Sunday Park (Ianto, Jack; PG)
THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who has commented on my fics, most especially to the three most gorgeous cheerleaders in the world (mclachlan, lunachickk and rosy5000, as well as to thaddeusfavour for reccing me at torchwood-house ♥ ♥ ♥
I'll respond individually to comments soon. When I get space to breathe between writing fic.
Title: Sunday Park
Author: etharei
Rating: PG
Timeline: pre-S1
Spoilers: "Cyberwoman" (104)
Summary: One Sunday afternoon, during his first month at Torchwood Three, Ianto found himself walking in a park next to Captain Jack.
Author's Notes: This was an experiment with character voices, and I don't really think it worked :-P
Disclaimer: Torchwood and all the characters and situations featured therein are the property of Russell T. Davies, the BBC and their affiliates. I’m only borrowing them for purely non-profit, recreational purposes.
Written for: horizonssing, Day #22.
I see that from these boys shall men of nothing
Stature by seedy shifting,
Or lame the air with leaping from its hearts;
There from their hearts the dogdayed pulse
Of love and light bursts in their throats.
O see the pulse of summer in the ice.
Except from, "I See the Boys of Summer,"
by Dylan Thomas
Sunday Park
by Etharei
One Sunday afternoon, during his first month at Torchwood Three, Ianto found himself walking in a park next to Captain Jack.
It was a rare moment alone with the boss. Granted, they have regularly been in the same room as each other with nobody else about, and presently there were several groups of people sharing the park with them to enjoy the rare break of sun. But this fit the concept of ‘alone’ much more closely than the mornings in Jack’s office or the occasional ventures into the archives, though Ianto was hard-pressed to explain exactly why this was so.
They exchanged the usual pleasantries and light conversation, until the Captain picked a spot under a tree and flopped down in the shade. Ianto gingerly followed suit, and tried to ignore the little worm of worry that had been niggling at the column of his spine. (He’s found Lisa, oh God, he’s found her.) At least a crowded park was hardly an ideal site for an execution, but the choice of pill or gun was often made by the commanding officer, and he’s noticed an unusual... kindness, in the Captain’s regime.
Lax had been one of Hartman’s kinder descriptors. Which already made Ianto predisposed to being generous.
“So you don’t melt in the sunlight, after all,” said Captain Jack jovially.
Ianto resisted the impulse to roll his eyes. “Sorry to disappoint, sir. I am also quite fond of garlic in my fried rice.”
“They’re good for you, I hear.” Captain Jack laid back, resting against the base of the tree with his eyes nearly closed. “But seriously, you shouldn’t spend so much time down in the Hub. We’re sufficiently dependent on your skills with the coffee machine to not kick you out for not doing overtime. Young man like you should enjoy life.”
Ianto, already poised to deflect the topic, gazed doubtfully at his boss; when relaxed, the childlike quality that sometimes twinkled in his face became easier to see. “You’re not all that old, sir.”
“Then call me Jack,” the Captain replied easily, not opening his eyes.
The only warning was a soft flapping of wings, nearly indistinguishable from the normal background soundtrack of a park in the afternoon. Jack swore, loudly enough to turn nearby heads and send a cluster of children into gales of laughter, and jumped to his feet.
Ianto’s first instinct was to call the Hub, report an attack, empty out the park. Torchwood protocol drummed into his bones, as much as he hated it now.
Then he realized exactly why Jack was attacking his own greatcoat with mad flaps of his hands, and burst out laughing. Luckily he’d not gotten up when Jack did, since the force of his laughter left him rocking back and forth.
As tends to happen when a person has not employed specific faculties in an extended period of time, it went on for a while. When he finally mustered some self-control, he found the Captain looking at him in strangely thoughtful bemusement, the white spatter of the pigeon... missile on his coat forgotten. (Though Ianto noticed that the attempts to get them off had only smeared the stuff further.) “You should laugh more often; it looks good on you.”
Sobering a little more, but not completely, Ianto replied, “Not much reason to, sir, in our line of work.”
The Captain sat back down again. “You’re aware that I’m trying to change Torchwood? Rebuild it without the bad parts.”
“So I gathered, sir.” Too late for Lisa, too late for Ianto, but he can’t help admiring the Captain for it, for recognizing that things needed to change. It made what Ianto was doing more difficult to bear. But he’d made his choices.
He didn’t owe Torchwood anything, anymore.
But, he may owe something to Jack.
"Torchwood One was too rigid, to set in its protocols and regulations and policies," said the older man, leaning back again and staring up at the branches. "Everybody had to follow the same program. For me, that’s the worst part - changing the way people think, controlling them."
A part of Ianto wished he could care about Jack's plan for change, contribute, but he was a practical man, and he knew: he would heal Lisa completely, or die, with odds favoring the latter. And he wasn’t sure if he wanted the Captain to be the one holding the gun.
“You make us sound like machines,” Ianto commented, sufficiently distracted by his thoughts to not realize his words until they’d left him. He inwardly winced; he might as well have said ‘Cyberman’.
Jack didn't appear to notice, and raised an eyebrow. "You're part of Torchwood Three now, Mr. Jones. Better start getting used to it."
What a confusing man.
Jack got to his feet and brushed himself off. "We should get back to the Hub with lunch before the others start chewing the cables out to keep from starving."
They walked sedately back to the SUV; Ianto wondered what the point of their little excursion was, and tried to shake off the feeling that he’d failed some kind of test.
I'll respond individually to comments soon. When I get space to breathe between writing fic.
Title: Sunday Park
Author: etharei
Rating: PG
Timeline: pre-S1
Spoilers: "Cyberwoman" (104)
Summary: One Sunday afternoon, during his first month at Torchwood Three, Ianto found himself walking in a park next to Captain Jack.
Author's Notes: This was an experiment with character voices, and I don't really think it worked :-P
Disclaimer: Torchwood and all the characters and situations featured therein are the property of Russell T. Davies, the BBC and their affiliates. I’m only borrowing them for purely non-profit, recreational purposes.
Written for: horizonssing, Day #22.
I see that from these boys shall men of nothing
Stature by seedy shifting,
Or lame the air with leaping from its hearts;
There from their hearts the dogdayed pulse
Of love and light bursts in their throats.
O see the pulse of summer in the ice.
Except from, "I See the Boys of Summer,"
by Dylan Thomas
Sunday Park
by Etharei
One Sunday afternoon, during his first month at Torchwood Three, Ianto found himself walking in a park next to Captain Jack.
It was a rare moment alone with the boss. Granted, they have regularly been in the same room as each other with nobody else about, and presently there were several groups of people sharing the park with them to enjoy the rare break of sun. But this fit the concept of ‘alone’ much more closely than the mornings in Jack’s office or the occasional ventures into the archives, though Ianto was hard-pressed to explain exactly why this was so.
They exchanged the usual pleasantries and light conversation, until the Captain picked a spot under a tree and flopped down in the shade. Ianto gingerly followed suit, and tried to ignore the little worm of worry that had been niggling at the column of his spine. (He’s found Lisa, oh God, he’s found her.) At least a crowded park was hardly an ideal site for an execution, but the choice of pill or gun was often made by the commanding officer, and he’s noticed an unusual... kindness, in the Captain’s regime.
Lax had been one of Hartman’s kinder descriptors. Which already made Ianto predisposed to being generous.
“So you don’t melt in the sunlight, after all,” said Captain Jack jovially.
Ianto resisted the impulse to roll his eyes. “Sorry to disappoint, sir. I am also quite fond of garlic in my fried rice.”
“They’re good for you, I hear.” Captain Jack laid back, resting against the base of the tree with his eyes nearly closed. “But seriously, you shouldn’t spend so much time down in the Hub. We’re sufficiently dependent on your skills with the coffee machine to not kick you out for not doing overtime. Young man like you should enjoy life.”
Ianto, already poised to deflect the topic, gazed doubtfully at his boss; when relaxed, the childlike quality that sometimes twinkled in his face became easier to see. “You’re not all that old, sir.”
“Then call me Jack,” the Captain replied easily, not opening his eyes.
The only warning was a soft flapping of wings, nearly indistinguishable from the normal background soundtrack of a park in the afternoon. Jack swore, loudly enough to turn nearby heads and send a cluster of children into gales of laughter, and jumped to his feet.
Ianto’s first instinct was to call the Hub, report an attack, empty out the park. Torchwood protocol drummed into his bones, as much as he hated it now.
Then he realized exactly why Jack was attacking his own greatcoat with mad flaps of his hands, and burst out laughing. Luckily he’d not gotten up when Jack did, since the force of his laughter left him rocking back and forth.
As tends to happen when a person has not employed specific faculties in an extended period of time, it went on for a while. When he finally mustered some self-control, he found the Captain looking at him in strangely thoughtful bemusement, the white spatter of the pigeon... missile on his coat forgotten. (Though Ianto noticed that the attempts to get them off had only smeared the stuff further.) “You should laugh more often; it looks good on you.”
Sobering a little more, but not completely, Ianto replied, “Not much reason to, sir, in our line of work.”
The Captain sat back down again. “You’re aware that I’m trying to change Torchwood? Rebuild it without the bad parts.”
“So I gathered, sir.” Too late for Lisa, too late for Ianto, but he can’t help admiring the Captain for it, for recognizing that things needed to change. It made what Ianto was doing more difficult to bear. But he’d made his choices.
He didn’t owe Torchwood anything, anymore.
But, he may owe something to Jack.
"Torchwood One was too rigid, to set in its protocols and regulations and policies," said the older man, leaning back again and staring up at the branches. "Everybody had to follow the same program. For me, that’s the worst part - changing the way people think, controlling them."
A part of Ianto wished he could care about Jack's plan for change, contribute, but he was a practical man, and he knew: he would heal Lisa completely, or die, with odds favoring the latter. And he wasn’t sure if he wanted the Captain to be the one holding the gun.
“You make us sound like machines,” Ianto commented, sufficiently distracted by his thoughts to not realize his words until they’d left him. He inwardly winced; he might as well have said ‘Cyberman’.
Jack didn't appear to notice, and raised an eyebrow. "You're part of Torchwood Three now, Mr. Jones. Better start getting used to it."
What a confusing man.
Jack got to his feet and brushed himself off. "We should get back to the Hub with lunch before the others start chewing the cables out to keep from starving."
They walked sedately back to the SUV; Ianto wondered what the point of their little excursion was, and tried to shake off the feeling that he’d failed some kind of test.