Wish
Title: Wish
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle. (I'm also not The Cure, or associated with them. I just happened to think their album made one hell of a great prompt and went a little nuts.)
Pairings: Ianto/stranger, Gwen/Rhys, Gwen/Owen, Ianto/Lisa, Toshiko/Mary, Ianto/Jack, Owen/Diane, Jack/Jack. Just not all at once.
Rating: Mostly PG, but peaks at a hard R (or maybe a light NC-17) for language and sexuality.
Notes: Written for the tw_flashfic prompt, three wishes. I was struggling with ideas, and then out of the blue decided to do a drabble piece for each song on The Cure's Wish album. And include the word "wish" in each of them. Because it's topical. Like, uh, ointment. As always, comments and constructive criticism are appreciated, as are offers of good coffee, chocolate, and compromising positions with a certain archivist and/or Captain. Also posted at my fic journal.
And the way the rain comes down hard --
That's how I feel inside.
-- The Cure, "Open"
# # #
Ianto sat in the club, still half dressed from work. He'd left his jacket in the Audi and loosened his tie, but beyond that he'd made no concessions to blending in. Not that it was hurting his chances, mind. And his money was as good as anyone's.
It was a blonde one that kissed him tonight. His age, maybe a little younger, and whip thin. Kissed him hard and slipped the pill into his waiting mouth on the way to the dance floor.
How many now? He couldn't recall. Couldn't name their faces if he wanted to. But no matter how many, it never felt final. All he could do was keep going and wish.
# # #
And when I see you happy as a girl
That swims in a world of magic show,
It makes me bite my fingers through
To think I could've let you go.
-- The Cure, "High"
# # #
It was moments like this that made it all worthwhile.
Gwen's laughter rang out like bells, almost. It wasn't like when they went bowling, when her laughter was more at his expense because she was winning. And it wasn't that weird laugh he'd heard a few times since she'd taken on that job in special ops. It was good money, but more and more he wished she'd never taken the position.
"We have to go again!"
"Good lord, woman. You can't be serious? We've been on six times already. I probably look like a drowned rat."
"A dead sexy drowned rat," she winked. "Right! Back in line, then!"
Rhys rolled his eyes and followed, laughing. He'd never known someone so in love with the Barry Island log flume.
# # #
But she just drops her pearl-black eyes,
And prays to hear him say
"I love you,"
But he tells no more lies.
-- The Cure, "Apart"
# # #
She should have known better than to believe it would work out.
Embarrasingly enough, it really was amazing. And that fact ate at her. That after Brynblaidd she craved him. The way he pulled her hair when he came. The things he could do with his hands. Oh, and his tongue...
Were they too cozy now? Was that it? She didn't feel cozy. She felt raw and empty and starving and alone. Rhys was sincere, but he was cuddly. Owen was never cuddly. Owen took her and did what he liked until she was panting and crying out for more. Always more.
Gwen threw her moble across the room and sobbed and wished she could fix this.
# # #
"Never never never never never let me go," she says
"Hold me like this for a hundred thousand million days."
But suddenly she slows,
And looks down at my breaking face.
"Why do you cry? what did i say?"
"It's just rain," I smile,
Brushing my tears away.
-- The Cure, "From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea"
# # #
In his dream, Lisa is with him. They're on a beach -- it looks like Swansea, maybe -- and it's dawn. She's playing in the water as he watches, turning around to give him a smile now and again. She's wearing something pretty, though he's having trouble focusing on what it is. Some sort of dress, maybe. He wonders sometimes why she chose him. She's more than he could wish for.
And then he is holding her. He kisses her and remembers what it was like for her to respond. Remembers the way they made love. He feels a twinge. Feels a bit of warmth between his legs. But something about it feels wrong. He has to get away.
She is in the water, again. Walking in. Her dress hangs wetly against her body, clinging to her curves. "Come on, Ianto!" she calls out to him. She wants him to come into the sea.
"I can't!" He pleads. "I'll ruin my suit!"
And then the sky opens up.
She never stops being Lisa, really. Not even when she comes out of the water all steel and skin and Annie's voice. She strokes him with electric hands and he screams. His body answers instantly to her touch, and he's repulsed by it. He doesn't want this. Anything but this. She kisses him, and it's nothing but shards of pain. He feels the tears come, but she doesn't understand.
# # #
"You stare at me all strange," she said.
"Are you hungry for more?"
"I've had enough," I said.
"Please leave me alone."
"Please go."
-- The Cure, "Wendy Time"
# # #
Tosh is pretty sure she can't handle this.
Mary's mouth is still wet when they kiss. She doesn't recognize the taste on the other woman's lips right away. When she does, it's too late to pull away, and far too late not to have an orgasm with a woman between her legs.
It was Owen she'd wanted. Owen she'd wished for. Owen she'd --
She feels Mary's fingers and whimpers. It feels so good. Impossibly good.
When they finish, Tosh wraps herself in the duvet. Mary is nonchalant. She touches things. Gets into stuff. Smokes. Asks too many questions. Wants to talk about Owen. Wants her to use the pendant.
"I think you'd better go."
# # #
"It's a perfect day to throw back your head
And kiss it all goodbye."
-- The Cure, "Doing the Unstuck"
# # #
Jack is adjusting his coat when he hears it. A chirping noise. He doesn't believe it at first. He just stands there dumbly and and watches the LED flash. It isn't until he hears the familiar, undulating grind of the TARDIS and sees the hand begin to glow that he can't deny it.
There's no time to wish the others farewell.
# # #
Saturday wait --
And Sunday always comes too late,
But Friday never hesitate.
-- The Cure, "Friday I'm in Love"
# # #
"Don't you wish we had proper weekends?" Owen asked before tossing another ball of paper into the dustbin.
"Never had them with the Police," Gwen shrugged. "Days off, yeah, but Friday night and Saturday? Those are big days. Didn't get them off much."
"Yeah, A&E was the same way. Always a riot on the bloody weekend."
"What, like an actual riot?" Gwen's eyebrows threatened to shoot off her face.
"Only the once. Two days later I signed on here."
"And you still don't get weekends."
"Nope." Owen tossed another wad of paper. "No weekends."
# # #
And if you leave me now
You leave all that we were undone.
There is really no-one left.
You are the only one.
-- The Cure, "Trust"
# # #
Jack is dead.
Ianto hates her for staying with him. It should be him down there holding vigil, not her. Instead, here he is, weeping pathetically into the man's coat. Six months wasn't near enough. He hasn't even known Jack a whole year, and now he's gone forever. Death by fucking Torchwood.
That night, he uses Jack's keys to get on top of Saint David's. He's wearing the coat, hands thrust deep into the pockets of it, letting his fingers touch the flotsam and jetsam of Jack's life.
He hugs the coat even closer to him and watches a meteor streak brightly across the sky. He'd make a wish, but some things are impossible.
# # #
The way the blue could pull me in,
If they only would,
If they only would.
-- The Cure, "A Letter to Elise"
# # #
Jack liked this new kid from Torchwood One. Ianto Jones. He was pretty, and his coffee was fantastic. Total wish-fulfillment material.
Sure, the circumstances were tragic, but Jack had done tragic enough to know that scars faded over time. He wondered idly if Ianto had any interesting scars. Hard to tell. The suit seemed to cover an awful lot of him.
"If that's all, sir --"
"Yeah. Yeah. Thanks, Ianto."
Jack watched the younger man leave, suppressing a whistle.
# # #
I feel hopeless hands helplessly
Pulling you back close to me.
I wish you felt the way that I still do.
The way that I still do.
-- The Cure, "Cut"
# # #
Diane's plane disappeared into the sky. Vanished, more like. Taken by the Rift.
He'd tried to dissuade her. Begged her. He would have done anything. He'd have found a way to get her a license. After all, they could make whole identities up. How hard was one more credential?
And now here he was with nothing but a letter and a scarf and no way to bring her back to him.
"I wish I'd never met you," he lied under his breath before screaming and throwing his keys hard across the runway.
# # #
It was the sweetness of your skin.
It was the hope of all we might have been.
That fills me with the hope to wish
Impossible things.
-- The Cure, "To Wish Impossible Things"
# # #
Jack Harkness could come back from the dead. His Jack Harkness. Beautiful, mad, impossible, forgiving Jack Harkness.
Ianto was on top of Saint David's again -- second time in as many weeks -- watching the sky for another shooting star. He knew what he wanted. He could taste the wish on his tongue.
His tie whipped about in the wind. It was less dramatic than Jack's coat, though his long black wool shell coat was a reasonable second in that department.
Right now, all he had to do was wait and believe.
# # #
I think I've reached that point
Where every wish has come true,
And tired disguised oblivion
Is everything I do.
Please stop loving me.
Please stop loving me.
I am none of these things.
-- The Cure, "End"
# # #
There was a time when someone might have mentioned Captain Jack Harkness -- the real Captain Jack Harkness -- and he might have laughed. Might have said something clever like, "Yeah, wish I could have met him," and then gone on.
That all changed at the Ritz.
Now he can barely meet his team's eyes. He can barely withstand Ianto's touch. He buries it deep in his anger and fear (of which there is plenty). He takes it out on Owen. He tries desperately to be a hero. And he fails them all.
When they turn on him, he is almost glad. At least then he can fall back on being his own foolish, petty self. They shoot him, in the end. It's the only way to get his retina print.
Abaddon's shadow is the last thing he remembers before falling into the dark. He doesn't know if he's won or lost. He doesn't know if he's a hero. There isn't enough left of him to care. There's only a name that isn't his, and a long string of con jobs, and relief.
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle. (I'm also not The Cure, or associated with them. I just happened to think their album made one hell of a great prompt and went a little nuts.)
Pairings: Ianto/stranger, Gwen/Rhys, Gwen/Owen, Ianto/Lisa, Toshiko/Mary, Ianto/Jack, Owen/Diane, Jack/Jack. Just not all at once.
Rating: Mostly PG, but peaks at a hard R (or maybe a light NC-17) for language and sexuality.
Notes: Written for the tw_flashfic prompt, three wishes. I was struggling with ideas, and then out of the blue decided to do a drabble piece for each song on The Cure's Wish album. And include the word "wish" in each of them. Because it's topical. Like, uh, ointment. As always, comments and constructive criticism are appreciated, as are offers of good coffee, chocolate, and compromising positions with a certain archivist and/or Captain. Also posted at my fic journal.
And the way the rain comes down hard --
That's how I feel inside.
-- The Cure, "Open"
# # #
Ianto sat in the club, still half dressed from work. He'd left his jacket in the Audi and loosened his tie, but beyond that he'd made no concessions to blending in. Not that it was hurting his chances, mind. And his money was as good as anyone's.
It was a blonde one that kissed him tonight. His age, maybe a little younger, and whip thin. Kissed him hard and slipped the pill into his waiting mouth on the way to the dance floor.
How many now? He couldn't recall. Couldn't name their faces if he wanted to. But no matter how many, it never felt final. All he could do was keep going and wish.
# # #
And when I see you happy as a girl
That swims in a world of magic show,
It makes me bite my fingers through
To think I could've let you go.
-- The Cure, "High"
# # #
It was moments like this that made it all worthwhile.
Gwen's laughter rang out like bells, almost. It wasn't like when they went bowling, when her laughter was more at his expense because she was winning. And it wasn't that weird laugh he'd heard a few times since she'd taken on that job in special ops. It was good money, but more and more he wished she'd never taken the position.
"We have to go again!"
"Good lord, woman. You can't be serious? We've been on six times already. I probably look like a drowned rat."
"A dead sexy drowned rat," she winked. "Right! Back in line, then!"
Rhys rolled his eyes and followed, laughing. He'd never known someone so in love with the Barry Island log flume.
# # #
But she just drops her pearl-black eyes,
And prays to hear him say
"I love you,"
But he tells no more lies.
-- The Cure, "Apart"
# # #
She should have known better than to believe it would work out.
Embarrasingly enough, it really was amazing. And that fact ate at her. That after Brynblaidd she craved him. The way he pulled her hair when he came. The things he could do with his hands. Oh, and his tongue...
Were they too cozy now? Was that it? She didn't feel cozy. She felt raw and empty and starving and alone. Rhys was sincere, but he was cuddly. Owen was never cuddly. Owen took her and did what he liked until she was panting and crying out for more. Always more.
Gwen threw her moble across the room and sobbed and wished she could fix this.
# # #
"Never never never never never let me go," she says
"Hold me like this for a hundred thousand million days."
But suddenly she slows,
And looks down at my breaking face.
"Why do you cry? what did i say?"
"It's just rain," I smile,
Brushing my tears away.
-- The Cure, "From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea"
# # #
In his dream, Lisa is with him. They're on a beach -- it looks like Swansea, maybe -- and it's dawn. She's playing in the water as he watches, turning around to give him a smile now and again. She's wearing something pretty, though he's having trouble focusing on what it is. Some sort of dress, maybe. He wonders sometimes why she chose him. She's more than he could wish for.
And then he is holding her. He kisses her and remembers what it was like for her to respond. Remembers the way they made love. He feels a twinge. Feels a bit of warmth between his legs. But something about it feels wrong. He has to get away.
She is in the water, again. Walking in. Her dress hangs wetly against her body, clinging to her curves. "Come on, Ianto!" she calls out to him. She wants him to come into the sea.
"I can't!" He pleads. "I'll ruin my suit!"
And then the sky opens up.
She never stops being Lisa, really. Not even when she comes out of the water all steel and skin and Annie's voice. She strokes him with electric hands and he screams. His body answers instantly to her touch, and he's repulsed by it. He doesn't want this. Anything but this. She kisses him, and it's nothing but shards of pain. He feels the tears come, but she doesn't understand.
# # #
"You stare at me all strange," she said.
"Are you hungry for more?"
"I've had enough," I said.
"Please leave me alone."
"Please go."
-- The Cure, "Wendy Time"
# # #
Tosh is pretty sure she can't handle this.
Mary's mouth is still wet when they kiss. She doesn't recognize the taste on the other woman's lips right away. When she does, it's too late to pull away, and far too late not to have an orgasm with a woman between her legs.
It was Owen she'd wanted. Owen she'd wished for. Owen she'd --
She feels Mary's fingers and whimpers. It feels so good. Impossibly good.
When they finish, Tosh wraps herself in the duvet. Mary is nonchalant. She touches things. Gets into stuff. Smokes. Asks too many questions. Wants to talk about Owen. Wants her to use the pendant.
"I think you'd better go."
# # #
"It's a perfect day to throw back your head
And kiss it all goodbye."
-- The Cure, "Doing the Unstuck"
# # #
Jack is adjusting his coat when he hears it. A chirping noise. He doesn't believe it at first. He just stands there dumbly and and watches the LED flash. It isn't until he hears the familiar, undulating grind of the TARDIS and sees the hand begin to glow that he can't deny it.
There's no time to wish the others farewell.
# # #
Saturday wait --
And Sunday always comes too late,
But Friday never hesitate.
-- The Cure, "Friday I'm in Love"
# # #
"Don't you wish we had proper weekends?" Owen asked before tossing another ball of paper into the dustbin.
"Never had them with the Police," Gwen shrugged. "Days off, yeah, but Friday night and Saturday? Those are big days. Didn't get them off much."
"Yeah, A&E was the same way. Always a riot on the bloody weekend."
"What, like an actual riot?" Gwen's eyebrows threatened to shoot off her face.
"Only the once. Two days later I signed on here."
"And you still don't get weekends."
"Nope." Owen tossed another wad of paper. "No weekends."
# # #
And if you leave me now
You leave all that we were undone.
There is really no-one left.
You are the only one.
-- The Cure, "Trust"
# # #
Jack is dead.
Ianto hates her for staying with him. It should be him down there holding vigil, not her. Instead, here he is, weeping pathetically into the man's coat. Six months wasn't near enough. He hasn't even known Jack a whole year, and now he's gone forever. Death by fucking Torchwood.
That night, he uses Jack's keys to get on top of Saint David's. He's wearing the coat, hands thrust deep into the pockets of it, letting his fingers touch the flotsam and jetsam of Jack's life.
He hugs the coat even closer to him and watches a meteor streak brightly across the sky. He'd make a wish, but some things are impossible.
# # #
The way the blue could pull me in,
If they only would,
If they only would.
-- The Cure, "A Letter to Elise"
# # #
Jack liked this new kid from Torchwood One. Ianto Jones. He was pretty, and his coffee was fantastic. Total wish-fulfillment material.
Sure, the circumstances were tragic, but Jack had done tragic enough to know that scars faded over time. He wondered idly if Ianto had any interesting scars. Hard to tell. The suit seemed to cover an awful lot of him.
"If that's all, sir --"
"Yeah. Yeah. Thanks, Ianto."
Jack watched the younger man leave, suppressing a whistle.
# # #
I feel hopeless hands helplessly
Pulling you back close to me.
I wish you felt the way that I still do.
The way that I still do.
-- The Cure, "Cut"
# # #
Diane's plane disappeared into the sky. Vanished, more like. Taken by the Rift.
He'd tried to dissuade her. Begged her. He would have done anything. He'd have found a way to get her a license. After all, they could make whole identities up. How hard was one more credential?
And now here he was with nothing but a letter and a scarf and no way to bring her back to him.
"I wish I'd never met you," he lied under his breath before screaming and throwing his keys hard across the runway.
# # #
It was the sweetness of your skin.
It was the hope of all we might have been.
That fills me with the hope to wish
Impossible things.
-- The Cure, "To Wish Impossible Things"
# # #
Jack Harkness could come back from the dead. His Jack Harkness. Beautiful, mad, impossible, forgiving Jack Harkness.
Ianto was on top of Saint David's again -- second time in as many weeks -- watching the sky for another shooting star. He knew what he wanted. He could taste the wish on his tongue.
His tie whipped about in the wind. It was less dramatic than Jack's coat, though his long black wool shell coat was a reasonable second in that department.
Right now, all he had to do was wait and believe.
# # #
I think I've reached that point
Where every wish has come true,
And tired disguised oblivion
Is everything I do.
Please stop loving me.
Please stop loving me.
I am none of these things.
-- The Cure, "End"
# # #
There was a time when someone might have mentioned Captain Jack Harkness -- the real Captain Jack Harkness -- and he might have laughed. Might have said something clever like, "Yeah, wish I could have met him," and then gone on.
That all changed at the Ritz.
Now he can barely meet his team's eyes. He can barely withstand Ianto's touch. He buries it deep in his anger and fear (of which there is plenty). He takes it out on Owen. He tries desperately to be a hero. And he fails them all.
When they turn on him, he is almost glad. At least then he can fall back on being his own foolish, petty self. They shoot him, in the end. It's the only way to get his retina print.
Abaddon's shadow is the last thing he remembers before falling into the dark. He doesn't know if he's won or lost. He doesn't know if he's a hero. There isn't enough left of him to care. There's only a name that isn't his, and a long string of con jobs, and relief.