Fic: Career Choices (7/10)
Title: Career Choices
Author: rev02a
Rating: R
Warnings: Language, violence, sexual commentary
Beta: comestodecember
A/N: AU. I feel bad about the delay in posting. You get a second part today.
Summary: As John Hart’s music agent, Jack Harkness is slowly killing himself with work. A chance romance with a local café owner could be the spark he needs to take control of his life.
Part Six
Part Seven
Seven months later
Jack tugged on his tie as he exited the court. As the silk separated into two ends, the press surrounded Jack. They shoved their cameras and microphones into his face and asked questions. They wanted to know about John and the proceedings, but he ignored them all and forged his way into the men’s WC.
“Ianto?” he called, once inside.
“Mr. Harkness, just a quote?” questioned one of the reporters who had followed him into the bathroom.
Jack swung around, teeth bared angrily. “Sure, cowboy. I’m about to take a piss. That’s your quote… and it’s Captain Harkness.”
The reporter grinned, trying for charm, and stepped back. “I’ll just wait then.”
Jack glared before marching deeper into the loo. “Ianto?” he called again.
“Here,” came the despondent reply from one of the toilet stalls.
Jack stood outside it and placed his hand over the top of the door. “You ok?”
“I want this to be over,” Ianto replied, his voice flat and broken. “John just insinuated that I slept with you that night keep the two of you apart.”
“I know,” Jack replied, and dropped his head forward so that his forehead rested on the door. “We’ll get through this.”
Ianto reached over the door and touched Jack’s hand. He was apparently using the toilet for a hiding place only.
The latch on the stall opened and Jack stepped back. Ianto looked drawn. His skin seemed gray in the industrial lights. The days in the spotlight of the press had led to sleepless nights and corresponding dark circles under his eyes. He appeared to have lost weight. Just the sight of his lover’s appearance made guilt and heartburn flare.
“C’mon, Ianto,” Jack said softly, guiding Ianto by the arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
“We aren’t done, are we?” Ianto asked, concerned.
“Sure we are. That’s why we hired Charlie, remember?” Jack smiled, and then stuck his arm out tautly to keep the press back. “Excuse us.”
“We just want some insight to the inside of the court-“ the reporter began, but Jack shoved past him, pulling Ianto along with him.
Jack guided his partner through the flashbulbs and questions to a taxi. The driver looked a little alarmed at the circus that was swarming his customers, but drove when told to.
Jack directed the driver to their hotel and paid the man quickly. Cameras and reporters were waiting for them here, as well. Several bellboys worked as bouncers to get Ianto and Jack into the lobby safely. Once inside, Ianto leaned against Jack tiredly.
“When this is over,” he began, but let his sentence drift away.
“We’re moving into that new build over Cardiff Bay,” Jack reminded him, with a drawn smile.
Cardiff had become some sort of escape for both of them. They spoke of the new life they had waiting for them as if it were some sort of reward for escaping the madness of the John Hart arson/assault trial.
Charles Gaskell, the men’s attorney, had theorized that through combining the trials, the Crown could make a stronger case against John. In doing so, the Crown was able to show that John burned Myfanwy’s to hurt Jack by proxy through his partner.
The trial was sickening. The Crown showed the photographs of John’s sex exploits in Cambodia and his criminal record to create a profile of the sort of man the musician was. In retaliation, John’s attorneys attacked Jack and Ianto’s characters. They went so far as to give John a psychological evaluation that showed that the man was completely sane. They compared their study to psychological tests given during Ianto’s time as a doctor; the results of which showed that he was grief and guilt stricken.
“Dr. Jones left his practice because suicidal tendencies are not acceptable in his line of work, is that not true?” the attorneys had quizzed their witness.
The questions seemed to force Ianto into darkness. His health failed, his good humor disappeared. Months ago, Ianto was reminding Jack to live his life outside his job; now, Jack seemed to be fighting a losing battle to save Ianto’s sanity.
The couple ascended the lift silently. Ianto stared straight ahead, sightlessly. Jack watched his partner’s profile.
“I think I’ll order us a pizza,” Jack suggested, brightly. “We’ll lay around and watch old movies? What do you think?”
Ianto’s lip twitched. “I’m pretty tired.”
Jack closed his eyes, defeated. “All you do is sleep. It’s not good for you.”
The lift chimed and they exited to their room. Before the door, a man stood. Jack slowed, and prepared to force Ianto behind him to escape another reporter. Then the man turned.
“Owen!” Ianto exclaimed and hurried forward. Jack relaxed.
Owen offered his hand and once Ianto grasped it for a tight shake, the doctor tugged his friend into a hug.
“You bastard,” Owen snarked, “took me forever to convince the fucking hotel staff that Jack invited me.”
Ianto whipped around and smiled at Jack. “You brought him here?”
Jack shrugged and dug out his room key. “You’ve been so down, I thought it might help.”
“I could use a mini-holiday anyway,” Owen asserted, and he followed Jack into the suite. He gave a long whistle. “Well isn’t this swank?”
“Didn’t you hear?” Jack asked with heavy sarcasm. “It was only all over the papers. I sold my place and I’m moving to Wales.”
“The press swarmed my flat,” Ianto offered. “We packed it up and moved in here. At least here we have people to help keep the media back.”
Owen dropped his bag on the floor next to the sofa. “You look like shit,” he announced, looking at Ianto.
Ianto shrugged. Jack stuck his hands in his pockets and watched the conversation with veiled interest.
“No,” Owen said, approaching his friend, “seriously, mate, you haven’t looked this bad since you left medicine and lost Lisa. What’s going on?”
Ianto ran a hand through his hair. “It’s this fucking trial. Everything that Jack and I haven’t told each other yet, it’s aired for the whole fucking country to hear. And that dickwad just sits there in his box watching the news affect us. It’s like he’s not even on trial.”
Jack started uncomfortably. That’s what this was about?
“I would have told you about Grey-“ he began.
Ianto interrupted. “I know that, Jack! In time, we would have had a chance to. Instead, you get to hear about my fucking deadbeat tad and sivved off mam, about being raised by my sister and then by five different fosters, about the Oshodi’s, about Adeola, about my fuck ups in uni, and Lisa, and all that other shit from someone else!”
Jack moved his hands from his pockets and instead crossed his arms.
Ianto continued. “There were things I wanted to tell you, Jack, but I never got a chance. Instead you got to hear about me planning to slit my wrists in Owen’s loo through a goddamn attorney!”
Owen groaned. “I need a drink.” He strode over to the minibar and grabbed a small assortment of alcohol. He dumped the multiple miniature bottles on the coffee table.
“I did not come here to be a couple’s therapist,” he snapped, as he wrenched off the lid to a bottle of whiskey. “Get over here and start drinking.”
Ianto dropped onto the couch and selected a scotch. He tossed it to Jack before he grabbed vodka for himself.
“You’ll puke if you drink too much of that,” Owen scolded him.
“Maybe I want to,” Ianto taunted and threw back his head to empty the bottle.
Jack pulled off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt collar. Then, he settled onto the floor with his back braced against the couch. “Nobody wants to puke,” he replied, sipping the scotch. Somehow it tasted better from a glass.
“Shit,” Owen grumbled to Ianto, “if you’re going to be an whiny, emo arse while we drink then you can just stop now. Is there room service in this swank place?” He located the menu and hotel telephone on his own. “You wankers want anything?”
As Owen placed their orders, Jack let his head fall back against the couch. He’s slept here the last few nights. Their relationship had been stretched too thin to be close. Lying side-by-side in the bed was just too intimate for them when nothing else was. There was another bed, but somehow, sleeping there seemed to be a defeat. It wasn’t like he was sleeping anyway.
He closed his eyes and wondered if things would ever be right again, or if John Hart had destroyed this relationship too. Maybe it would just fall apart at the end of the trial.
Then Ianto began to card his fingers through Jack’s hair. Jack opened his eyes quickly and met Ianto’s gaze. Owen hung up and then flopped onto the couch. He opened a bottle indiscriminately and flicked on the telly.
The news clicked on. A reporter droned on, but the photograph clearly showed John Hart kissing on one of the jury member’s necks.
“It is reported that this development will lead to the case being dismissed until a new jury can be called-“
“Fuck!” Jack yelled, as he jumped to his feet. He grabbed his mobile and dialed Charles. Over his shoulder, he heard Owen address Ianto.
Owen paused from sipping his bottle. “This is a sign,” he commented, looking to his friend.
“Oh?” Ianto asked, sounding dull and lifeless.
“Yes,” Owen decided, holding out his tiny bottle to toast Ianto, “it’s time to go to Cardiff and live, mate.”
Jack paused in his conversation with his attorney to face the two men on the sofa. Ianto looked thoughtfully from the television screen, to Jack on his mobile, to Owen offering a toast.
“Cheers,” he offered, before smiling at Jack and emptying the bottle in his hand.
Part Eight
Author: rev02a
Rating: R
Warnings: Language, violence, sexual commentary
Beta: comestodecember
A/N: AU. I feel bad about the delay in posting. You get a second part today.
Summary: As John Hart’s music agent, Jack Harkness is slowly killing himself with work. A chance romance with a local café owner could be the spark he needs to take control of his life.
Part Six
Part Seven
Seven months later
Jack tugged on his tie as he exited the court. As the silk separated into two ends, the press surrounded Jack. They shoved their cameras and microphones into his face and asked questions. They wanted to know about John and the proceedings, but he ignored them all and forged his way into the men’s WC.
“Ianto?” he called, once inside.
“Mr. Harkness, just a quote?” questioned one of the reporters who had followed him into the bathroom.
Jack swung around, teeth bared angrily. “Sure, cowboy. I’m about to take a piss. That’s your quote… and it’s Captain Harkness.”
The reporter grinned, trying for charm, and stepped back. “I’ll just wait then.”
Jack glared before marching deeper into the loo. “Ianto?” he called again.
“Here,” came the despondent reply from one of the toilet stalls.
Jack stood outside it and placed his hand over the top of the door. “You ok?”
“I want this to be over,” Ianto replied, his voice flat and broken. “John just insinuated that I slept with you that night keep the two of you apart.”
“I know,” Jack replied, and dropped his head forward so that his forehead rested on the door. “We’ll get through this.”
Ianto reached over the door and touched Jack’s hand. He was apparently using the toilet for a hiding place only.
The latch on the stall opened and Jack stepped back. Ianto looked drawn. His skin seemed gray in the industrial lights. The days in the spotlight of the press had led to sleepless nights and corresponding dark circles under his eyes. He appeared to have lost weight. Just the sight of his lover’s appearance made guilt and heartburn flare.
“C’mon, Ianto,” Jack said softly, guiding Ianto by the arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
“We aren’t done, are we?” Ianto asked, concerned.
“Sure we are. That’s why we hired Charlie, remember?” Jack smiled, and then stuck his arm out tautly to keep the press back. “Excuse us.”
“We just want some insight to the inside of the court-“ the reporter began, but Jack shoved past him, pulling Ianto along with him.
Jack guided his partner through the flashbulbs and questions to a taxi. The driver looked a little alarmed at the circus that was swarming his customers, but drove when told to.
Jack directed the driver to their hotel and paid the man quickly. Cameras and reporters were waiting for them here, as well. Several bellboys worked as bouncers to get Ianto and Jack into the lobby safely. Once inside, Ianto leaned against Jack tiredly.
“When this is over,” he began, but let his sentence drift away.
“We’re moving into that new build over Cardiff Bay,” Jack reminded him, with a drawn smile.
Cardiff had become some sort of escape for both of them. They spoke of the new life they had waiting for them as if it were some sort of reward for escaping the madness of the John Hart arson/assault trial.
Charles Gaskell, the men’s attorney, had theorized that through combining the trials, the Crown could make a stronger case against John. In doing so, the Crown was able to show that John burned Myfanwy’s to hurt Jack by proxy through his partner.
The trial was sickening. The Crown showed the photographs of John’s sex exploits in Cambodia and his criminal record to create a profile of the sort of man the musician was. In retaliation, John’s attorneys attacked Jack and Ianto’s characters. They went so far as to give John a psychological evaluation that showed that the man was completely sane. They compared their study to psychological tests given during Ianto’s time as a doctor; the results of which showed that he was grief and guilt stricken.
“Dr. Jones left his practice because suicidal tendencies are not acceptable in his line of work, is that not true?” the attorneys had quizzed their witness.
The questions seemed to force Ianto into darkness. His health failed, his good humor disappeared. Months ago, Ianto was reminding Jack to live his life outside his job; now, Jack seemed to be fighting a losing battle to save Ianto’s sanity.
The couple ascended the lift silently. Ianto stared straight ahead, sightlessly. Jack watched his partner’s profile.
“I think I’ll order us a pizza,” Jack suggested, brightly. “We’ll lay around and watch old movies? What do you think?”
Ianto’s lip twitched. “I’m pretty tired.”
Jack closed his eyes, defeated. “All you do is sleep. It’s not good for you.”
The lift chimed and they exited to their room. Before the door, a man stood. Jack slowed, and prepared to force Ianto behind him to escape another reporter. Then the man turned.
“Owen!” Ianto exclaimed and hurried forward. Jack relaxed.
Owen offered his hand and once Ianto grasped it for a tight shake, the doctor tugged his friend into a hug.
“You bastard,” Owen snarked, “took me forever to convince the fucking hotel staff that Jack invited me.”
Ianto whipped around and smiled at Jack. “You brought him here?”
Jack shrugged and dug out his room key. “You’ve been so down, I thought it might help.”
“I could use a mini-holiday anyway,” Owen asserted, and he followed Jack into the suite. He gave a long whistle. “Well isn’t this swank?”
“Didn’t you hear?” Jack asked with heavy sarcasm. “It was only all over the papers. I sold my place and I’m moving to Wales.”
“The press swarmed my flat,” Ianto offered. “We packed it up and moved in here. At least here we have people to help keep the media back.”
Owen dropped his bag on the floor next to the sofa. “You look like shit,” he announced, looking at Ianto.
Ianto shrugged. Jack stuck his hands in his pockets and watched the conversation with veiled interest.
“No,” Owen said, approaching his friend, “seriously, mate, you haven’t looked this bad since you left medicine and lost Lisa. What’s going on?”
Ianto ran a hand through his hair. “It’s this fucking trial. Everything that Jack and I haven’t told each other yet, it’s aired for the whole fucking country to hear. And that dickwad just sits there in his box watching the news affect us. It’s like he’s not even on trial.”
Jack started uncomfortably. That’s what this was about?
“I would have told you about Grey-“ he began.
Ianto interrupted. “I know that, Jack! In time, we would have had a chance to. Instead, you get to hear about my fucking deadbeat tad and sivved off mam, about being raised by my sister and then by five different fosters, about the Oshodi’s, about Adeola, about my fuck ups in uni, and Lisa, and all that other shit from someone else!”
Jack moved his hands from his pockets and instead crossed his arms.
Ianto continued. “There were things I wanted to tell you, Jack, but I never got a chance. Instead you got to hear about me planning to slit my wrists in Owen’s loo through a goddamn attorney!”
Owen groaned. “I need a drink.” He strode over to the minibar and grabbed a small assortment of alcohol. He dumped the multiple miniature bottles on the coffee table.
“I did not come here to be a couple’s therapist,” he snapped, as he wrenched off the lid to a bottle of whiskey. “Get over here and start drinking.”
Ianto dropped onto the couch and selected a scotch. He tossed it to Jack before he grabbed vodka for himself.
“You’ll puke if you drink too much of that,” Owen scolded him.
“Maybe I want to,” Ianto taunted and threw back his head to empty the bottle.
Jack pulled off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt collar. Then, he settled onto the floor with his back braced against the couch. “Nobody wants to puke,” he replied, sipping the scotch. Somehow it tasted better from a glass.
“Shit,” Owen grumbled to Ianto, “if you’re going to be an whiny, emo arse while we drink then you can just stop now. Is there room service in this swank place?” He located the menu and hotel telephone on his own. “You wankers want anything?”
As Owen placed their orders, Jack let his head fall back against the couch. He’s slept here the last few nights. Their relationship had been stretched too thin to be close. Lying side-by-side in the bed was just too intimate for them when nothing else was. There was another bed, but somehow, sleeping there seemed to be a defeat. It wasn’t like he was sleeping anyway.
He closed his eyes and wondered if things would ever be right again, or if John Hart had destroyed this relationship too. Maybe it would just fall apart at the end of the trial.
Then Ianto began to card his fingers through Jack’s hair. Jack opened his eyes quickly and met Ianto’s gaze. Owen hung up and then flopped onto the couch. He opened a bottle indiscriminately and flicked on the telly.
The news clicked on. A reporter droned on, but the photograph clearly showed John Hart kissing on one of the jury member’s necks.
“It is reported that this development will lead to the case being dismissed until a new jury can be called-“
“Fuck!” Jack yelled, as he jumped to his feet. He grabbed his mobile and dialed Charles. Over his shoulder, he heard Owen address Ianto.
Owen paused from sipping his bottle. “This is a sign,” he commented, looking to his friend.
“Oh?” Ianto asked, sounding dull and lifeless.
“Yes,” Owen decided, holding out his tiny bottle to toast Ianto, “it’s time to go to Cardiff and live, mate.”
Jack paused in his conversation with his attorney to face the two men on the sofa. Ianto looked thoughtfully from the television screen, to Jack on his mobile, to Owen offering a toast.
“Cheers,” he offered, before smiling at Jack and emptying the bottle in his hand.
Part Eight