THE MEMORY OF TREES
Characters: Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: Mild PG for an accepted M/M relationship
Spoilers: Major for Exit Wounds
Warning: Death-fic, but NOT Ianto
Disclaimer: Not mine; they belong to the BBC.
Prompt: For cero_ate : Ianto + Jack. Green. Sandalwood.
Summary: Jack shows Ianto how he mourns for the people he loses.
Even though he knows that Jack has been around since Victorian times, it still surprises Ianto when he shows he knows more about Wales than Cardiff’s bars and clubs.
“Dyffryn Gardens?” he asks and Jack just smiles, leading him into the arboretum. A thousand different kinds of green surround them and the sunlight shimmers as it flirts with the leaves.
They stop in a small grove of differing trees of varying age. Ianto looks around with interest, noting the species he knows and wondering about the ones he doesn’t. There’s quite a mixture but his attention is drawn back to Jack as his Captain sets down the box he’s been carrying and opens it carefully. Ianto can’t suppress his curiosity any more and looks inside.
“Trees?” He looks around them. “A little like coals to Newcastle, isn’t it?”
Jack gives him a fond smile, knowing the insatiable curiosity that hides behind Ianto’s calm exterior. He gestures around them. “I planted every one of these trees. They’re old friends. Take a look at the markers.”
After giving him a level look, Ianto does as he is told. He sees that each marker has a name and two dates on it, in addition to the name of the tree species. By the third name, he realises where he is and what the trees are for. He is standing in a living, breathing memorial to all the members of Torchwood Three. He watches Jack from beside the flourishing oak that bears the name of Alex Hopkins.
“What did you choose for them?” he asks as Jack carefully unpacks the two new saplings.
“Yew for Owen,” Jack says, brushing the dark evergreen foliage. “Poisonous, but with medicinal properties and a symbol of resurrection and the next world. I thought that was particularly apt.”
Ianto smiles, feeling a little of the pain start to leave him. “And Tosh?”
“Acer palmatum Osakazuki,” Jack intones, then grins at Ianto’s raised eyebrow. “It’s a Japanese Maple that’s slow-growing but always beautiful. It takes time to show its real strength and beauty, just like her.”
Ianto smiles through the tears that threaten. He’s been grieving Owen for some time but Tosh is still a raw wound that burns. “Can I help?” he asks a little diffidently, wary of taking away from the few rituals Jack allows himself.
This time the smile Jack gives him is soft and gentle. “Why do you think I brought you here?”
They would have liked to plant the trees right next to one another, but Jack thinks like a tree and knows that will cause problems in the decades to come. In the end they place them opposite one another but far enough apart that they cannot affect one another’s growth. In a way, Ianto thinks, that describes the relationship the two of them had.
When everything is finished and the rubbish cleared away, Jack comes back with several sticks of what Ianto realises are incense. He places them into the ground in front of both of the newly-planted trees.
“Sandalwood,” he tells Ianto. “For healing and spirituality.”
Ianto nods, a little surprised at Jack’s knowledge and respect for old traditions, and watches as Jack takes out a heavy silver lighter, old and burnished to soft luminescence, and lights a few of the sticks. He turns and offers the lighter to Ianto, who kneels, uncaring of the damp grass after their enthusiastic watering of the saplings, and lights the remaining sticks. The scent rises with the smoke and Ianto closes his eyes against the ever-present tears. He is so damn tired of grieving.
Jack wraps his arms around him and they stand in the small forest for a moment, drawing on the calm power that the trees exude. Ianto leans back and also draws strength, as always, from the knowledge that Jack wants him around, needs him in some way that Ianto is still learning to understand. After long minutes of listening to the tree-surf, Ianto asks the question he knows Jack has been waiting for.
“What tree will you plant for me?” He can feel the shudder that passes through Jack’s body and rests his hands over Jack’s as the other man pulls him closer. “Eventually,” he reassures gently, even as he suspects that he is lying.
“Hawthorn,” Jack murmurs in his ear, so softly Ianto has to strain to hear it. “Hawthorn for the heart, for life, for love, for protection.”
Ianto smiled. “It’s also the faerie tree,” he points out in a gentle tease.
“It shields against the dark side of the faerie,” Jack counters. “It also protects the traveller as he walks his long path. It burns hot and keeps away the dark.”
“I think I will enjoy being a hawthorn,” Ianto decides.
“Just don’t do it for a while yet, okay?” Jack sighs.
Ianto tightened his grip. “Plenty of time to be a tree, Jack. I’m still working on being Ianto.”
“Now there’s a work of art,” Jack agrees before lapsing back into silence.
The sun drenches the clearing with golden light as they watch the incense sticks burn and consign Toshiko and Owen to the memory of trees.
OOOO
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: Mild PG for an accepted M/M relationship
Spoilers: Major for Exit Wounds
Warning: Death-fic, but NOT Ianto
Disclaimer: Not mine; they belong to the BBC.
Prompt: For cero_ate : Ianto + Jack. Green. Sandalwood.
Summary: Jack shows Ianto how he mourns for the people he loses.
Even though he knows that Jack has been around since Victorian times, it still surprises Ianto when he shows he knows more about Wales than Cardiff’s bars and clubs.
“Dyffryn Gardens?” he asks and Jack just smiles, leading him into the arboretum. A thousand different kinds of green surround them and the sunlight shimmers as it flirts with the leaves.
They stop in a small grove of differing trees of varying age. Ianto looks around with interest, noting the species he knows and wondering about the ones he doesn’t. There’s quite a mixture but his attention is drawn back to Jack as his Captain sets down the box he’s been carrying and opens it carefully. Ianto can’t suppress his curiosity any more and looks inside.
“Trees?” He looks around them. “A little like coals to Newcastle, isn’t it?”
Jack gives him a fond smile, knowing the insatiable curiosity that hides behind Ianto’s calm exterior. He gestures around them. “I planted every one of these trees. They’re old friends. Take a look at the markers.”
After giving him a level look, Ianto does as he is told. He sees that each marker has a name and two dates on it, in addition to the name of the tree species. By the third name, he realises where he is and what the trees are for. He is standing in a living, breathing memorial to all the members of Torchwood Three. He watches Jack from beside the flourishing oak that bears the name of Alex Hopkins.
“What did you choose for them?” he asks as Jack carefully unpacks the two new saplings.
“Yew for Owen,” Jack says, brushing the dark evergreen foliage. “Poisonous, but with medicinal properties and a symbol of resurrection and the next world. I thought that was particularly apt.”
Ianto smiles, feeling a little of the pain start to leave him. “And Tosh?”
“Acer palmatum Osakazuki,” Jack intones, then grins at Ianto’s raised eyebrow. “It’s a Japanese Maple that’s slow-growing but always beautiful. It takes time to show its real strength and beauty, just like her.”
Ianto smiles through the tears that threaten. He’s been grieving Owen for some time but Tosh is still a raw wound that burns. “Can I help?” he asks a little diffidently, wary of taking away from the few rituals Jack allows himself.
This time the smile Jack gives him is soft and gentle. “Why do you think I brought you here?”
They would have liked to plant the trees right next to one another, but Jack thinks like a tree and knows that will cause problems in the decades to come. In the end they place them opposite one another but far enough apart that they cannot affect one another’s growth. In a way, Ianto thinks, that describes the relationship the two of them had.
When everything is finished and the rubbish cleared away, Jack comes back with several sticks of what Ianto realises are incense. He places them into the ground in front of both of the newly-planted trees.
“Sandalwood,” he tells Ianto. “For healing and spirituality.”
Ianto nods, a little surprised at Jack’s knowledge and respect for old traditions, and watches as Jack takes out a heavy silver lighter, old and burnished to soft luminescence, and lights a few of the sticks. He turns and offers the lighter to Ianto, who kneels, uncaring of the damp grass after their enthusiastic watering of the saplings, and lights the remaining sticks. The scent rises with the smoke and Ianto closes his eyes against the ever-present tears. He is so damn tired of grieving.
Jack wraps his arms around him and they stand in the small forest for a moment, drawing on the calm power that the trees exude. Ianto leans back and also draws strength, as always, from the knowledge that Jack wants him around, needs him in some way that Ianto is still learning to understand. After long minutes of listening to the tree-surf, Ianto asks the question he knows Jack has been waiting for.
“What tree will you plant for me?” He can feel the shudder that passes through Jack’s body and rests his hands over Jack’s as the other man pulls him closer. “Eventually,” he reassures gently, even as he suspects that he is lying.
“Hawthorn,” Jack murmurs in his ear, so softly Ianto has to strain to hear it. “Hawthorn for the heart, for life, for love, for protection.”
Ianto smiled. “It’s also the faerie tree,” he points out in a gentle tease.
“It shields against the dark side of the faerie,” Jack counters. “It also protects the traveller as he walks his long path. It burns hot and keeps away the dark.”
“I think I will enjoy being a hawthorn,” Ianto decides.
“Just don’t do it for a while yet, okay?” Jack sighs.
Ianto tightened his grip. “Plenty of time to be a tree, Jack. I’m still working on being Ianto.”
“Now there’s a work of art,” Jack agrees before lapsing back into silence.
The sun drenches the clearing with golden light as they watch the incense sticks burn and consign Toshiko and Owen to the memory of trees.
OOOO