn.
“Tell me more,” he says hoarsely, not taking his eyes off of her.
“He’s a postman, but he likes to play piano for pubs whenever he can. He completely totaled his car at seventeen, walked away without a scratch. Went to uni to study philosophy for a bit, but dropped out. Hates cats with a passion.”
Ianto stops talking when he sees Jack’s face tighten, and he reaches over to take Jack’s hand.
Jack grabs on fiercely, and squeezes. Hard.
They sit and watch Claire play with the hose, shrieking when she gets herself wet and dropping the hose, only to pick it up moments later. She tramples through the bushes up front with the hose in hand, and then pours water onto the side of the green car in the drive. Her hair is light brown and curly, and her bathing suit has some cartoon character or other on it.
Then the front door opens and a tall, broad-shouldered man steps out.
“Gray,” Jack breathes.
Ianto grips Jack’s hand hard, praying that Jack won’t lose his senses and try to charge over to his little brother, despite Ianto’s warnings and very best precautionary measures.
But Jack doesn’t move.
He just sits there, tears pouring down his face, as Gray persuades his daughter to come inside. Claire drops the hose and goes running inside. Gray watches her go past with a fond look on his face, and then obligingly goes out and shuts off the hose, rolls it up and puts it away on a hook on the side of the house.
Gray gives their SUV a strange look, and Jack squeezes Ianto’s hand so hard that Ianto swears he can feel the bones grinding together. It’s agonizing. Ianto can practically see Jack physically restraining himself, lips moving to words that Ianto can’t hear.
Then Gray looks away and heads back into the house, closing the door behind himself.
Jack falls forward in his seat, yanking his hand out of Ianto’s and pushing his forehead up against clenched fists. The sun is setting, and Ianto knows that Gray won’t be coming out again. Every time he’s visited, which has been quite often over the last few months in some attempt to assuage his guilt over keeping this a secret from Jack, Claire is always in by eight, probably so that she can have a bath and get to bed so that Gray can get up early for his post route in the mornings.
So he starts up the car and focuses on the road, attempting to give Jack as much privacy as he can.
*
The drive back is a blur.
Ianto has been keeping this secret from Jack or months, now. He’s not used to exposing secrets. His ability to put the importance of keeping secrets over his own emotional well-being has always been one of his best qualities.
He’s strongly tempted to retcon Jack.
*
When Ianto pulls up to Jack’s flat, he parks the SUV and kills the engine, turning to look at Jack.
“How is this kinder?” Jack asks in a hoarse voice, not even looking at him. “My brother is dead. Everything he was, he knew, he loved-he’s dead. And there’s someone else living in his body. Tell me how this is kinder.”
“I’m sorry,” Ianto says.
“Is this what you’re going to do to that guy?” Jack asks, turning to look at him now. “The one who just came through the Rift, that you had to sort out before we left. You’re just going to wipe him out?”
“There’s a facility, now,” Ianto tells him softly. “It’s called Flat Holm. It’s for victims of the Rift, for them to try to heal.”
“And how many have gotten better?”
Ianto swallows. “None.”
Jack doesn’t reply.
Ianto considers the bottle of retcon in his pocket. He thinks about Jack clutching his hand and staring at his brother who is no longer his brother. He thinks about Jack leering at him as he pulled himself up on the bar in Ianto’s office. He thinks about Jack’s mouth on his, and Jack writhing in agony in a cell, and Jack attempting to bargain his way into Torchwood with an alien water bottle and a mucus-clearer.
He thinks about Jack spitting words at him in his office, face twisted in hurt and anger.
He thinks about Jack telling him that what happened to Suzie wasn’t his fault.
Ianto takes in a deep breath.
“I know that everything you’ve ever done for the last twenty-two years has been another step toward finding Gray,” Ianto says at last, looking at Jack even if Jack won’t look at him. “I know that’s the only reason that you joined the RAF, the only reason you joined Torchwood, the only reason you came searching for a job here in Cardiff, and possibly the only reason that you slept with me-”
Jack’s head snaps around to stare at him, mouth open, and Ianto waits but no words come out. Eventually, Ianto continues.
“-so I want you to take the rest of the week and figure out what it is you’re doing with your life now,” he says. “Why you’re here. What you want. And if you decide that you want to stay with Torchwood, show up for work on Monday. If you don’t want to stay, I’ll take care of everything.”
“Would you retcon me?” Jack asks.
“Yes,” Ianto replies, without hesitation.
“Would you miss me?”
Ianto pauses, but he can’t deny Jack the truth. Not now.
“Yes.”
Jack looks away, and puts his hand on the door handle. “Good night, Ianto.”
“Good night,” Ianto replies, though really, it hasn’t been.
Jack slams the door behind him.
*
Ianto spends the whole week debating whether or not to retcon Jack if he decides to stay with Torchwood. With each day that passes, he knows it will be increasingly difficult to get the level of retcon right and explain the missing three days, four days, five days…
But when he emerges from his bunker at six on Monday morning, well before anyone is supposed to be in, and sees Jack doing pull-ups on the bar in his office doorway, Ianto is overcome with the sensation of right.
“Good morning, Jack,” Ianto says, when he’s regained control. He finishes coming up the ladder and stands, watching Jack.
Jack grins, and pulls himself all the way up. “Morning. Decided to add to my morning work-out. Those chin-ups just weren’t doing it for me anymore.”
Ianto rolls his eyes. “Right. I take it you decided to stay, then?”
“I’ve got a new purpose in life,” Jack says. He drops from the bar, sweaty and red-faced but only panting a little. “I’m going to find out what you were doing in Torchwood in the 1980’s.”
Ianto raises his eyebrows, despite the flare of alarm he feels at the thought of having yet another of his secrets exposed. “Are you going to try to hack my computer again?”
He makes a note to change the encryptions of his files.
“Nope,” Jack says, and he takes a step toward Ianto. “I’m going to gain your trust, and hope that one day you’ll tell me. Because I didn’t sleep with you for Gray. I slept with you because I think you’re gorgeous and funny and also, I’m just a little bit in love with you.”
Silence.
“Oh,” Ianto says dumbly. “You-really?”
“Give it another month, and I think I’ll be up to smitten,” Jack confirms, a slightly sheepish look on his face. “And, you know, someone’s got to be here to keep Gwen in line. With me gone, she’d have you rehabilitating Weevils by the end of the summer.”
By now, there’s a small smile on Ianto’s face that he could shove away, if he wanted to, but he doesn’t.
“So, can I have a hug?” Jack asks, grin widening and his arms spreading, coming forward-
“Absolutely not!” Ianto cries, jumping back. “You’re covered in sweat, I just got this suit two weeks ago!”
“I’ll take a shower!” Jack says brightly, turning around and heading for Ianto’s office door. “And change my clothes. Then can I have a hug?”
“Yes, Jack,” Ianto replies, having regains his sense of calm that Jack had somehow managed to startle him out of. He has a tendency to do that, actually. “Then you can have a hug.”
He hears Jack laughing all the way down the stairs.
Ianto reaches into his pocket for the bottle of retcon resting there, ready to be used. He glances at the bottle as he pulls it out, and then opens his bottom desk drawer and drops the retcon in. This done, he goes to make himself a pot of his special brew.
He won’t make a cup for Jack, not yet.
But maybe in a few weeks.
- fin -
Sequel