Fic: For He Comes, The Human Child 1/2
Title: For He Comes, The Human Child
Rating: T
Word count: ~10,330 - split into two parts because of length
Beta’d by:
et_muse
Timeline: Set after ‘Exit Wounds’ but before ‘Children of Earth’. Contains mention of some things that could conceivably be thought of as spoilers, but since they were written in before ‘Children of Earth’ airs, nothing major and certainly nothing specific.
Characters: Ianto-centric, Jack/Ianto, Tish Jones, Gwen.
Disclaimer: The characters aren’t mine, the canon isn’t mine, but the specific storyline sort of is. I’m not making money out of this, basically.
Series: The ‘Human Child’ series, and anything before this is fair game. See my master list for the order of stories. Specific mention of something from ‘ Whilst The World Is Full Of Troubles’.
Notes: The fairies have accepted Ianto’s relationship with Jack, but now they bring a gift, something that may not be welcome but that will certainly change Ianto’s life forever.
He wakes because of the alarm clock, and he wakes because he has lost the bed covers. Ianto rolls over, slaps at the alarm to silence it, and cannot help but smile at the sight of his bed partner. He is chilled, bare flesh prickling with it, but there is Jack, bundled up in the duvet as if he is an animal, burrowing to hide from winter.
It amuses him because it is domestic; it amuses him because he knows Jack has spent long years - hundreds of years, now - away from his native desert planet, and yet Jack still feels the cold keenly. It amuses him because Jack is here, in his bed, and there is a tuft of hair poking out from one end of the bundle.
He leaves the bed, wraps himself in his dressing gown and lets Jack slumber for now. He has long since learnt that his morning routine goes faster without Jack’s interference, Jack’s insistence that he is helpful, and if he misses Jack in the shower, he will never admit it.
The shower wakes him up properly, warm water streaming down his body, over his face, washing away the chill and helping him feel able to face the day. Face another day in the Hub, another day without Tosh and Owen. Another day of keeping going, although he will admit that keeping going is a little easier now that Gwen knows about him, now he can be open with his friend, as well as with his lover.
Arms slide around his waist, a bare chest presses against his back, and Ianto leans back against Jack. He closes his eyes, he smiles, and when Jack’s fingers linger a moment too long at his ticklish sides, he wriggles around and presses up against the other man.
“Morning,” says Jack, and he looks innocent, as though he wasn’t about to make Ianto squirm. “You’ve got the cutest mark just…here.” He kisses Ianto’s forehead, and Ianto rolls his eyes. Jack is almost disturbingly sappy in the morning, but Ianto doesn’t mind, not really. There are still far too few mornings with Jack, mornings where Jack has been able to spend the whole night in his bed and Ianto has woken up to him. They are more now, more since Gray and his living burial, but still not so frequent that Ianto feels able to take it for granted.
“Penny for them,” says Jack, and Ianto smiles again at the old-fashioned saying.
“My grandmother used to say that,” he tells Jack, and Jack predictably makes a face. “I was just wool-gathering,” he says, and he kisses his lover, ignoring morning breath, ignoring the press of time, just enjoying the moment.
Something makes him pull back, something off, something tickling at the edges of his senses. It isn’t something he can hear, not something Jack could recognise, but he knows this sensation, knows where it comes from, knows who has caused it.
Jack knows the expression on his face, recognises it at once, because he sighs and looks resigned.
“Sorry,” says Ianto, and he kisses Jack again slowly, tries to show Jack how sorry he is, because he knows that as soon as he gets out of the shower he will have to deal with his errant subjects who have, he knows, caused some kind of new mischief.
“I know,” Jack murmurs against his mouth. “It’s okay. I get it.” And Ianto knows he means it, knows Jack really does think it’s okay. They have come so far in such a relatively short time, he and Jack, and Ianto thinks Jack really believes he’s fine with Ianto’s fairies, with his kingship, with everything.
But the fairies have rules now; Ianto has given them rules to follow, rules that they must follow if they want Ianto to continue as their Teague of the Teagues, and one of those rules is that they do not come to him when he is bathing. So he smiles at Jack and presses close again, lifts a hand to push Jack’s fringe off his forehead, and moves just so, just enough to tease at the idea of friction, slick body against slick body.
“Ianto,” says Jack, and he smiles now because he can read Ianto, knows what Ianto intends. The fairies must wait; Ianto wants nothing other than to wake up in the shower with Jack.
The water turns cold eventually, and they stumble from the shower, rubbing themselves dry and each other too, casual brushes of towel against skin, fingers against skin, and Jack pins Ianto to the wall, nips at his jaw.
“You getting anything off them?” he asks, and Ianto closes his eyes, enjoying the closeness, trying to ward off whatever duty will tear him away soon.
“Nothing,” he says, and tilts his head just so, to give Jack just that bit more skin. “It doesn’t work like that,” he adds, and it is almost true. He can sometimes feel them out a little from a distance like this, sometimes get a sense of what they want or need, but not this time. This time there is just that tickling sensation of something.
“Nothing,” he says again, but suddenly he can hear something. Jack freezes against him, hands still on his waist, and they stare at each other.
There is something in the flat.
There is something - someone? - crying in the flat, and Jack mouths a curse.
“Gun’s in the bedroom,” he murmurs, voice barely a breath against Ianto’s cheek. “Yours?”
“The same,” Ianto says in a similar soft tone. “Might not be…” He pauses, shakes his head slightly. “I think it’s something to do with -”
“The fairies,” Jack completes, and looks aggrieved. “Right.”
Ianto pushes gently, moves Jack away, and wraps his dressing gown around himself again. He takes a deep breath, almost steeling himself, and then he opens the bathroom door and steps out. Jack is behind him, sticking close and overly-cautious, and Ianto doesn’t berate him even in his mind. He likes the protectiveness.
He moves down the hallway, silent on the carpeted floor, Jack just as silent at his back. They edge through the open door into the living room, inch around to see what’s there - and Ianto stops still, mouth open as he gapes at the crying something - the crying someone - laying in a cocoon of blankets on the floor before his television.
“It’s a baby,” breathes Jack, and is into the room in an instant. Ianto stays back, watches as his lover drops to his knees and reaches into the blankets and lifts the infant into his arms. He watches as Jack cradles the baby, brings it close to his chest and checks its nappy with one hand.
Ianto watches as Jack rocks the baby gently to calm it, and he tries to keep calm himself.
“It’s a girl,” Jack announces after a moment, and looks up at Ianto. “Did the fairies do this?” he asks, and he is genuinely confused, it shows clearly on his face. “Why would they bring a child?”
“It’s not just a child,” says Ianto, forcing his voice to be even, compelling himself to composure. His palms are cold, too cold for the flat that has heated up since he awoke. It is a danger sign; he knows he must be careful. Whatever reason they had for bringing the child here, wherever she came from, Ianto must not - will not - harm her.
“It’s not just a child,” he repeats. “She’s a Chosen One.”
Jack stares at him then, stares for a long moment, and then he manoeuvres himself upright and holds the baby girl even closer to himself.
“A Chosen One,” he repeats, and the words - the title, rather - hang in the air between them. Ianto’s hands are freezing, and he can see Jack’s bare skin begin to prickle. “She…she’s just a baby.”
“No, she’s -” Ianto has to break off, has to turn away and clench his hands into fists. The flat is empty of fairy presence, empty of that otherworld presence because they know he is angry, know he will be furious with them.
“Talk to me,” says Jack, coaxing, but Ianto just shakes from the effort of suppressing his anger. Ice creeps from under his bare feet, frosting the carpet, and Jack hisses and steps back. “Ianto, c’mon,” he says. “Take a deep breath.”
“Those stupid - thoughtless -” Ianto cuts himself off, turns back and looks at Jack, looks at the infant, and exhales slowly. “She shouldn’t be here,” he says. “She probably doesn’t even belong in this time, she’s not -” He lifts a hand to his head, scratches fingers through his damp hair. “This is -” The child lets out a particularly loud wail and Ianto falls silent, stares as Jack fusses, and then he shakes his head and goes to sit limply on the sofa.
“This isn’t right,” he complains, and Jack huffs a laugh.
“Truer words,” he says. “Here, I think she’s hungry. Hold her while I warm up some milk.”
He thrusts the baby at Ianto, waits only long enough to make sure Ianto won’t drop the infant, and then he disappears towards the kitchen. Ianto stares down at the baby, and the baby seems to stare back up at him.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Ianto says, and the baby stops crying for a moment, blinks, and then makes a kind of gurgling noise. Ianto holds her carefully, sees blue eyes and wispy dark hair and wonders where she came from, if her parents are frantically searching for the stolen child, if there can possibly be any justification for taking a child this young.
“I’m not sure how well she’s gonna be able to drink this,” says Jack, and Ianto is shaking when Jack takes the girl back into his arms. Jack sits next to him, cradles the child in one arm and places a mug of milk on the coffee table before them. He dips a finger into the liquid, and Ianto is almost mesmerised as he watches Jack put his wet finger to the girl’s mouth, as he sees the girl lap the milk from his skin.
“She shouldn’t be here,” he whispers almost despairingly. “Jack, why would they bring me a child?”
“You’d know better than I would,” says Jack, not looking at Ianto as he moves his finger from the child’s mouth to the mug and back again. He feeds the infant, is silent as he waits for Ianto to think.
But Ianto cannot think, is struggling to form coherent thoughts in his head, and knows the anger is still burning beneath the surface of this new calm. He asked why the fairies would bring a child, and yet deep in his heart he knows the truth, knows the why of it. He knows, has known ever since they gave their blessing to Jack, gave him to Jack’s keeping, that this would happen. Must happen.
Because he is Teague of the Teagues, and men cannot bear children.
Suddenly they are there, the fairies, not many because they know his anger, but enough that they can form a rough ring around the sofa, around he and Jack and the child. They circle in a slow dance, arms and wings fluttering gracefully, and Ianto can see only those he knows well, only those who have been his greatest comfort and his closest friends.
There is a reason they have been sent, a reason they are the emissaries now. They hope that these fairies, these in particular of all his subjects, will be enough to banish his anger…or enough, at least, to mute it.
“Teague of the Teagues,” they whisper, uneasy but not nearly frightened enough for Ianto’s taste. He wants them to be frightened, wants them to fear - but he is afraid himself, afraid of unleashing that part of himself before Jack. It is something Jack has only seen twice before, and they haven’t spoken of it. “Teague of the Teagues, we had to.”
“Had to,” Ianto repeats, and there is a flatness to his voice that makes Jack flinch away from him a little. “Had to?” He shakes his head slowly. “There is no reason - no possible excuse -”
“You’re our king,” says one fairy, almost singing the words. It is the fairy that gave their blessing, the fairy that stayed with Jack on the Valiant, that called him Jack No-Name and gave Ianto into Jack’s protection. “You’re our king,” he says again and giggles, a high-pitched, mischievous sound. “Fathers and sons, mothers and daughters -”
“But she already has a father!” Ianto says, rising now and taking a step towards the fairy. “She has a mother! Where did you take her from? When?”
The fairy skips back a step, looks contrite now, but Ianto knows it is false, knows there’s no way they are truly sorry.
“Chosen One,” they say together, sulky now. “Ours to take, ours to play with.”
“A baby,” snaps Ianto, anger rising again within him, ice crackling from his hands, and Jack murmurs something soothing to the child in his arms. “A baby, you had no right - she had no choice!”
And he can see they do hesitate over that, feel something like regret over the way they have done this. The Chosen Ones are not only chosen by the fairies, they choose in turn, and this baby girl has no way to give consent, no way to choose her fate, and Ianto knows, he knows that there is no way they will agree to return her.
His choices, like the infant’s, have been stripped from him.
“Only a Chosen One,” says the fairy before him, Jack’s fairy, and Ianto shakes his head wearily because he knows why they say ‘only’. Teague of the Teagues is a title and a birthright, and the line originated with a Chosen One. Only another of that kind could be raised with the knowledge, the gifts, the ability to become Teague of the Teagues.
For centuries it has been the people of his family that have held that responsibility, that ability, but Ianto will have no children. Cannot imagine ever leaving Jack, even wanting to, and the lack of children in his future is something he accepts - or had accepted, before.
“She is for you,” they whisper forlornly. “Kings must have heirs.”
“Hold up,” says Jack, and he stands now, the baby cradled carefully in his arms, and he looks between Ianto and the fairy. He is confused, and Ianto aches for him. Aches because he is so angry and so scared and so sure that nothing can be done, that the timelines cannot be changed more than they have been now. This child has come from some when, some where, but he does not think she can be returned.
“This baby’s a Chosen One, from some other time,” Jack says, and Ianto nods, silent. “And they’ve brought her here - to what, be your heir? Because you don’t have kids?” Again Ianto nods, and now Jack stares at him, incredulous. “That’s insane,” he protests. “Why now? Why not six months ago? Why not in three years?”
“You promised his protection,” says the fairy, dancing in the air in front of Jack now. “Jack No-Name. Ianto is ours, Teague of the Teagues, but he bears no children. He has no line.”
“You remember,” says Ianto then, choking on the words, “you remember when we fought? After the Night Travellers?” And Jack nods, but Ianto has to pause for a moment, has to swallow hard before continuing. “Afterwards, they - he asked if you’d protect me, and you said yes.”
“Yeah, I remember,” says Jack, guarded, cautious now. “You were kind of freaked out by it.”
“It was a promise,” Ianto whispers. “And they take their promises seriously. Jack…Jack, I don’t ever want to leave you.”
“I know,” says Jack, and he moves as if to embrace Ianto, but remembers the child in his arms and shakes his head instead. “Ianto, I know that. And you know I love you, I’ll be with you your whole life if you want me.”
“But that’s it,” says Ianto desperately. “I want that. I want my whole life with you. And if I’m with you, I can’t have children. There won’t be any more Teagues, Jack. Not naturally.”
Jack stares at him, processes this, and then he gives a short, mirthless bark of laughter. “I guess the fairies aren’t so keen on surrogacy, huh?” And Ianto can only shrug, helpless, because Jack has grasped the facts, has understood what this is, and all of Ianto’s anger has fled before the fairies’ insistence that they have only done what is right.
The baby girl in Jack’s arms has fallen asleep, warm and fed, and something inside Ianto hurts just a little at the sight.
“Can they take her back?” Jack asks, and Ianto turns to them, is silent once again because words are failing him.
“No,” they hiss, sulky again. “We twist and twirl through time, change only the changeable. The child is taken. This is. It cannot be changed.”
Jack sighs, and Ianto looks at him again.
“Alright,” says the immortal, his lover and his captain, and Ianto frowns in confusion. “Alright,” Jack says again. “Let’s get dressed. We need to brief Gwen, and we need to go shopping.”
“Shopping?” Ianto echoes.
“Yeah, well, even if we can’t keep her, she’ll need food and diapers,” mutters Jack, but there is a strange expression on his face, and as the fairies disappear, Ianto understands his lover’s wistfulness.
* * *
Gwen, when they reach the Hub and she sees the baby, almost snatches the child from Jack’s arms and coos over her maternally. Ianto and Jack exchange a glance - really, Ianto hadn’t expected anything else - and Ianto goes to make coffee.
He takes his time, measuring out the coffee, starting the machine, searching the cupboards for the last of Jack’s favourite biscuits. He ignores the voices, low murmurings that are coming out of Jack’s office. Jack and Gwen have taken the baby there, are talking about him and about the child and the situation and what will need to be done.
Because he can’t keep her. He knows that. He can’t send her back but there is no way of keeping her because he is Torchwood, he knows his life expectancy as well as - perhaps better than - anyone else. Gwen still mourns Tosh and Owen, and Ianto himself feels their loss like a hole in his heart, but after all this is not the first time he has lost team mates. He has lost more than Gwen can conceive, lost friends and colleagues and people he only knew to nod at in the hallways and people he didn’t even know that well. Lost them all in one bloody day, and now…
Now he has Jack, and Torchwood, and his fairies. He cannot have a daughter.
Must not.
He arranges the mugs on a tray with the plate of biscuits, and as an afterthought he takes a banana from the fruit bowl, peels it, and puts it in a bowl. He mashes it with a fork and adds it to the tray, telling himself that he isn’t concerned, is not forming an attachment, is just making sure the girl is fed appropriately.
On the way to Jack’s office, he tries to think of adoption agencies in Cardiff, and ignores the mournful sighing that echoes around the Hub. The fairies will not, cannot, change his mind. He is determined.
Jack is holding the girl again, sitting in his chair with her on his knee, and Gwen is leaning against the desk in the way that has always particularly irritated Ianto. It hints at an intimacy that Ianto wants to keep to himself, but he knows Jack doesn’t care for Gwen that way, so as always he pushes the irritation aside as he sets the tray on the desk. Gwen gives him a nervous smile, and Jack glances up and outright grins.
“Isn’t she gorgeous,” he says, a statement rather than a question, and Ianto lifts one eyebrow slightly, presses his lips together a little and passes Jack a biscuit. Jack gives him a knowing look - he knows Ianto uses these biscuits to coax him into doing things - but Ianto doesn’t respond. He barely looks at the little girl, the baby child, ignores her as much as he can.
“Does she have a name?” Gwen asks, and she looks uncertain. “Did they tell you - I mean, what’s her name?”
“They don’t know,” says Ianto and he studies his mug carefully. “Or at least, they didn’t care to tell me.” He gives a small, bland smile and pretends not to hear Jack’s sigh. “Besides, it’s easier if we don’t name her. She’s young, and prospective parents -”
“No,” says Jack, and Ianto looks at him, surprised. “No, don’t talk about prospective parents.”
“There’s no way I can keep her,” Ianto says, frowning a little. “Of course I can’t keep her. I thought you agreed with me.” ‘Even if we can’t keep her,’ Jack had said, and Ianto had thought that meant…thought Jack had agreed that they couldn’t possibly, he couldn’t possibly keep the girl.
“But she’s - look, I don’t pretend to understand this,” said Gwen, standing straight and folding her arms. “But if they brought her here, the fairies I mean, and there’s no way for her to go back…”
“Gwen,” says Ianto, a bite in his voice, “we’re Torchwood. There’s no crèche for children of employees.” She looks stricken, and he wonders for a moment if she hadn’t thought of that, if she and Rhys have talked of children, and wonders also if he cares whether he is shattering dreams or not.
This child cannot be his. Cannot afford to belong to him, because he will die. Sooner rather than later, in this job, and his heart aches to think of Jack’s sorrow when that happens, and how can he justify this life if he has a child to care for? And yet how can he ever think of leaving? To leave Torchwood would be to leave Jack - not only that, but to forget everything he has been and done since joining the Institute, so long ago. Forget Lisa.
Forget Jack.
There is no option, and Ianto can only hope Jack understands that.
“Why can’t there be?” Jack asks abruptly, and Ianto turns to him, stares, and Jack looks back. “Why shouldn’t you keep her?”
“Jack,” says Ianto, eyes wide. “It - you can’t -” Ianto shakes his head. Jack turns the child carefully in his lap, lets her look up at Ianto with wide blue eyes, mouth round and lips glistening with drool.
She is lovely. But he cannot keep her.
“Jack, Torchwood employees die young,” he says, voice low. “Bringing a child into that would be irresponsible.” He held up a hand. “And please don’t suggest leaving.”
“I wasn’t going to,” says Jack, and they look at each other for a moment. Ianto nods at last, convinced and relieved that Jack doesn’t want him to leave, doesn’t think he should leave. Jack wants him here still, and that is a relief. “But Gwen’s right, there’s no way to send her back. The fairies brought her for you - because, for whatever reason, they think you need an heir.”
Ianto closes his eyes, lifts a hand to run his fingers through his hair, turns away from them and stares out at the empty Hub. He misses Tosh, misses her now particularly because she would know what he is feeling and why, would be able to understand the part of him that wishes he could keep the girl and the part of him that knows it would be impossible.
He misses his best friend. Toshiko would never tell him what to do, would not play devil’s advocate as he suspects Gwen will, wouldn’t dream of putting pressure on him about this. She would listen to him, let him talk himself out, and then she would hug him and ask him what he wants.
Owen, on the other hand, would tell him to stop being such an idiot, and give the child to a loving couple who have room in their lives for her. Only, Ianto reflects, he would say it more colourfully.
“Ianto,” says Jack. “We could…we could work it out.” Ianto says nothing, and Jack clears his throat. “Gwen, why don’t you take her out to the sofa, give her some of that banana.”
“But I -”
“Gwen,” says Jack, and there is a warning in his voice. Ianto doesn’t turn to see, but he knows the way Jack is looking at Gwen. Knows that expression, knows that Gwen will agree. A moment later there is movement in the office behind him, and then Gwen passes him, carrying the baby. She hooks the door with a foot, pulling it shut behind her, and then Ianto turns into Jack’s ready embrace.
“I got you,” Jack murmurs, and Ianto allows himself to be held, to be safe in Jack’s arms, to lean against his lover and just inhale Jack’s scent. Here in Jack’s arms he doesn’t have to think about any of it.
Not yet, anyway. For a while he can just be.
But then Jack inhales and Ianto nods against his shoulder, knows he has to speak, has to talk to Jack; they have to discuss this.
But Jack speaks first.
“There’s someone I know,” he murmurs. “Martha’s sister. She knows about aliens, she’s good with kids, has first aid certification…she’s looking for a job. She could come and…”
“And what?” Ianto asks wearily. “Look after the child? She’s not mine, Jack. She’s not ours.” He pulls away from Jack a little, looks at him, lifts a hand to cup Jack’s cheek. “She can’t be,” he whispers. “Look at us. How can we have a child?”
“Ianto,” sighs Jack, and he lowers his head, rests his forehead on Ianto’s shoulder. “Why else?” he asks. “You said childcare, I’ve found a solution to that. What other problems do you have with this?”
“I…” Ianto struggles for words, swallows hard and closes his eyes against unexpected tears. “I’m going to die, Jack.” Jack’s fingers on his hips dig in a little, and he hurries to soothe the sting of his words. “Not today. Not tomorrow. I’m not planning on…I’m not sick. But I’m Torchwood, Jack. We die young, and I’ve already been with the Institute for four years.”
Jack lifts his head again, looks at Ianto with a bleak expression that tells how well he knows the numbers, knows how lucky they have been so far, knows what the odds are of Ianto surviving another four years. He of all people knows, Ianto realises, because he has seen so many of them die.
“Alright,” says Jack, and if his voice is shaking a little, neither of them will acknowledge it. “So you’re going to die one day. Parents die, and children go on. And I - I’m not going anywhere, Ianto. If we do this, I’m never going to leave her.”
Ianto hides his immediate response, knows it isn’t worthy of him to remind Jack of the Doctor because he understands that, he truly does, and he is mostly accepting of the Doctor’s pull over Jack. The Doctor is Jack’s version of Ianto’s fairies, and relationships, he reminds himself wryly, are give and take.
Instead he chooses to turn that forever around on Jack.
“She’ll grow up, Jack,” he says. “She’s going to grow up and grow old. Are you honestly telling me you’ll be able to handle that, if we do take her in? You’ll love her and you’ll lose her. What if she ends up resenting you?”
“What if you end up resenting me?” Jack returns. Ianto flinches slightly, but then he nods. That reservation, at least, has poor foundations. “Ianto, I’ve had children before.” Ianto frowns faintly, chagrined at himself for forgetting that. He prides himself on remembering everything about Jack, he gathers every morsel of information and holds it close to himself. “I’ve watched them grow up and grow old. There’s…” Jack looks away, jaw tensed, and Ianto rests his hands on Jack’s shoulders, offers silent support. “There’s children out there, right now…they don’t know about me. It’s better that way.”
He takes a deep breath and looks back at Ianto. “She would always have someone,” he promises. “Even if she ended up resenting me. If she was ours, I would always be there for her.”
Ianto swallows, nods, knows that it is no idle promise. Jack does not make idle promises, does not give Ianto any promise that he does not believe wholeheartedly he will be able to fulfil. Not any longer.
“So,” says Jack then, all melancholy vanished, “what other reasons have you cooked up in there?”
Ianto has to chuckle, just a little, because Jack is right. Jack is right, Ianto has concocted reasons, some of which make sense and some of which don’t, but none of which mean anything if…
If Jack will do this with him. If he dares to hope that he can keep her.
“She’ll be different,” he says at last. “She won’t be like other kids.” Jack lifts an eyebrow, doesn’t say any of the myriad things that Ianto knows are on the tip of his tongue about people who are different, who aren’t like others - after all, they’re Torchwood - but Ianto explains a little anyway. “She’ll have gifts, she’ll be able to do things. She won’t have friends like other kids, she’ll have…she’ll have the fairies, and they’ll always be around, Jack.” He is shaking, he realises, and Jack is holding him close, holding him tight to keep him from shaking apart.
“She’ll be like you,” Jack murmurs. “She’ll be like you, Ianto Jones.” He presses a kiss to Ianto’s forehead, lifts a hand to cradle his head. “It’s been years, hasn’t it? Since any of your family…”
And Ianto nods, realises that perhaps that is what scares him most of all. He has been alone with his gifts, responsibilities, since his mother died so many years ago. His father had meant well, but when Bronwen Jones died in that car crash, Ianto had been left without any human who was the same as him. His grandmother long dead, none of the cousins with the same responsibilities, the same feeling of things…
“You’d need to meet Tish,” Jack says then. “Martha’s sister. See what you think of her.”
“Yes,” says Ianto, and he presses a chaste kiss to Jack’s mouth. “Yes, that’s a good idea.”
“I mean, I’m assuming here that you want the child. If you don’t…”
Ianto kisses him again, this kiss not chaste, not chaste at all but teasing and wet and somehow thankful as Ianto clings to Jack, presses against him, lets his hands drift to Jack’s arse and swallows Jack’s groan in his mouth. Jack in turn clutches at his hair, his shoulders, drops a hand to his waist and seems intent on possessing him utterly. Ianto does not object, would not pull away except that that he is aware of Gwen out in the Hub with the child - with the girl who has been Chosen as his heir.
And he has had no part in the choosing, and neither has she, but perhaps it doesn’t matter.
He rests his forehead against Jack’s as they regain their breath, smooth clothing, push aside their desire for the day - or a while, at least. Ianto has long since given up trying to persuade Jack against finding him in the tunnels and archives of the Hub and pressing him against cold walls, against filing cabinets and desks, or being pressed against those things in turn. If he’s honest with himself - and he has even admitted it to Jack once or twice - he likes those impromptu meetings, the kisses and the touches in the darkness, and the words Jack will so rarely speak in lighter places.
When he speaks, it is not to Jack.
“What’s her name?” he asks. Jack shifts slightly, looks at him but doesn’t say anything. Sometimes Ianto reassures him that the fairies do not listen to their private conversations, that they will seldom come to him if he does not call first, but sometimes Jack does not need that reassurance.
“What’s her name?” he asks again, and there is a whisper of wings, a fluttering of tiny lights, and they answer him.
“Tegan,” they tell him. “Her name is Tegan.”
Ianto laughs, has to laugh, and this time Jack does speak, tilting his head in curiosity.
“What is it?” he asks. “What’s so funny?” He doesn’t know, doesn’t understand. Ianto would, at any other time, tease him about living so long in Wales and yet not knowing more than a handful of words and phrases. But not now.
“Tegan Teague,” he says instead. “It has the same meaning.”
“Tegan Jones,” Jack corrects, but Ianto shakes his head. “No?”
“Tegan Teague Jones,” he says. “We’re all Teagues.” He kisses Jack again to forestall the inevitable questions about if he himself has Teague in his name, and then he pulls away from his lover. “I suppose,” he says, “we’d better tell Gwen.”
* * *
Continued in Part Two