Fic: Once Upon a time
Set in the Regeneration Universe, this is a mylodon/calavarna production, with the working title 'Total Insanity' which explains it all, really.
The little Italian restaurant in Mermaid Quay wasn’t the most renowned of eateries in Cardiff, nor did the waiters wear tuxedos, much to Jack’s disappointment. But the menu was diverse and the view sublime - not least because Harkness had seated himself opposite to Archie and had basked in the jealous glare Hornblower had shot at him when he’d realised that the captain’s gazelle-like leap across the room had secured him the best seat in the room. Conversation ranged from seasickness to cannibals to bullet wounds after which Kennedy called a halt to such talk, pleading a distaste that threatened to daunt his ever present hunger.
“Ianto lent us some of those DVD whatnots when I was stuck in bed with my bullet wound - they were about the only thing that stopped me expiring from boredom. There was one called ‘The Lord of the Rings’ that I particularly enjoyed.” Archie looked again at his plate. There appeared to be about three miles of cordage on it; how anyone was meant to eat this stuff was beyond him. He was sure it tasted wonderful, but how people actually tackled it was a mystery. He wished that he had followed Horatio’s lead and gone for the rice dish with the little shellfishes in it.
“Those films weren’t bad at all, if a little far from reality in parts.” Harkness leaned over Kennedy, wielding his own fork. “Try this, Blondie,” he deftly twirled some spaghetti onto his spoon and proffered it to Archie, who - much to Horatio’s horror - accepted the mouthful with alacrity.
“I’ll try that then.” Kennedy set to work himself, soon getting the knack and savouring the meaty sauce.
“What do you mean they were far from reality?” Hornblower was in his usual let’s get at Jack mood and was seeking any opportunity to needle him.
“You said yourself the films they made about you bore little resemblance to what had happened two hundred years ago.” Harkness cut and bit into his pizza, enjoying the hot sting of the chillies on his tongue.
“But we lived through those times; the war against France was real. As I understand it from what Mr Jones said, these stories are - what was the word he used - fantasy. Based on books about another world, another version of history.”
Jack smiled, an enigmatic look in his eye. “Another world? Really?” He raised his hand and gestured for the waiter to come over. “Ianto, can we have some more beers?”
Archie waited for Jones to scuttle off before he spoke. “Explain it to me again - I know I’m being dim but indulge me. Why is Ianto working in an Italian restaurant?”
“Apart from the fact he looks good in tight trousers?” Jack smirked and noticed with glee the look of distain on grumpy breeches’ face. He knew that he shouldn’t wind the man up but he was such a pleasure to rile, especially when it made Archie laugh. “It’s something to do with his mother’s friend’s son being ill and someone needing to help out the family and poor old Ianto getting roped in. Apparently he always used to be when this place was up in the city and it was school holidays - he and Geraint were made to sell ice creams out on the terrace. He didn’t mind when it was for a bit of extra pocket money and as much gelato as he could eat, but his mother doesn’t seem to have realised that her beloved boy now has a proper day job and can’t always pitch in when he’s called for.”
“What exactly does Mrs Jones think her baby does?”
“Chief receptionist for the Bay Tourist Information Office. Spends all his time answering questions about where it’s cheapest to park or how to get a hotel room on a rugby international weekend. I think all her hair curlers would fly off her head if she had the first idea what he really gets up to.”
“I assume that remark applies to what he does with stopwatches as well, does it?” Kennedy assumed his angelic look and waited to see if Jack would choke on his beer. He didn’t; he was getting used to Kennedy’s sense of humour - and he hoped to produce a few shocks of his own.
“You made some remark about fantasy worlds - when we were talking about that film.” Horatio wanted to bring the conversation back to safer waters. “As if it wasn’t just made up.”
“Now I can’t speak for the story they showed - not every part of it. But there were people there - reference to places and occurrences - that weren’t entirely part of someone’s imagination.”
“You mean it was based on real life?” Archie’s eyes shone. He had enjoyed the film greatly, only being disappointed when he discovered that some of the wonderful animals he’d seen on screen were only produced on something like Ianto’s computer. It had been very exciting entertainment, with a most handsome leading man who could act very well and another rather pretty boy who couldn’t, so it had been all right all round.
Jack winked. “You bet.”
Horatio stifled the disbelieving mutterings that Jack’s words produced - if only to save his shins from a fierce beating from Archie’s booted feet - and surveyed the room with wary eyes. People were looking, whether at the exuberant waves of Harkness’ fork to punctuate each sentence or Kennedy’s look of unbridled delight, he wasn’t certain but their table was attracting undue attention and they were, in part, only eating at the smallest restaurant in Cardiff in an attempt to fly under the radar, as Ianto had called it. Apparently the Doctor and Torchwood agreed that two sailors from two hundred years into the past had the curious ability to incite chaos if discovered although if he had been asked - and nobody had, much to Hornblower's annoyance - look at my shiny teeth Harkness could cause twice the trouble in half the time.
“Surely you do not expect us to believe that such absurd twaddle has its basis in fact? A ring of invisibility, elves, wizards and a giant flaming eye,” he listed, ticking off his fingers with an air of jealous mistrust. “You would have had better success in attempting to convince us that England can play cricket!”
“Horatio, when you’ve travelled as far as I have - not just in terms of miles but time as well, then you’ll understand that there are a lot more outlandish things than featured in those films or books. What amazed me is how the author could have known so much about them.” Harkness took a huge bite of pizza and shrugged.
“So were you there - poking your nose into those battles?” Archie had eaten as much spaghetti bolognaise as one man could reasonably manage - especially a man who had to leave a little corner for tiramisu - so he laid down his fork and turned all his attention to the story.
“Not those ones. Earlier times - much earlier - when that land had a different form, before much of it got swallowed under the sea like your Atlantis. There was a war, a series of horrendous battles that make the ones in that film seem like little skirmishes. I found myself in a city that was hidden away in the hills; no-one knew of it besides its inhabitants and the eagles that nested up in the mountains. Someone betrayed it though - and his armies came through the secret routes and put us to rout.”
“His?” Horatio had become interested, despite his natural reluctance to have any truck with I’m such a hero Harkness and his tales of derring do. “Are we discussing the Master again?”
“Nah, different megalomaniac this time. Makes The Master look like…like Ianto’s mam. I think I must attract them. Nutters.”
Ianto, who was passing by the table on the pretext of delivering coffee, scoffed softly and abandoned all thoughts of unobtrusive service. “You seem to attract most people, sir. I’d go so far as to say you do it intentionally.”
Jack’s who, me? look fell slightly flat as both the officers showed more interest in their cappuccinos than in the exaggerated innocence of the thoroughly impure captain.
“What happened then?” Archie leaned forward curiously, his eyes focussed intently upon Jack’s, much to Hornblower’s annoyance.
“Long story short, the city fell and I ended up a bit singed after a run-in with a balrog.” Naturally, ‘a bit singed’ meant ‘burnt to a crisp’ and ‘long story short’ meant that he’d glossed over the parts which couldn’t be mentioned in public without getting arrested.
“I’m sorry.” As much as Matinee-idol-type (whatever-that-is) Harkness annoyed Horatio, he could sympathise with the part about being burned. Fire wasn’t one of the greatest enemies only at sea.
“Don’t be, I’ve seen much worse and it hasn’t killed me yet.” Not permanently, at least. Jack brightened suddenly, and shook off the effects of distant memories. “As innovative a style as it is, Horatio, I think you’re supposed to drink the froth on cappuccinos, not wear in on your nose.”
Hornblower wiped his face, mentally opening his book of ‘One thousand ways to torture Jack’ and imagining applying the worst one; it was fairly innovative, although he’d have to credit William with the part turnips played in it. He had protested at having the travesty of a coffee in the first place - it was hardly the drink suitable to a newly made Post Captain but his first lieutenant had insisted he be brave. He would not be so foolish again. “Are you gulling us? Balfrogs?”
“Balrogs.” Archie’s eyes gleamed. “One was in that film, Horatio, a great monster of darkness and flame, face like Styles when he’s had a night ashore. When I was flat on my back recovering from my bullet wound and watching the DVD thingies, Ianto also lent me some of the books; there were loads of them, couldn’t even start them really. But I dipped in and out and found the very story Jack refers to; it was wonderful. The hero made me think of you - the god from the sea came and talked to him. That wasn’t you, was it, Jack?”
“No. That guy was pretty hot, though, but he only had eyes for Idril. Can’t blame him really, she was a stunner.”
“Do you ever concentrate on the matter in hand?” Horatio was still unsure that he wasn’t being fooled, although the mention of attractive people - of both genders - suggested the tale had to have some truth in it. “And how many more of these legends did you have a starring role in?” He resisted asking whether Jack had actually been Lady Godiva. He’d keep that for the next time Mr my hammock or yours? tried to get his paws inside Archie’s jacket. “Were you the man who killed the dragon? Should we be shouting Cry God for Harry, England and St Jack? Or were you King Arthur or Robin of Loxley…”
“Horatio,” Harkness held up his hand as if to take an oath, “I can’t take the credit for any of their feats of prowess. Although if you want to put the record straight, that Guinevere was nothing to write home about - Archie’s got more of a cleavage than she ever had. Lancelot, now. Steaming…”
“Do you get distracted by every pretty face that comes along?”
The silence that fell over the table was louder than a broadside; even Ianto, serving a couple at the other side of the restaurant turned around, wondering why the talk had suddenly stopped. Archie fiddled with his fork, pretending that he was attempting to capture the last piece of pasta. He had an awful feeling that this was the old business rearing its head and that his was the pretty face concerned. He had hoped that it had all been sorted years ago, when Jack had assured Horatio that he’d given up trying to seduce Archie. Hornblower had appeared to believe it - at the time.
"You tell me. There are, by my count, seventeen pretty faces in this room and I'm only distracted by two." Jack paused for a moment, his head cocked to one side as he stared at something past Horatio's shoulder. "Make that three. That transvestite in the corner looks like she could tell a story or two."
Jack gave a sudden, loud yelp and jumped to his feet, interrupting whatever reply Hornblower was formulating and receiving a stern glare for his actions. "I hardly think yelling about it is going to help your case."
"He poured water on me!"
He was of course Ianto, who stood placidly beside the table, managing in his own inimitable way to both blend into the background and stand out from all other pretty faces. The jug of water in his hands may have been the key indicator as to his involvement in the unfortunate case of Jack's wet trousers, but his oft-used impassive look could hide any number of secrets or passions. "Terribly sorry, sir, my hand must have slipped."
The little Italian restaurant in Mermaid Quay wasn’t the most renowned of eateries in Cardiff, nor did the waiters wear tuxedos, much to Jack’s disappointment. But the menu was diverse and the view sublime - not least because Harkness had seated himself opposite to Archie and had basked in the jealous glare Hornblower had shot at him when he’d realised that the captain’s gazelle-like leap across the room had secured him the best seat in the room. Conversation ranged from seasickness to cannibals to bullet wounds after which Kennedy called a halt to such talk, pleading a distaste that threatened to daunt his ever present hunger.
“Ianto lent us some of those DVD whatnots when I was stuck in bed with my bullet wound - they were about the only thing that stopped me expiring from boredom. There was one called ‘The Lord of the Rings’ that I particularly enjoyed.” Archie looked again at his plate. There appeared to be about three miles of cordage on it; how anyone was meant to eat this stuff was beyond him. He was sure it tasted wonderful, but how people actually tackled it was a mystery. He wished that he had followed Horatio’s lead and gone for the rice dish with the little shellfishes in it.
“Those films weren’t bad at all, if a little far from reality in parts.” Harkness leaned over Kennedy, wielding his own fork. “Try this, Blondie,” he deftly twirled some spaghetti onto his spoon and proffered it to Archie, who - much to Horatio’s horror - accepted the mouthful with alacrity.
“I’ll try that then.” Kennedy set to work himself, soon getting the knack and savouring the meaty sauce.
“What do you mean they were far from reality?” Hornblower was in his usual let’s get at Jack mood and was seeking any opportunity to needle him.
“You said yourself the films they made about you bore little resemblance to what had happened two hundred years ago.” Harkness cut and bit into his pizza, enjoying the hot sting of the chillies on his tongue.
“But we lived through those times; the war against France was real. As I understand it from what Mr Jones said, these stories are - what was the word he used - fantasy. Based on books about another world, another version of history.”
Jack smiled, an enigmatic look in his eye. “Another world? Really?” He raised his hand and gestured for the waiter to come over. “Ianto, can we have some more beers?”
Archie waited for Jones to scuttle off before he spoke. “Explain it to me again - I know I’m being dim but indulge me. Why is Ianto working in an Italian restaurant?”
“Apart from the fact he looks good in tight trousers?” Jack smirked and noticed with glee the look of distain on grumpy breeches’ face. He knew that he shouldn’t wind the man up but he was such a pleasure to rile, especially when it made Archie laugh. “It’s something to do with his mother’s friend’s son being ill and someone needing to help out the family and poor old Ianto getting roped in. Apparently he always used to be when this place was up in the city and it was school holidays - he and Geraint were made to sell ice creams out on the terrace. He didn’t mind when it was for a bit of extra pocket money and as much gelato as he could eat, but his mother doesn’t seem to have realised that her beloved boy now has a proper day job and can’t always pitch in when he’s called for.”
“What exactly does Mrs Jones think her baby does?”
“Chief receptionist for the Bay Tourist Information Office. Spends all his time answering questions about where it’s cheapest to park or how to get a hotel room on a rugby international weekend. I think all her hair curlers would fly off her head if she had the first idea what he really gets up to.”
“I assume that remark applies to what he does with stopwatches as well, does it?” Kennedy assumed his angelic look and waited to see if Jack would choke on his beer. He didn’t; he was getting used to Kennedy’s sense of humour - and he hoped to produce a few shocks of his own.
“You made some remark about fantasy worlds - when we were talking about that film.” Horatio wanted to bring the conversation back to safer waters. “As if it wasn’t just made up.”
“Now I can’t speak for the story they showed - not every part of it. But there were people there - reference to places and occurrences - that weren’t entirely part of someone’s imagination.”
“You mean it was based on real life?” Archie’s eyes shone. He had enjoyed the film greatly, only being disappointed when he discovered that some of the wonderful animals he’d seen on screen were only produced on something like Ianto’s computer. It had been very exciting entertainment, with a most handsome leading man who could act very well and another rather pretty boy who couldn’t, so it had been all right all round.
Jack winked. “You bet.”
Horatio stifled the disbelieving mutterings that Jack’s words produced - if only to save his shins from a fierce beating from Archie’s booted feet - and surveyed the room with wary eyes. People were looking, whether at the exuberant waves of Harkness’ fork to punctuate each sentence or Kennedy’s look of unbridled delight, he wasn’t certain but their table was attracting undue attention and they were, in part, only eating at the smallest restaurant in Cardiff in an attempt to fly under the radar, as Ianto had called it. Apparently the Doctor and Torchwood agreed that two sailors from two hundred years into the past had the curious ability to incite chaos if discovered although if he had been asked - and nobody had, much to Hornblower's annoyance - look at my shiny teeth Harkness could cause twice the trouble in half the time.
“Surely you do not expect us to believe that such absurd twaddle has its basis in fact? A ring of invisibility, elves, wizards and a giant flaming eye,” he listed, ticking off his fingers with an air of jealous mistrust. “You would have had better success in attempting to convince us that England can play cricket!”
“Horatio, when you’ve travelled as far as I have - not just in terms of miles but time as well, then you’ll understand that there are a lot more outlandish things than featured in those films or books. What amazed me is how the author could have known so much about them.” Harkness took a huge bite of pizza and shrugged.
“So were you there - poking your nose into those battles?” Archie had eaten as much spaghetti bolognaise as one man could reasonably manage - especially a man who had to leave a little corner for tiramisu - so he laid down his fork and turned all his attention to the story.
“Not those ones. Earlier times - much earlier - when that land had a different form, before much of it got swallowed under the sea like your Atlantis. There was a war, a series of horrendous battles that make the ones in that film seem like little skirmishes. I found myself in a city that was hidden away in the hills; no-one knew of it besides its inhabitants and the eagles that nested up in the mountains. Someone betrayed it though - and his armies came through the secret routes and put us to rout.”
“His?” Horatio had become interested, despite his natural reluctance to have any truck with I’m such a hero Harkness and his tales of derring do. “Are we discussing the Master again?”
“Nah, different megalomaniac this time. Makes The Master look like…like Ianto’s mam. I think I must attract them. Nutters.”
Ianto, who was passing by the table on the pretext of delivering coffee, scoffed softly and abandoned all thoughts of unobtrusive service. “You seem to attract most people, sir. I’d go so far as to say you do it intentionally.”
Jack’s who, me? look fell slightly flat as both the officers showed more interest in their cappuccinos than in the exaggerated innocence of the thoroughly impure captain.
“What happened then?” Archie leaned forward curiously, his eyes focussed intently upon Jack’s, much to Hornblower’s annoyance.
“Long story short, the city fell and I ended up a bit singed after a run-in with a balrog.” Naturally, ‘a bit singed’ meant ‘burnt to a crisp’ and ‘long story short’ meant that he’d glossed over the parts which couldn’t be mentioned in public without getting arrested.
“I’m sorry.” As much as Matinee-idol-type (whatever-that-is) Harkness annoyed Horatio, he could sympathise with the part about being burned. Fire wasn’t one of the greatest enemies only at sea.
“Don’t be, I’ve seen much worse and it hasn’t killed me yet.” Not permanently, at least. Jack brightened suddenly, and shook off the effects of distant memories. “As innovative a style as it is, Horatio, I think you’re supposed to drink the froth on cappuccinos, not wear in on your nose.”
Hornblower wiped his face, mentally opening his book of ‘One thousand ways to torture Jack’ and imagining applying the worst one; it was fairly innovative, although he’d have to credit William with the part turnips played in it. He had protested at having the travesty of a coffee in the first place - it was hardly the drink suitable to a newly made Post Captain but his first lieutenant had insisted he be brave. He would not be so foolish again. “Are you gulling us? Balfrogs?”
“Balrogs.” Archie’s eyes gleamed. “One was in that film, Horatio, a great monster of darkness and flame, face like Styles when he’s had a night ashore. When I was flat on my back recovering from my bullet wound and watching the DVD thingies, Ianto also lent me some of the books; there were loads of them, couldn’t even start them really. But I dipped in and out and found the very story Jack refers to; it was wonderful. The hero made me think of you - the god from the sea came and talked to him. That wasn’t you, was it, Jack?”
“No. That guy was pretty hot, though, but he only had eyes for Idril. Can’t blame him really, she was a stunner.”
“Do you ever concentrate on the matter in hand?” Horatio was still unsure that he wasn’t being fooled, although the mention of attractive people - of both genders - suggested the tale had to have some truth in it. “And how many more of these legends did you have a starring role in?” He resisted asking whether Jack had actually been Lady Godiva. He’d keep that for the next time Mr my hammock or yours? tried to get his paws inside Archie’s jacket. “Were you the man who killed the dragon? Should we be shouting Cry God for Harry, England and St Jack? Or were you King Arthur or Robin of Loxley…”
“Horatio,” Harkness held up his hand as if to take an oath, “I can’t take the credit for any of their feats of prowess. Although if you want to put the record straight, that Guinevere was nothing to write home about - Archie’s got more of a cleavage than she ever had. Lancelot, now. Steaming…”
“Do you get distracted by every pretty face that comes along?”
The silence that fell over the table was louder than a broadside; even Ianto, serving a couple at the other side of the restaurant turned around, wondering why the talk had suddenly stopped. Archie fiddled with his fork, pretending that he was attempting to capture the last piece of pasta. He had an awful feeling that this was the old business rearing its head and that his was the pretty face concerned. He had hoped that it had all been sorted years ago, when Jack had assured Horatio that he’d given up trying to seduce Archie. Hornblower had appeared to believe it - at the time.
"You tell me. There are, by my count, seventeen pretty faces in this room and I'm only distracted by two." Jack paused for a moment, his head cocked to one side as he stared at something past Horatio's shoulder. "Make that three. That transvestite in the corner looks like she could tell a story or two."
Jack gave a sudden, loud yelp and jumped to his feet, interrupting whatever reply Hornblower was formulating and receiving a stern glare for his actions. "I hardly think yelling about it is going to help your case."
"He poured water on me!"
He was of course Ianto, who stood placidly beside the table, managing in his own inimitable way to both blend into the background and stand out from all other pretty faces. The jug of water in his hands may have been the key indicator as to his involvement in the unfortunate case of Jack's wet trousers, but his oft-used impassive look could hide any number of secrets or passions. "Terribly sorry, sir, my hand must have slipped."