Stray Thought 1/1
Disclaimer: They ain’t mine. They’re Mr. Davies’ and the BBC’s. So’s the show.
Rating: T, because there’s naughty stuff mentioned.
Pairing: Gwen/Ianto, but also a bit of Jack/Ianto and some Jack/Gwen, finally culminating in some Jack/Gwen/Ianto kind of stuff…so don’t read if that thought makes you go ‘eeew’.
Spoilers: For both seasons, through to Exit Wounds, and also for the last three episodes of Doctor Who season three.
Warning: This may be incredibly lame. I dunno. I hope not. It’s primarily a Gwen/Ianto (I feel the need to reiterate this so no one can get pissy at me later if they don’t like the pairing), and it’s probably OOC, though I did try to stay inside the lines. It’s also a tad angsty.
A/N: I was musing on some of what I’d written in chapter 14 of The Compass…Ianto’s thoughts, to be specific. And I was thinking…I could play with that…and one so hardly reads Gwen/Ianto stories these days, so I thought I’d give it a go.
So that’s basically what this story is; a version of events that may have transpired if Ianto hadn’t dismissed the idea of Gwen as ‘potential lover’ in favor of Gwen as ‘potential friend’. Hopefully it worked.
I should mention that this story doesn’t fit into the timeline of either The Compass or Bittersweetness, and (apart from the fact that it’s a Gwen/Ianto) kinda actually follows the show’s storyline. I know…weird.
Of course, ‘kinda’ is the operative fake-word there, because I’ve left out some bits that wouldn’t fit, and added enough time in between most of the episodes for me to do what I needed to do. But hey…it’s fanfiction. I’m allowed :)
Stray Thought
It had begun, as these things often do, with a stray thought. He’d seen her across the Hub. She’d looked up and smiled, eyes alight with mirth and amusement, smiling unabashedly at Jack’s latest joke. He’d wondered what it would take for her to smile at him like that again, and then dismissed the idea with a shake of his head.
Six weeks later, he was sitting next to her on the couch under the ceramic wall. They were laughing at another of Jack’s stories. Owen was throwing out comments from the autopsy bay, and Tosh was doubled over, helpless at her work station as Jack’s story wound to its conclusion.
He realized, as the woman beside him dissolved into giggles, that she smelled of berries and cream and femininity. Into his mind unbidden there arose an image of her and lazy days, lazy rainy days and soft blankets and nowhere to go and nothing to do except make love…
The image startled him. He hadn’t been expecting it. He wasn’t entirely sure where it came from. So, even though Jack was looking at him because he hadn’t been able to hide the hitch in his breath, even though she was still laughing and had not noticed his face, and even though he shook his head to dislodge the image, he was keenly aware of the soft warmth of her leg against his. She remained unaffected.
That image and the memory of warmth and berries and cream stuck with him for a week or more, but he was eventually able to put it aside for the sake of work. He considered himself quite over it. Enough that, when he saw her one morning, he was quite pleased with the fact that he didn’t think of her in any way other than as a friend.
And then, at the end of the week, she got bitten by a Weevil. And he’d found himself lurking in the door of the autopsy bay, watching Owen patch her up and trying to stop the hammering in his chest and wondering just when and how this had happened to him. He looked around at the sound of a soft breath and the sensation of someone at his shoulder.
Jack.
She looked up then, and smiled. But not at him. At Jack. He tried to figure out why his heart, which had been thudding so solidly, now clenched painfully. He could think of no logical reason…but plenty of illogical ones.
The ‘Owen thing’…he had mixed feelings about it. He took them out on the wood and cardboard Weevils in the shooting range. With a shotgun.
It didn’t help that he’d come across some of Lisa’s things that morning, when Tosh came in with her spiffy new necklace. One look at the over-sized Bowie shirt he’d bought Lisa for her birthday the year before, and all the pain and anguish that he’d been trying to hide away flooded past all the barriers he’d made for himself.
Intellectually he knew that he’d latched on to Gwen because it was easier to do this than wallow in the loss of Lisa. He may not have been able to put that into words, but he knew it. It was the source of most of his guilt about having feelings for Gwen, because those feelings felt more like a betrayal than the next step in moving on from a tragedy.
Either way, things weren’t any easier for him when he found out that Gwen had turned to Owen. Owen, who had turned grumpiness and sarcasm into an art form, and for whom the acquisition of a nightly bedmate was no trouble; Ianto didn’t see the attraction. And knowing the ultimate root of his feelings for her didn’t stop him from wanting her attention, or approval, or acceptance, or acknowledgement…or simply her.
Jack saw the targets later that day and wasn’t pleased. Wooden Weevils aren’t exactly Government Issue.
Some weeks later, when he lay in bed next to Jack and stared at the ceiling, he wondered precisely why he’d gotten into a relationship with their boss to start with. It wasn’t just because of the other man’s smile, or cock-sure grin, or brilliant hands. There was another reason, buried deep in his mind. It refused to be articulated.
But Jack was there, and he had those brilliant hands, and pretty soon, Ianto forgot completely what he had been thinking about and was lost…
Afterwards, as they lay there panting, Jack looked at him.
“You were thinking of her,” Jack said.
Ianto flushed, and looked away.
“Ianto,” Jack said warningly.
Ianto sighed. He knew better than to try to keep something from Jack.
“I was,” he admitted. “I can’t get her out of my head.” He couldn’t even explain how she’d gotten into his head.
Jack sighed, and said nothing for a moment. “How long?” he asked simply.
“Four months, two weeks, five days,” Ianto said without hesitation. To Jack’s face, he added, “I only know because the first day I thought about her that way was the same day that we were celebrating the capture of our 100th Weevil, so I wrote it down. And I added up the time yesterday.”
“Ah.” Jack was silent for a moment. “Are you going to tell her?”
“Jack!” Ianto flushed and glared. “I’m in bed with you, aren’t I?”
Jack grinned and shook his head. “Categories,” he said in the same tone one might say ‘blast!’ “When I come from, there wouldn’t even be a question as to what to do. No sense of territorial invasion, no guilt, no remorse, no taboo. We hardly even knew the meaning of the word.”
“That’s just great - for you,” Ianto said morosely.
"So what are you going to do about it?"
"Nothing. There's nothing to do. She has Rhys. She has you, for all you two dance around one another. She doesn't see me, not like that."
Jack shook his head and pulled Ianto in close. "What makes you so sure she doesn't see you?"
Ianto shrugged. It was nothing that he could articulate, but he knew it to be true.
"You need to talk to her about this," Jack continued. "Before it consumes you - and her."
"What do you mean?" Ianto asked.
"Love can be a very powerful thing, as you well know. Unrequited love, even if it's only perceived to be unrequited, can burn you from the inside out."
Ianto stayed silent for a long moment.
"Why are you pushing me towards her?" he eventually asked. "I'm with you."
"Have you learned nothing of the silliness of categories?" Jack asked. "I care about you a great deal, Ianto, as more than just an occasional shag. But I have no true claim on you, not really. And since we both see in her something to desire and respect, I can’t begrudge you that."
Ianto stared up at the ceiling, the confusion eating away at him. It was mostly derived from the years of social and cultural taboos that had been drilled into him since childhood. He didn't have all of them (he wouldn't be shagging his very male boss if he did), but there were some that were hard to put aside.
Exclusivity, for one. By all he held dear, having feelings for her while he was shagging (and in love with) their boss, and she was with Rhys (and in love with their boss) was wrong. Very wrong. The concept of monogamy was not one he could easily toss aside, and no matter how Jack protested it or told him he didn't have a claim, Ianto would always feel guilty. And jealous that Jack felt something for her, and she for him while there seemed to be nothing for Ianto himself...
Then again - she was in love with her boyfriend, it was clear in the way she spoke about him. At the same time, she was harboring feelings for Jack that she probably didn’t even realize she had. And the nonsense with Owen - now mercifully over - proved that she was willing to seek comfort from others if the occasion called for it.
Still. At the very least, he should respect that Rhys had the greater claim. He said as much.
"Oh dear," Jack said, stretching out beside his brooding bedmate. "I can see I have a lot of work to do with you."
And then Jack was gone.
Just…gone.
That whole bit of nonsense with Abbadon, with Gwen spending three days and nights in the morgue waiting for Jack to come back, and then...nothing.
Gwen took over. Owen didn't seem to mind, even though he was technically second in command; he seemed to recognize that Gwen had more of the better characteristics of a leader than he did. Certainly more compassion. It wouldn't have mattered anyway, because - however jealous of Gwen's love for the Captain he was - Ianto supported her, and so did Tosh.
They grew closer. It was hard not too. She knew he was pining after Jack as much as she herself was, so that drew them together. But it was more than that, for Ianto at least.
She smelled like berries and cream - though sometimes, these days, it was vanilla.
As the days wore on, he stuck closer and closer to her side. Even Tosh and Owen began to notice when he started making excuses to remain late at work with her, to bring her little things she needed or wanted. Tosh and Owen began to gripe at one another about favoritism, though their complaints lacked the bitter quality of true anger.
He became the sounding board for her ideas, her confidant. And as he drew closer, his dreams became more and more vivid. And through them all, the scent of berries and cream and vanilla mingled with the scent of Jack's aftershave because he'd taken to sleeping in Jack's bunk and in those dreams he could be everything she ever wanted and then some, and the best part was that she saw him...
She came in one day with a ring on her finger and a smile on her lips, and she greeted him with warmth and compassion. His heart contracted painfully, pierced as it was with a diamond-tipped arrow. She didn't notice. He hoped she hadn't noticed. He wanted her to be happy, almost as much as he wanted her happy smile to be because of him.
But that ring on her finger, Rhys' ring...it almost undid him. He retreated into the tourist shop for two or three days, only going down to the Hub when summoned, or to bring down the take-out. So retracted he was that when Gwen appeared to give him the news that they were being sent to the Himalayas to investigate a possible Dalek sighting, he barely let himself register her. And then she hit him.
Through the stinging pain in his cheek he registered shock, then anger. He glared at her.
"What the hell was that for?" he demanded.
"To snap you out of it," Gwen snapped back. "I don't know what's happened to piss you off the last few days, but you can damn well get over it. I need this team together, especially where we're going...why are you grinning?"
"You're angry," he said, as if this explained everything.
"And I'm getting angrier," she shot back, though she was now more confused than angry.
"You're cute when you're angry."
He saw the surprise on her face before his words reached his own ears. He'd actually spoken that thought out loud...his heart hammered. He looked busy, suddenly, and picked up a random file.
"Well, I just have to be getting this down to the Archives, was lovely talking to you, I'll try to remember to..." his sentence lost momentum. She was still staring at him. He slammed the under-desk button to open the secret door and made a run for it. With any luck, he could reach the lift before she did and then hide in the Archives until all this went away.
"Ianto," her voice followed him down the corridor. He didn't stop, though, just kept moving faster. "Ianto!"
The lift doors shut behind him, but not before he heard her muttered, "Bollocks!"
He stayed down there until he was certain she'd gone home for the night. Back to Rhys…where she belonged. However much he wished she didn't.
He only emerged when Myfanwy's cries for food became more persistent, and even then he made a beeline for the freezer where they kept the hunks of beef and fish they fed the pterodactyl.
"Ianto."
Gwen's voice startled him. Vanilla and berries and cream filled his senses. She was close behind him. He hadn't even heard her steps.
"What can I do for you, ma'am?" he asked, assuming his butler's voice. It had served him well, in the past. The servant's exterior, used to hide his true feelings, his true thoughts - his ex-girlfriend in the basement. He knew she wanted an explanation, but he wasn't going to give her one.
She registered his formality with a slight widening of her eyes. Clearly she had been expecting something else. She shifted tracks, pulled away. Her formality hurt him more than he thought it would.
"Have you finished with that report yet?" she asked. "I'll need it on my desk by tomorrow morning."
"It will be there. Is there anything else?"
"Yes. We're going to the Himalayas at the end of the week. Please make sure the plane tickets are booked and that everything is taken care of."
"Yes, ma'am."
She nodded, and for a moment looked uncertain. She started to turn away, and then stopped.
"Have I done something to you? Said something to upset you?" she asked. "Because these last few days you've been...distant."
The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he didn't utter them. How could he? She was happy with Rhys; he should respect that. Even if it pained him so to see it happen, he wouldn't destroy her happiness.
"No," he said. One syllable, the destruction of all his hopes. "You haven't."
"Then we're good?" she asked.
"We're good."
The Himalayan Dalek turned out to be someone's sick idea of a practical joke, and by the time they got back the silliness with Saxon was over. UNIT was in an uproar because the man who had designed The Valiant turned out to be a murdering megalomaniac, and the government was in an uproar because, not only was the Prime Minister dead, but the entire cabinet as well and they had to go to the expense of organizing another election.
Ianto didn't notice much. He threw himself into his work because he had too many memories from the Himalayas that needed to be forgotten.
She had called him out. Called his bluff. Tosh and Owen had gone with a sherpa to check out one rumor. He and Gwen had stayed with another sherpa to check out another rumor. And that night, in the cabin, with the wind howling around them and the temperature bitterly cold, she'd backed him into a corner and demanded an explanation for his behaviour.
He had memories now, of hot, moist lips and searing kisses and a body writhing under his, a soft warmth embracing him and a throaty voice whispering his name...
Because he had found himself inarticulate when she'd demanded an explanation. He reacted purely on impulse, by crossing the cabin and grabbing her face in both hands and showing her what he couldn't speak aloud. And after all that, while they lay surprised at themselves for what had just happened, he'd apologized.
"Don't ever apologize," she said firmly, "for my actions."
"It shouldn't happen again," he said all the same, looking away.
"You're right, it shouldn't," she said, pulling his eyes back to her own. "But while there may be a thousand excuses for why it did, I will not regret it."
It wasn’t much, but it was something. And, he realized the next day, the only shame he felt was that he had caused her to hurt her fiancé again, something neither had wanted to do. Jack, he felt, wouldn’t mind. Or if he did, he would bury it under his own cultural ideals, whatever century they came from.
He managed for some time to not let it happen again when they got back. He even managed to be himself around Tosh and Owen, so they wouldn't suspect a thing. Gwen went back to Rhys when they returned, to repair what she could of her relationship. Ianto returned to his Jack moping, because if anyone could explain what was going on in Ianto's head right then, it would be Jack.
He still had the memories, though. He would always have the memories. Even when he didn’t want them.
Jack came back, the very next day…
He knew it was a song about a cat, really, but Ianto couldn’t help but substitute Jack’s name into the lyrics, after all was said and done.
They went out hunting an anthropomorphic blowfish on a bender. And then, it was down to Ianto to stop the fish because there was a standoff, and the blowfish decided to monologue while holding someone hostage. And then its head abruptly exploded, because Jack was standing there looking all smarmy and hot and Ianto was starting to feel uncomfortable because Gwen was looking at Jack with her expression of love and hurt and anger and love…like she wanted to kiss him, then punch him, then kiss him again.
Ianto could relate. He felt the same way. Especially after John Hart had shown up in his silly Napoleonic coat and had dangled Jack’s past in their faces to get what he wanted. Ianto had actually liked the guy a little, until he tried to kill them all. Until he had left Gwen to die in an unmarked shipping container.
Even so, it all worked out. Jack was back, so everything was right with the world again. Ianto had his memories…of hot, moist lips and searing kisses and a body writhing under his, a soft warmth embracing him and a throaty voice whispering his name. He had Jack. There were only a couple of times when he caught himself staring at her, but never much more than that.
The world progressed. Slowly, but it did. Gwen and Jack danced around each other even more. Owen was still mostly blind to Tosh’s adoration. He and Jack got more and more serious. The world was saved, endangered and saved again. Normalcy returned.
Until the day he found her in the Archives, alone and upset. Owen was lying upstairs, cold and dead. Martha Jones was watching over him, preparing to give him the last rites in a way only a fellow doctor could. Jack had vanished. Tosh was a mess.
“Oh, Ianto,” Gwen said. She threw herself into his arms before he’d fully entered the room. He tensed for a moment, and then held her close. His eyes closed. Berries and cream and vanilla and something spicy filled his nose, and memories assaulted him.
Before either could speak, or protest, there were searing kisses and hot, moist lips, and throaty whispers and an all embracing, soft warmth that undid him more than he could have possibly said. And after, as they clung to one another, she’d laid her head on his chest and they’d reveled in the life they’d just affirmed.
“Come on,” he said some time later. “We should be up with the others.”
It became more than a one time thing, or a two time thing. When he wasn’t with Jack, he was with her. When she wasn’t with Rhys, she was with him. Their relationship flourished. Not just the physical side of things, but they became closer friends as well. Save for that one time in the Archives, they kept it out of work. Never spoke of it. Kept the longing glances to a minimum.
Until she got married. Then it all stopped.
He knew that it was coming eventually. Gwen took her vows seriously, despite all available evidence. Jack respected them too; he stopped, to an extent, trying to draw her away from Rhys and started focusing all of his amorous attentions on Ianto. And Ianto himself, because he was still smarting from Gwen’s (expected) rejection, threw himself full force into Jack’s embrace. He even allowed himself the bitter thought that he’d had now what both wanted and neither could have: each other.
“I miss you,” he murmured to her one day, as he leaned over her desk to deposit her morning coffee.
“You see me every day,” she murmured back, glancing around from under her bangs to see if anyone else was close enough to listen.
“It’s not the same.” He leaned back, smiled thinly, and moved on.
She stared after him.
“How long?” Jack asked. Ianto knew what he meant without asking.
“Since you left,” he replied. “Though only truly since Owen…and not since the wedding.”
Jack nodded.
“You’re jealous,” Ianto said a moment later.
“Wistful,” Jack clarified. “There is no jealousy when I’m from.”
“But there is jealousy now,” Ianto replied. “And you have been in this time period for too long.”
Jack squirmed, uncomfortable. “Maybe,” he conceded. “Maybe there is…now.”
They lost Tosh and Owen.
It was down to the three of them, now. Jack seemed unwilling to let either Ianto or Gwen out of his sight. Not even to take them home. He was excessively paranoid about where they went, and with whom. And when tempers finally frayed and snapped, and they were all shouting at one another, it really didn’t come as a surprise to any of them that, some hours later, they were all staring at the ceiling from Jack’s bed.
The surprise came five weeks later, when Gwen pulled them aside and held up a small white stick with a violent pink end. She said one thing, two words that changed their world forever, and that began the downfall of Gwen’s illusionary normal world.
“I’m pregnant.”
But that is a story for another day.
A/N: So, um…yeah. Good? Bad? Is it safe to come out of my bunker now, or should I work on my salmonella-tomato dodging skills? :)
Rating: T, because there’s naughty stuff mentioned.
Pairing: Gwen/Ianto, but also a bit of Jack/Ianto and some Jack/Gwen, finally culminating in some Jack/Gwen/Ianto kind of stuff…so don’t read if that thought makes you go ‘eeew’.
Spoilers: For both seasons, through to Exit Wounds, and also for the last three episodes of Doctor Who season three.
Warning: This may be incredibly lame. I dunno. I hope not. It’s primarily a Gwen/Ianto (I feel the need to reiterate this so no one can get pissy at me later if they don’t like the pairing), and it’s probably OOC, though I did try to stay inside the lines. It’s also a tad angsty.
A/N: I was musing on some of what I’d written in chapter 14 of The Compass…Ianto’s thoughts, to be specific. And I was thinking…I could play with that…and one so hardly reads Gwen/Ianto stories these days, so I thought I’d give it a go.
So that’s basically what this story is; a version of events that may have transpired if Ianto hadn’t dismissed the idea of Gwen as ‘potential lover’ in favor of Gwen as ‘potential friend’. Hopefully it worked.
I should mention that this story doesn’t fit into the timeline of either The Compass or Bittersweetness, and (apart from the fact that it’s a Gwen/Ianto) kinda actually follows the show’s storyline. I know…weird.
Of course, ‘kinda’ is the operative fake-word there, because I’ve left out some bits that wouldn’t fit, and added enough time in between most of the episodes for me to do what I needed to do. But hey…it’s fanfiction. I’m allowed :)
Stray Thought
It had begun, as these things often do, with a stray thought. He’d seen her across the Hub. She’d looked up and smiled, eyes alight with mirth and amusement, smiling unabashedly at Jack’s latest joke. He’d wondered what it would take for her to smile at him like that again, and then dismissed the idea with a shake of his head.
Six weeks later, he was sitting next to her on the couch under the ceramic wall. They were laughing at another of Jack’s stories. Owen was throwing out comments from the autopsy bay, and Tosh was doubled over, helpless at her work station as Jack’s story wound to its conclusion.
He realized, as the woman beside him dissolved into giggles, that she smelled of berries and cream and femininity. Into his mind unbidden there arose an image of her and lazy days, lazy rainy days and soft blankets and nowhere to go and nothing to do except make love…
The image startled him. He hadn’t been expecting it. He wasn’t entirely sure where it came from. So, even though Jack was looking at him because he hadn’t been able to hide the hitch in his breath, even though she was still laughing and had not noticed his face, and even though he shook his head to dislodge the image, he was keenly aware of the soft warmth of her leg against his. She remained unaffected.
That image and the memory of warmth and berries and cream stuck with him for a week or more, but he was eventually able to put it aside for the sake of work. He considered himself quite over it. Enough that, when he saw her one morning, he was quite pleased with the fact that he didn’t think of her in any way other than as a friend.
And then, at the end of the week, she got bitten by a Weevil. And he’d found himself lurking in the door of the autopsy bay, watching Owen patch her up and trying to stop the hammering in his chest and wondering just when and how this had happened to him. He looked around at the sound of a soft breath and the sensation of someone at his shoulder.
Jack.
She looked up then, and smiled. But not at him. At Jack. He tried to figure out why his heart, which had been thudding so solidly, now clenched painfully. He could think of no logical reason…but plenty of illogical ones.
The ‘Owen thing’…he had mixed feelings about it. He took them out on the wood and cardboard Weevils in the shooting range. With a shotgun.
It didn’t help that he’d come across some of Lisa’s things that morning, when Tosh came in with her spiffy new necklace. One look at the over-sized Bowie shirt he’d bought Lisa for her birthday the year before, and all the pain and anguish that he’d been trying to hide away flooded past all the barriers he’d made for himself.
Intellectually he knew that he’d latched on to Gwen because it was easier to do this than wallow in the loss of Lisa. He may not have been able to put that into words, but he knew it. It was the source of most of his guilt about having feelings for Gwen, because those feelings felt more like a betrayal than the next step in moving on from a tragedy.
Either way, things weren’t any easier for him when he found out that Gwen had turned to Owen. Owen, who had turned grumpiness and sarcasm into an art form, and for whom the acquisition of a nightly bedmate was no trouble; Ianto didn’t see the attraction. And knowing the ultimate root of his feelings for her didn’t stop him from wanting her attention, or approval, or acceptance, or acknowledgement…or simply her.
Jack saw the targets later that day and wasn’t pleased. Wooden Weevils aren’t exactly Government Issue.
Some weeks later, when he lay in bed next to Jack and stared at the ceiling, he wondered precisely why he’d gotten into a relationship with their boss to start with. It wasn’t just because of the other man’s smile, or cock-sure grin, or brilliant hands. There was another reason, buried deep in his mind. It refused to be articulated.
But Jack was there, and he had those brilliant hands, and pretty soon, Ianto forgot completely what he had been thinking about and was lost…
Afterwards, as they lay there panting, Jack looked at him.
“You were thinking of her,” Jack said.
Ianto flushed, and looked away.
“Ianto,” Jack said warningly.
Ianto sighed. He knew better than to try to keep something from Jack.
“I was,” he admitted. “I can’t get her out of my head.” He couldn’t even explain how she’d gotten into his head.
Jack sighed, and said nothing for a moment. “How long?” he asked simply.
“Four months, two weeks, five days,” Ianto said without hesitation. To Jack’s face, he added, “I only know because the first day I thought about her that way was the same day that we were celebrating the capture of our 100th Weevil, so I wrote it down. And I added up the time yesterday.”
“Ah.” Jack was silent for a moment. “Are you going to tell her?”
“Jack!” Ianto flushed and glared. “I’m in bed with you, aren’t I?”
Jack grinned and shook his head. “Categories,” he said in the same tone one might say ‘blast!’ “When I come from, there wouldn’t even be a question as to what to do. No sense of territorial invasion, no guilt, no remorse, no taboo. We hardly even knew the meaning of the word.”
“That’s just great - for you,” Ianto said morosely.
"So what are you going to do about it?"
"Nothing. There's nothing to do. She has Rhys. She has you, for all you two dance around one another. She doesn't see me, not like that."
Jack shook his head and pulled Ianto in close. "What makes you so sure she doesn't see you?"
Ianto shrugged. It was nothing that he could articulate, but he knew it to be true.
"You need to talk to her about this," Jack continued. "Before it consumes you - and her."
"What do you mean?" Ianto asked.
"Love can be a very powerful thing, as you well know. Unrequited love, even if it's only perceived to be unrequited, can burn you from the inside out."
Ianto stayed silent for a long moment.
"Why are you pushing me towards her?" he eventually asked. "I'm with you."
"Have you learned nothing of the silliness of categories?" Jack asked. "I care about you a great deal, Ianto, as more than just an occasional shag. But I have no true claim on you, not really. And since we both see in her something to desire and respect, I can’t begrudge you that."
Ianto stared up at the ceiling, the confusion eating away at him. It was mostly derived from the years of social and cultural taboos that had been drilled into him since childhood. He didn't have all of them (he wouldn't be shagging his very male boss if he did), but there were some that were hard to put aside.
Exclusivity, for one. By all he held dear, having feelings for her while he was shagging (and in love with) their boss, and she was with Rhys (and in love with their boss) was wrong. Very wrong. The concept of monogamy was not one he could easily toss aside, and no matter how Jack protested it or told him he didn't have a claim, Ianto would always feel guilty. And jealous that Jack felt something for her, and she for him while there seemed to be nothing for Ianto himself...
Then again - she was in love with her boyfriend, it was clear in the way she spoke about him. At the same time, she was harboring feelings for Jack that she probably didn’t even realize she had. And the nonsense with Owen - now mercifully over - proved that she was willing to seek comfort from others if the occasion called for it.
Still. At the very least, he should respect that Rhys had the greater claim. He said as much.
"Oh dear," Jack said, stretching out beside his brooding bedmate. "I can see I have a lot of work to do with you."
And then Jack was gone.
Just…gone.
That whole bit of nonsense with Abbadon, with Gwen spending three days and nights in the morgue waiting for Jack to come back, and then...nothing.
Gwen took over. Owen didn't seem to mind, even though he was technically second in command; he seemed to recognize that Gwen had more of the better characteristics of a leader than he did. Certainly more compassion. It wouldn't have mattered anyway, because - however jealous of Gwen's love for the Captain he was - Ianto supported her, and so did Tosh.
They grew closer. It was hard not too. She knew he was pining after Jack as much as she herself was, so that drew them together. But it was more than that, for Ianto at least.
She smelled like berries and cream - though sometimes, these days, it was vanilla.
As the days wore on, he stuck closer and closer to her side. Even Tosh and Owen began to notice when he started making excuses to remain late at work with her, to bring her little things she needed or wanted. Tosh and Owen began to gripe at one another about favoritism, though their complaints lacked the bitter quality of true anger.
He became the sounding board for her ideas, her confidant. And as he drew closer, his dreams became more and more vivid. And through them all, the scent of berries and cream and vanilla mingled with the scent of Jack's aftershave because he'd taken to sleeping in Jack's bunk and in those dreams he could be everything she ever wanted and then some, and the best part was that she saw him...
She came in one day with a ring on her finger and a smile on her lips, and she greeted him with warmth and compassion. His heart contracted painfully, pierced as it was with a diamond-tipped arrow. She didn't notice. He hoped she hadn't noticed. He wanted her to be happy, almost as much as he wanted her happy smile to be because of him.
But that ring on her finger, Rhys' ring...it almost undid him. He retreated into the tourist shop for two or three days, only going down to the Hub when summoned, or to bring down the take-out. So retracted he was that when Gwen appeared to give him the news that they were being sent to the Himalayas to investigate a possible Dalek sighting, he barely let himself register her. And then she hit him.
Through the stinging pain in his cheek he registered shock, then anger. He glared at her.
"What the hell was that for?" he demanded.
"To snap you out of it," Gwen snapped back. "I don't know what's happened to piss you off the last few days, but you can damn well get over it. I need this team together, especially where we're going...why are you grinning?"
"You're angry," he said, as if this explained everything.
"And I'm getting angrier," she shot back, though she was now more confused than angry.
"You're cute when you're angry."
He saw the surprise on her face before his words reached his own ears. He'd actually spoken that thought out loud...his heart hammered. He looked busy, suddenly, and picked up a random file.
"Well, I just have to be getting this down to the Archives, was lovely talking to you, I'll try to remember to..." his sentence lost momentum. She was still staring at him. He slammed the under-desk button to open the secret door and made a run for it. With any luck, he could reach the lift before she did and then hide in the Archives until all this went away.
"Ianto," her voice followed him down the corridor. He didn't stop, though, just kept moving faster. "Ianto!"
The lift doors shut behind him, but not before he heard her muttered, "Bollocks!"
He stayed down there until he was certain she'd gone home for the night. Back to Rhys…where she belonged. However much he wished she didn't.
He only emerged when Myfanwy's cries for food became more persistent, and even then he made a beeline for the freezer where they kept the hunks of beef and fish they fed the pterodactyl.
"Ianto."
Gwen's voice startled him. Vanilla and berries and cream filled his senses. She was close behind him. He hadn't even heard her steps.
"What can I do for you, ma'am?" he asked, assuming his butler's voice. It had served him well, in the past. The servant's exterior, used to hide his true feelings, his true thoughts - his ex-girlfriend in the basement. He knew she wanted an explanation, but he wasn't going to give her one.
She registered his formality with a slight widening of her eyes. Clearly she had been expecting something else. She shifted tracks, pulled away. Her formality hurt him more than he thought it would.
"Have you finished with that report yet?" she asked. "I'll need it on my desk by tomorrow morning."
"It will be there. Is there anything else?"
"Yes. We're going to the Himalayas at the end of the week. Please make sure the plane tickets are booked and that everything is taken care of."
"Yes, ma'am."
She nodded, and for a moment looked uncertain. She started to turn away, and then stopped.
"Have I done something to you? Said something to upset you?" she asked. "Because these last few days you've been...distant."
The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he didn't utter them. How could he? She was happy with Rhys; he should respect that. Even if it pained him so to see it happen, he wouldn't destroy her happiness.
"No," he said. One syllable, the destruction of all his hopes. "You haven't."
"Then we're good?" she asked.
"We're good."
The Himalayan Dalek turned out to be someone's sick idea of a practical joke, and by the time they got back the silliness with Saxon was over. UNIT was in an uproar because the man who had designed The Valiant turned out to be a murdering megalomaniac, and the government was in an uproar because, not only was the Prime Minister dead, but the entire cabinet as well and they had to go to the expense of organizing another election.
Ianto didn't notice much. He threw himself into his work because he had too many memories from the Himalayas that needed to be forgotten.
She had called him out. Called his bluff. Tosh and Owen had gone with a sherpa to check out one rumor. He and Gwen had stayed with another sherpa to check out another rumor. And that night, in the cabin, with the wind howling around them and the temperature bitterly cold, she'd backed him into a corner and demanded an explanation for his behaviour.
He had memories now, of hot, moist lips and searing kisses and a body writhing under his, a soft warmth embracing him and a throaty voice whispering his name...
Because he had found himself inarticulate when she'd demanded an explanation. He reacted purely on impulse, by crossing the cabin and grabbing her face in both hands and showing her what he couldn't speak aloud. And after all that, while they lay surprised at themselves for what had just happened, he'd apologized.
"Don't ever apologize," she said firmly, "for my actions."
"It shouldn't happen again," he said all the same, looking away.
"You're right, it shouldn't," she said, pulling his eyes back to her own. "But while there may be a thousand excuses for why it did, I will not regret it."
It wasn’t much, but it was something. And, he realized the next day, the only shame he felt was that he had caused her to hurt her fiancé again, something neither had wanted to do. Jack, he felt, wouldn’t mind. Or if he did, he would bury it under his own cultural ideals, whatever century they came from.
He managed for some time to not let it happen again when they got back. He even managed to be himself around Tosh and Owen, so they wouldn't suspect a thing. Gwen went back to Rhys when they returned, to repair what she could of her relationship. Ianto returned to his Jack moping, because if anyone could explain what was going on in Ianto's head right then, it would be Jack.
He still had the memories, though. He would always have the memories. Even when he didn’t want them.
Jack came back, the very next day…
He knew it was a song about a cat, really, but Ianto couldn’t help but substitute Jack’s name into the lyrics, after all was said and done.
They went out hunting an anthropomorphic blowfish on a bender. And then, it was down to Ianto to stop the fish because there was a standoff, and the blowfish decided to monologue while holding someone hostage. And then its head abruptly exploded, because Jack was standing there looking all smarmy and hot and Ianto was starting to feel uncomfortable because Gwen was looking at Jack with her expression of love and hurt and anger and love…like she wanted to kiss him, then punch him, then kiss him again.
Ianto could relate. He felt the same way. Especially after John Hart had shown up in his silly Napoleonic coat and had dangled Jack’s past in their faces to get what he wanted. Ianto had actually liked the guy a little, until he tried to kill them all. Until he had left Gwen to die in an unmarked shipping container.
Even so, it all worked out. Jack was back, so everything was right with the world again. Ianto had his memories…of hot, moist lips and searing kisses and a body writhing under his, a soft warmth embracing him and a throaty voice whispering his name. He had Jack. There were only a couple of times when he caught himself staring at her, but never much more than that.
The world progressed. Slowly, but it did. Gwen and Jack danced around each other even more. Owen was still mostly blind to Tosh’s adoration. He and Jack got more and more serious. The world was saved, endangered and saved again. Normalcy returned.
Until the day he found her in the Archives, alone and upset. Owen was lying upstairs, cold and dead. Martha Jones was watching over him, preparing to give him the last rites in a way only a fellow doctor could. Jack had vanished. Tosh was a mess.
“Oh, Ianto,” Gwen said. She threw herself into his arms before he’d fully entered the room. He tensed for a moment, and then held her close. His eyes closed. Berries and cream and vanilla and something spicy filled his nose, and memories assaulted him.
Before either could speak, or protest, there were searing kisses and hot, moist lips, and throaty whispers and an all embracing, soft warmth that undid him more than he could have possibly said. And after, as they clung to one another, she’d laid her head on his chest and they’d reveled in the life they’d just affirmed.
“Come on,” he said some time later. “We should be up with the others.”
It became more than a one time thing, or a two time thing. When he wasn’t with Jack, he was with her. When she wasn’t with Rhys, she was with him. Their relationship flourished. Not just the physical side of things, but they became closer friends as well. Save for that one time in the Archives, they kept it out of work. Never spoke of it. Kept the longing glances to a minimum.
Until she got married. Then it all stopped.
He knew that it was coming eventually. Gwen took her vows seriously, despite all available evidence. Jack respected them too; he stopped, to an extent, trying to draw her away from Rhys and started focusing all of his amorous attentions on Ianto. And Ianto himself, because he was still smarting from Gwen’s (expected) rejection, threw himself full force into Jack’s embrace. He even allowed himself the bitter thought that he’d had now what both wanted and neither could have: each other.
“I miss you,” he murmured to her one day, as he leaned over her desk to deposit her morning coffee.
“You see me every day,” she murmured back, glancing around from under her bangs to see if anyone else was close enough to listen.
“It’s not the same.” He leaned back, smiled thinly, and moved on.
She stared after him.
“How long?” Jack asked. Ianto knew what he meant without asking.
“Since you left,” he replied. “Though only truly since Owen…and not since the wedding.”
Jack nodded.
“You’re jealous,” Ianto said a moment later.
“Wistful,” Jack clarified. “There is no jealousy when I’m from.”
“But there is jealousy now,” Ianto replied. “And you have been in this time period for too long.”
Jack squirmed, uncomfortable. “Maybe,” he conceded. “Maybe there is…now.”
They lost Tosh and Owen.
It was down to the three of them, now. Jack seemed unwilling to let either Ianto or Gwen out of his sight. Not even to take them home. He was excessively paranoid about where they went, and with whom. And when tempers finally frayed and snapped, and they were all shouting at one another, it really didn’t come as a surprise to any of them that, some hours later, they were all staring at the ceiling from Jack’s bed.
The surprise came five weeks later, when Gwen pulled them aside and held up a small white stick with a violent pink end. She said one thing, two words that changed their world forever, and that began the downfall of Gwen’s illusionary normal world.
“I’m pregnant.”
But that is a story for another day.
A/N: So, um…yeah. Good? Bad? Is it safe to come out of my bunker now, or should I work on my salmonella-tomato dodging skills? :)