fic: belonging
title: Belonging
characters: Jack/Ianto
words: 2013
rating: PG
note: Someone needs to go to Torchwood rehab pretty soon. i.e., me. Spoilers up to episode 2x12 Fragments. Ianto is hiding something, and Jack finds a rose petal in the Hub and jumps to the wrong conclusion.
Inspired by the following paragraph at BBC America’s Captain’s Blog, Entry 18:
Staff: Someone sent Toshiko a huge bunch of flowers. Nobody’s admitting to it, but we’re all convinced it was Owen - he protests too much. I never get flowers. I’m considering sending myself some, and pretending I don’t know who they’re from.
Belonging
Jack bent down and picked up the blood red rose petal between his fore and middle finger. He’d spent a good hour standing on the roof of the Millennium Centre collecting his thoughts, only to return to the Hub and have his chipper mood dampened by the sight of a petal sitting innocently on the floor. Anyone else would have found it harmless, but to Jack it sparked an unwelcome memory of Lahore, petals spilling out of fifteen dead soldiers’ mouths like vomit.
He snapped upright when he heard movement coming from his office, bringing out the gun from his belt and treading quietly across the Hub. Once he crossed the threshold to his room, he pointed his gun at the culprit of the noise.
“Ianto,” the Captain sighed with relief. The Welshman looked startled for a moment, until a warm smile crept across his lips, and it was that smile which distracted Jack from how suspicious Ianto appeared standing behind his desk in the dead of night. Particularly clothed. “You gave me a heart attack.”
“Luckily you’re immortal.”
Ianto lifted an eyebrow at the gun aimed in his direction, and Jack lowered it instantly.
“Sorry. I thought you were a… well, what you would call a fairy.”
To say Ianto looked unimpressed was an understatement.
“Wedding fairy I may be, sir,” he responded in a familiar deadpan voice. “A creature that likes to kill their victims by clogging their throats with rose petals? I think not.”
“You sure?” Jack checked with a lopsided smile.
“Positive.”
“Maybe I should avoid pissing you off in future just to be safe.”
“And why was I not offered that luxury on my first day working here?”
“Hey, I’m not that bad!” Jack argued. Ianto sent him an incredulous stare. “Am I? Don’t answer that,” Jack silenced him quickly. He couldn't pretend to look hurt for long, asking Ianto in soft tones, “What are you still doing here? I thought I told you to go home.”
“I still had things to do after you dismissed me.”
“Things to do,” repeated Jack, voice thick with sexual innuendo. His hands slipped into his trouser pockets as he threw Ianto a boyish grin. “Like, say… me?”
Ianto did a perfect imitation of his boss, but with a disappointing end.
“Like, say… cleaning.”
“Spoilsport.”
Jack was about to hand Ianto his gun for him to put away in the top right-hand drawer of his desk - a strange habit he’d developed lately, but not one Jack could find fault with - when he noticed Ianto’s hands were behind his back. Either he was taking his butler mannerisms too far, or he was hiding something. Perhaps it was none of his business, but intrigue got the better of him.
“What’s behind your back?”
“Nothing,” said Ianto, a fraction too fast.
Jack growled at him.
“That’s the worst Tony the Tiger impression I’ve ever heard, if you don’t mind me saying, sir.”
“Ianto.”
“Jack,” Ianto answered, pokerfaced.
Clearly the power of speech was never going to provide Jack with an honest answer. Jack would have to physically grab whatever Ianto was hiding from behind his back if he was ever going to get to the bottom of this tonight.
When Jack took a step left around his desk, Ianto took one right, determined to stay out of Jack’s reach. When Jack chanced a step right after that, Ianto simultaneously shifted left. If they were playing some kind of game - they were always playing some kind of game - Jack predicted (or was hoped a better word?) they would wind up naked by the end of it.
“Give up already,” Jack coaxed him.
The Captain should have known not to underestimate Ianto’s willpower as his favourite coffee-dispenser responded with a flat, “No.” Sometimes Jack found Ianto’s perseverance maddening, though it was that quality that got him into Torchwood in the first place, and Ianto wouldn’t be Ianto without that particular distinction.
A brief staring contest was held from across Jack's desk, until Jack feigned left, intending to trick Ianto when he actually went right. But all-knowing Ianto had seen precisely through that plan. He'd escaped from behind Jack's desk and sprinted for the exit, except Jack was too quick for him, going as far as tackling Ianto to the ground to stop him. Ianto yelped when his back hit the floor, grumbling at Jack about ruining a new suit.
“Doesn’t this remind you of our--?”
“Third meeting? Yes,” Ianto finished Jack’s sentence, and that was another tendency Jack noticed Ianto had acquired but would file no complaints about. “Except it was more like this.”
One roll later and Ianto had Jack flipped onto his back. Jack adored this side of Ianto only he was lucky enough to behold, making himself comfortable under the younger man's weight.
“I miss your stalker days,” Jack sighed reminiscently.
Ianto blushed, glowering at him for bringing that up.
“I certainly don’t. I was pathetic, Jack.”
Jack’s brow knotted. It was astonishing how so few little words could alter the mood in a blink of an eye. Studying Ianto with tender eyes, there was an air of sorrow and shame about him at that moment that made Jack's heart clench.
“You weren’t pathetic, Ianto,” Jack put him straight. “You were desperate and in love.”
A faint smile crawled across Ianto’s face as he tucked a thumb under one of Jack’s braces and ran it down his stomach.
“Now I’m just in--”
Ianto stopped and fell silent. Jack had a larger than life and bigger than death grin on his face, but Ianto was too busy staring fixedly at a button on Jack's shirt to notice.
“You planning on finishing that sentence tonight, or shall I do it for you--?”
“Desperate,” Ianto butted in hastily, annoyed when the red glow across his cheeks reappeared when he’d just got rid of it.
“I don’t think that’s initially how you wanted to end that sentence, Mr. Jones,” Jack dared, earning a hard pinch from the man on top of him.
“Perhaps I’ll finish that sentence more properly another time, Mr. Harkness,” Ianto compromised, skimming his nose along Jack’s perfect jaw line he so often bragged about.
“I wanted to kiss you,” Jack said all of a sudden, watching Ianto intently. “That night we caught the pterodactyl...” He titled his chin upwards to join their mouths together. Ianto had leant forward to part his lips for Jack, only to pull away at the last moment with a teasing look on his face. A small whine left the back of Jack’s throat.
“But you pulled away like that,” Jack complained.
“I trust you didn’t take it too personally,” Ianto said with a small smile.
“Of course not.”
Deciding he’d teased Jack long enough, and not being able to bear his routinely juvenile boss pout a minute longer, Ianto rubbed the hollow of Jack’s throat with his thumb and kissed him slowly.
“You know kissing you that night would have been out of the question,” Ianto murmured against Jack's mouth, and Jack nodded at him, Ianto’s eyes speaking a thousand words. Or the same name over and over: Lisa. Girlfriends in basements seemed eons ago. The two of them had come a long way since then.
Jack was lost in the feather-light kisses Ianto planted down his throat when he reminded himself why exactly they were on the floor in the first place. He was a fool for being so easily sidetracked by a certain mouth and the Welsh vowels that it purred...
“Well done for distracting me for a full five minutes,” Jack congratulated Ianto. He chuckled when the younger man swore in Welsh under his breath, resting his forehead against Jack's shoulder in defeat. Jack reached out and grabbed what Ianto had dropped amidst their fall to the floor. “Aha!” he said triumphantly, but he didn’t look too victorious for long. He’d picked up a bouquet of red roses, which happened to match Ianto’s tie nicely that day. So that was where the rose petal from earlier had come from…
“Flowers,” Jack stated the obvious, sitting on his elbows.
“Yup,” Ianto confirmed as though Jack had wanted a second opinion.
“Who are they for?” Jack asked stupidly.
“Owen,” Ianto replied, expressionless. Jack knew that was unlikely but Ianto had answered his question so straight-faced Jack couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.
“Really?”
Ianto rolled his eyes. “Yes, I was leaving flowers for Owen on your desk,” he retorted. Jack blinked up at him.
“You bought me flowers,” he stated the obvious yet again.
“Yup.”
Jack put two and two together.
“You read my Captain’s Log,” he deduced, torn between embarrassment and surprise.
“Be honest with yourself and call it a diary, sir. You’re manly enough without having to lie for the sake of looking more masculine. Besides, you read my diary first.”
Ianto had perfected a way of teasing his boss which allowed him to say something impertinent like this whenever he felt like it. And he frequently got away with it. Or earned a smacked bottom later in the best possible way.
“Touché, smartass,” Jack said, wagging his finger at Ianto like he was a bad puppy.
“It was supposed to be a surprise but you walked in on me,” Ianto said with disappointment. Jack squeezed his shoulder, reassuring him it didn’t matter. “Surprise,” Ianto added softly, and Jack seemed genuinely touched, until -
“Hey, come I get no card?” Jack had noticed the flowers were missing one. Ianto hoped Jack was only pretending to act like an ungrateful brat... “Tosh got a message with her flowers.”
“I’ll make one up on the spot now if you want?” Ianto offered like a gentleman.
Jack rested his hands behind his head. “Shoot.”
Ianto cleared his throat.
“To Jack...” He paused. “From Ianto.”
Jack pulled a face. “That’s cold.”
“Fine.” Ianto started again. “To Jack. Love Ianto. Kiss, kiss.”
“Better.”
“To Jack. You rock my twenty-first century world. Love Ianto. Kiss, kiss.” Jack cleared his throat. “Kiss,” Ianto added one for good luck.
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Jack turned the bouquet in his hand, admiring it at different angles. “They’re beautiful, Ianto,” he complimented them, all jokes aside.
“Of course they are, rarely does one give ugly flowers,” Ianto pointed out amusedly. “If you wanted them all you had to do was ask.”
Jack sighed and looked up at the ceiling; it had been one of those days where Jack’s eyes looked significantly older than his face. An old woman by the name of Christina had told him he didn’t belong, but there were moments with his team - with Ianto - when he thought: I do belong here. I do.
“I don’t deserve them,” Jack said in an unusually quiet voice. Ianto caught hold of one of his wrists and gazed deep into his eyes.
“Yes you do, Captain Jack Harkness. You deserve a whole garden of flowers for the amount of good you’ve done and continue to do. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
He pressed a firm kiss to the corner of Jack’s mouth. It was Jack’s eyes that spoke a thousand words this time. Or the same word over and over: belonging.
“I’ll put these in water for you.” Ianto took the bouquet from Jack and climbed off him. Jack stayed on the floor, beaming.
“O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?”
“Yes,” Ianto answered swiftly. His hands met his hips. “Want a hand up, old man?”
“I’ll manage,” Jack growled, aiming a kick at Ianto’s heel on his way out.
Jack stared up at the ceiling thoughtfully for a moment before calling out, almost nervously, “Ianto?”
Ianto’s face popped up above him out of nowhere as if by magic.
“You rang, Captain?”
Tell him you love him, a voice urged from the back of Jack’s mind.
“I…” He shut his eyes and opened them again. “Thanks. For the flowers.”
“You’re welcome,” Ianto responded with a good-natured smile, then disappeared from view.
Once Ianto was gone Jack internally kicked himself. Even if he was from the 51st century, at the end of the day he was still a 21st century man incapable of talking about his true feelings. He sighed, sitting up on his elbows as he listened to the sound of Ianto running a tap in the distance. When the floor became too cold to stomach alone, he pulled himself up.
characters: Jack/Ianto
words: 2013
rating: PG
note: Someone needs to go to Torchwood rehab pretty soon. i.e., me. Spoilers up to episode 2x12 Fragments. Ianto is hiding something, and Jack finds a rose petal in the Hub and jumps to the wrong conclusion.
Inspired by the following paragraph at BBC America’s Captain’s Blog, Entry 18:
Staff: Someone sent Toshiko a huge bunch of flowers. Nobody’s admitting to it, but we’re all convinced it was Owen - he protests too much. I never get flowers. I’m considering sending myself some, and pretending I don’t know who they’re from.
Belonging
Jack bent down and picked up the blood red rose petal between his fore and middle finger. He’d spent a good hour standing on the roof of the Millennium Centre collecting his thoughts, only to return to the Hub and have his chipper mood dampened by the sight of a petal sitting innocently on the floor. Anyone else would have found it harmless, but to Jack it sparked an unwelcome memory of Lahore, petals spilling out of fifteen dead soldiers’ mouths like vomit.
He snapped upright when he heard movement coming from his office, bringing out the gun from his belt and treading quietly across the Hub. Once he crossed the threshold to his room, he pointed his gun at the culprit of the noise.
“Ianto,” the Captain sighed with relief. The Welshman looked startled for a moment, until a warm smile crept across his lips, and it was that smile which distracted Jack from how suspicious Ianto appeared standing behind his desk in the dead of night. Particularly clothed. “You gave me a heart attack.”
“Luckily you’re immortal.”
Ianto lifted an eyebrow at the gun aimed in his direction, and Jack lowered it instantly.
“Sorry. I thought you were a… well, what you would call a fairy.”
To say Ianto looked unimpressed was an understatement.
“Wedding fairy I may be, sir,” he responded in a familiar deadpan voice. “A creature that likes to kill their victims by clogging their throats with rose petals? I think not.”
“You sure?” Jack checked with a lopsided smile.
“Positive.”
“Maybe I should avoid pissing you off in future just to be safe.”
“And why was I not offered that luxury on my first day working here?”
“Hey, I’m not that bad!” Jack argued. Ianto sent him an incredulous stare. “Am I? Don’t answer that,” Jack silenced him quickly. He couldn't pretend to look hurt for long, asking Ianto in soft tones, “What are you still doing here? I thought I told you to go home.”
“I still had things to do after you dismissed me.”
“Things to do,” repeated Jack, voice thick with sexual innuendo. His hands slipped into his trouser pockets as he threw Ianto a boyish grin. “Like, say… me?”
Ianto did a perfect imitation of his boss, but with a disappointing end.
“Like, say… cleaning.”
“Spoilsport.”
Jack was about to hand Ianto his gun for him to put away in the top right-hand drawer of his desk - a strange habit he’d developed lately, but not one Jack could find fault with - when he noticed Ianto’s hands were behind his back. Either he was taking his butler mannerisms too far, or he was hiding something. Perhaps it was none of his business, but intrigue got the better of him.
“What’s behind your back?”
“Nothing,” said Ianto, a fraction too fast.
Jack growled at him.
“That’s the worst Tony the Tiger impression I’ve ever heard, if you don’t mind me saying, sir.”
“Ianto.”
“Jack,” Ianto answered, pokerfaced.
Clearly the power of speech was never going to provide Jack with an honest answer. Jack would have to physically grab whatever Ianto was hiding from behind his back if he was ever going to get to the bottom of this tonight.
When Jack took a step left around his desk, Ianto took one right, determined to stay out of Jack’s reach. When Jack chanced a step right after that, Ianto simultaneously shifted left. If they were playing some kind of game - they were always playing some kind of game - Jack predicted (or was hoped a better word?) they would wind up naked by the end of it.
“Give up already,” Jack coaxed him.
The Captain should have known not to underestimate Ianto’s willpower as his favourite coffee-dispenser responded with a flat, “No.” Sometimes Jack found Ianto’s perseverance maddening, though it was that quality that got him into Torchwood in the first place, and Ianto wouldn’t be Ianto without that particular distinction.
A brief staring contest was held from across Jack's desk, until Jack feigned left, intending to trick Ianto when he actually went right. But all-knowing Ianto had seen precisely through that plan. He'd escaped from behind Jack's desk and sprinted for the exit, except Jack was too quick for him, going as far as tackling Ianto to the ground to stop him. Ianto yelped when his back hit the floor, grumbling at Jack about ruining a new suit.
“Doesn’t this remind you of our--?”
“Third meeting? Yes,” Ianto finished Jack’s sentence, and that was another tendency Jack noticed Ianto had acquired but would file no complaints about. “Except it was more like this.”
One roll later and Ianto had Jack flipped onto his back. Jack adored this side of Ianto only he was lucky enough to behold, making himself comfortable under the younger man's weight.
“I miss your stalker days,” Jack sighed reminiscently.
Ianto blushed, glowering at him for bringing that up.
“I certainly don’t. I was pathetic, Jack.”
Jack’s brow knotted. It was astonishing how so few little words could alter the mood in a blink of an eye. Studying Ianto with tender eyes, there was an air of sorrow and shame about him at that moment that made Jack's heart clench.
“You weren’t pathetic, Ianto,” Jack put him straight. “You were desperate and in love.”
A faint smile crawled across Ianto’s face as he tucked a thumb under one of Jack’s braces and ran it down his stomach.
“Now I’m just in--”
Ianto stopped and fell silent. Jack had a larger than life and bigger than death grin on his face, but Ianto was too busy staring fixedly at a button on Jack's shirt to notice.
“You planning on finishing that sentence tonight, or shall I do it for you--?”
“Desperate,” Ianto butted in hastily, annoyed when the red glow across his cheeks reappeared when he’d just got rid of it.
“I don’t think that’s initially how you wanted to end that sentence, Mr. Jones,” Jack dared, earning a hard pinch from the man on top of him.
“Perhaps I’ll finish that sentence more properly another time, Mr. Harkness,” Ianto compromised, skimming his nose along Jack’s perfect jaw line he so often bragged about.
“I wanted to kiss you,” Jack said all of a sudden, watching Ianto intently. “That night we caught the pterodactyl...” He titled his chin upwards to join their mouths together. Ianto had leant forward to part his lips for Jack, only to pull away at the last moment with a teasing look on his face. A small whine left the back of Jack’s throat.
“But you pulled away like that,” Jack complained.
“I trust you didn’t take it too personally,” Ianto said with a small smile.
“Of course not.”
Deciding he’d teased Jack long enough, and not being able to bear his routinely juvenile boss pout a minute longer, Ianto rubbed the hollow of Jack’s throat with his thumb and kissed him slowly.
“You know kissing you that night would have been out of the question,” Ianto murmured against Jack's mouth, and Jack nodded at him, Ianto’s eyes speaking a thousand words. Or the same name over and over: Lisa. Girlfriends in basements seemed eons ago. The two of them had come a long way since then.
Jack was lost in the feather-light kisses Ianto planted down his throat when he reminded himself why exactly they were on the floor in the first place. He was a fool for being so easily sidetracked by a certain mouth and the Welsh vowels that it purred...
“Well done for distracting me for a full five minutes,” Jack congratulated Ianto. He chuckled when the younger man swore in Welsh under his breath, resting his forehead against Jack's shoulder in defeat. Jack reached out and grabbed what Ianto had dropped amidst their fall to the floor. “Aha!” he said triumphantly, but he didn’t look too victorious for long. He’d picked up a bouquet of red roses, which happened to match Ianto’s tie nicely that day. So that was where the rose petal from earlier had come from…
“Flowers,” Jack stated the obvious, sitting on his elbows.
“Yup,” Ianto confirmed as though Jack had wanted a second opinion.
“Who are they for?” Jack asked stupidly.
“Owen,” Ianto replied, expressionless. Jack knew that was unlikely but Ianto had answered his question so straight-faced Jack couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.
“Really?”
Ianto rolled his eyes. “Yes, I was leaving flowers for Owen on your desk,” he retorted. Jack blinked up at him.
“You bought me flowers,” he stated the obvious yet again.
“Yup.”
Jack put two and two together.
“You read my Captain’s Log,” he deduced, torn between embarrassment and surprise.
“Be honest with yourself and call it a diary, sir. You’re manly enough without having to lie for the sake of looking more masculine. Besides, you read my diary first.”
Ianto had perfected a way of teasing his boss which allowed him to say something impertinent like this whenever he felt like it. And he frequently got away with it. Or earned a smacked bottom later in the best possible way.
“Touché, smartass,” Jack said, wagging his finger at Ianto like he was a bad puppy.
“It was supposed to be a surprise but you walked in on me,” Ianto said with disappointment. Jack squeezed his shoulder, reassuring him it didn’t matter. “Surprise,” Ianto added softly, and Jack seemed genuinely touched, until -
“Hey, come I get no card?” Jack had noticed the flowers were missing one. Ianto hoped Jack was only pretending to act like an ungrateful brat... “Tosh got a message with her flowers.”
“I’ll make one up on the spot now if you want?” Ianto offered like a gentleman.
Jack rested his hands behind his head. “Shoot.”
Ianto cleared his throat.
“To Jack...” He paused. “From Ianto.”
Jack pulled a face. “That’s cold.”
“Fine.” Ianto started again. “To Jack. Love Ianto. Kiss, kiss.”
“Better.”
“To Jack. You rock my twenty-first century world. Love Ianto. Kiss, kiss.” Jack cleared his throat. “Kiss,” Ianto added one for good luck.
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Jack turned the bouquet in his hand, admiring it at different angles. “They’re beautiful, Ianto,” he complimented them, all jokes aside.
“Of course they are, rarely does one give ugly flowers,” Ianto pointed out amusedly. “If you wanted them all you had to do was ask.”
Jack sighed and looked up at the ceiling; it had been one of those days where Jack’s eyes looked significantly older than his face. An old woman by the name of Christina had told him he didn’t belong, but there were moments with his team - with Ianto - when he thought: I do belong here. I do.
“I don’t deserve them,” Jack said in an unusually quiet voice. Ianto caught hold of one of his wrists and gazed deep into his eyes.
“Yes you do, Captain Jack Harkness. You deserve a whole garden of flowers for the amount of good you’ve done and continue to do. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
He pressed a firm kiss to the corner of Jack’s mouth. It was Jack’s eyes that spoke a thousand words this time. Or the same word over and over: belonging.
“I’ll put these in water for you.” Ianto took the bouquet from Jack and climbed off him. Jack stayed on the floor, beaming.
“O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?”
“Yes,” Ianto answered swiftly. His hands met his hips. “Want a hand up, old man?”
“I’ll manage,” Jack growled, aiming a kick at Ianto’s heel on his way out.
Jack stared up at the ceiling thoughtfully for a moment before calling out, almost nervously, “Ianto?”
Ianto’s face popped up above him out of nowhere as if by magic.
“You rang, Captain?”
Tell him you love him, a voice urged from the back of Jack’s mind.
“I…” He shut his eyes and opened them again. “Thanks. For the flowers.”
“You’re welcome,” Ianto responded with a good-natured smile, then disappeared from view.
Once Ianto was gone Jack internally kicked himself. Even if he was from the 51st century, at the end of the day he was still a 21st century man incapable of talking about his true feelings. He sighed, sitting up on his elbows as he listened to the sound of Ianto running a tap in the distance. When the floor became too cold to stomach alone, he pulled himself up.