Fic. The Cost (Torchwood) // PG

Jul 07, 2007 20:37

title; The Cost
author; Meridian // noafterglow ( Masterlist)
rating; PG, General
fandom; Torchwood
characters; Ianto, Jack, mention of team
disclaimer; Alas, I own no part of Torchwood, Captain Jack or anyone else for that matter.
summary; Post-Small Worlds. The team can't quite forgive Jack for his decision.
notes; First (posted) Torchwood piece. Oh, God.



The Cost

The silence in the Hub was ice-cold for days after the girl went with the faeries.

Ianto observed, silent and unnoticed, as the rest of the Torchwood team ignored Jack. They hardly spoke to him even when it was necessary, and it was only through an unknown miracle that they didn't have any catastrophes on their hands during that time. He hardly dared to think about what it would have been like leading a team of furious and rebellious (on their good days) people.

Jack spent the entire week in his office.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee - real, not instant - followed Ianto as he made his way through the center of the Hub, dropping off mugs as he passed members of the team. Gwen took Owen's down to the lab, holding her own mug in her hand as she cast a disdainful look in Ianto's direction as he headed towards Jack's office.

Of all the members of the team, Gwen was perhaps the most furious, and had not spoken to Jack for two days following the incident. She even sent glares in Ianto's direction whenever he disappeared into Jack's office, delivering coffee and offering words of comfort than more often than not fell on deaf ears.

It was all he could do to help.

In all the mess the others had forgotten that amongst the mess that he might have inadvertently caused, Jack had lost a loved one. Someone so dear to him that he'd run to her rescue only to arrive too late. When he'd returned from that trip he'd locked himself in his office and it had been hours, and another bizarre weather pattern, before Jack had reappeared, and he looked... well, not horrible - Ianto had never seen him look horrible before, and couldn't imagine ever seeing such a sight either. But he looked like he'd gone one round in a fight with a rather large vehicle and lost spectacularly.

Now he set the steaming mug down on the coaster on Jack's desk while the other man flipped idly through a pile of pages. "Anything else I can get for you, sir?"

The underlying question, though, was, are you alright?

Jack looked up, the ever-present charismatic grin that lit up his face, hiding ever other emotion he might express. Trust Jack to keep things behind a closed facade. Of the pair of them, Ianto was the one to wear his heart on his sleeve - he kept things bottled up. "I'm fine, Ianto."

Jack raged when no one else was looking; Ianto had heard his frustrated screams in the wee hours of the morning when he thought everyone else was safely at home and asleep.

And then he went on living.

He was perhaps the strangest, and strongest, person Ianto had ever known, and to be treated with such disrespect by people who had trusted his judgment before; people who had relied on him to lead them out of trouble (and occasionally into it) in order to save the world...

Ianto returned the smile with a smaller, less bright version of his own. "All right then, sir. You know where to find me."

He turned to leave, and almost made it to the door without a further comment from Jack. Almost.

"Ianto."

"Yes, sir?"

Jack's brilliant smile had faded to a shadow of it's former self, but it remained. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, sir." He inclined his head, and left the office, closing the door behind him.

Gwen had returned to her desk, glancing at him with accusing eyes as he stepped out into the center of the Hub, stepped over a stray cable that Tosh had left lying on the floor while she fiddled with something on her monitor. He met her gaze levelly and without accusation, and moved on silently.

In time this would all pass, and a new crisis would arise, and they would all turn to Jack to solve it. The man who knew everything, too much, and yet fought to keep hold of what he thought was right.

And whether the cost was worth it in the end.

writing, writing: torchwood

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