FIC: True to Life Hard 15 Ianto/Jack/Guy
Title: True to Life
Author: Unsentimental Fool
Fandom: Torchwood/BBC Robin Hood Crossover
Pairing: Ianto/Jack/Guy
Rating: Hard 15
Word Count:7,000
Summary: Since when has the Rift started spitting out fictional characters?
Notes/Warnings: Spoilers to end S3 Robin Hood, end S2 Torchwood.
Jack whistled quietly, and Ianto sighed. Over the radio Gwen's voice was impatient. “Can you see him yet?”
“Oh yes.” Jack was smugly lecherous. “I can definitely see him. Ianto, can you get us any nearer?”
“No!” Ianto turned off the ignition. “You can see the poor sod quite well enough from here.”
“So what does he look like, then, boys? Come on!”
“He looks magnificent.” Jack murmured. “He looks heroic, and dangerous, and just a little bit mad. He looks..”
“Like Richard Armitage.” Ianto interrupted. “Because it is Richard Armitage.”
“Bloody hell!” from over the radio. “I think you'd better bring him in.”
“Richard Armitage?” Jack was looking at Ianto, bewildered.
“Yes. Guy of Gisborne. From Robin Hood. You know, the BBC one.”
“Kids' stuff.” Jack waved a dismissive hand. “Never seen it. “
Ianto bridled slightly, let it go. “Well, that is Armitage, playing Guy, Third season.”
Jack opened the car door, slid out. The man in the headlights lifted his sword and charged and Jack was back in his seat with the door slammed shut before Ianto could blink.
“That is not Richard Armitage.” he said, firmly.
“How would you know? You never saw the show, you said?”
Gwen's voice said, somewhat plaintively, “I'd settle for someone who looked like Richard, if that's all that's going.”
“Be quiet, immoral woman. You're happily married, and we're working here.” Jack peered through the windscreen again at the still figure outside. “I have seen Armitage in other things, you know.”
“Like what?” Ianto's eyes didn't leave the dark figure with its back to the alley wall.
Jack murmured something, muffled. “What did you say?” Ianto turned to look at his partner.
“I might have seen Spooks, Once or twice. Research purposes. Anyway, why would Richard Armitage be trying to decapitate me?”
“Good point.” Ianto conceded. “Crazed lookalike fanboy, do you think?”
Jack shook his head. “Too authentic. That sword's genuine, and no roleplaying kid would handle it like that. Besides, I've seen far too many cases of culture shock, and that man's got it in spades. And there was the Rift activity yesterday evening.”
Ianto sighed. “But there's nothing at all authentic about that costume. No-one from the middle ages dressed like that, in those materials. It's straight from Saturday night TV and nowhere else. So who the hell is he?”
“Let's go and find out, shall we?”
Whoever he was, he didn't want to co-operate with Torchwood. Jack and Ianto bundled the unconscious body into the back of the car, removed sword and knife from his belt and compared near misses. A scratch down Jack's arm, a rip in Ianto's jacket; not bad for thirty seconds of frantically dodging a slashing blade.
“Get us back to the Hub, Ianto. I want to see what we've picked up under those unlikely clothes.”
“Don't we all,” Ianto muttered quietly, and drove.
It was at times like these that they missed having a doctor. No, that was too bland. They missed Owen. Still, they could all operate the basic scanners, understand most of the readouts. Their unconscious guest was entirely human. In his late 30s, healthy- hardly medieval, but no trace of 21st century medicine either- no tooth decay, no fillings, no operation scars, no implants, no vaccinations. The muscles of a swordsman, and calluses to match. A number of scars, consistent with sword injuries, and scar tissue along one upper arm. “?chemical?” the computer suggested. Ianto shook his head at that. “I don't understand,” he said, to no-one in particular.
Ianto pulled some clips from the BBC archives. The resemblance was startling, but not exact. Their astoundingly good face recognition software was uncertain about the correlation. The clothes looked similar, but the TV show used modern materials; these were genuine leather and wool, if treated in some way that the computer was unfamiliar with.
“It's as if,” Gwen said, as puzzled as any of them, “the show was a near exact modern copy.” The man in front of them was rawer, more real. “More dangerous.” Jack said, with relish.
They'd done as much poking and prying as they could while the man lay unconscious. Ianto dressed him again, carefully. He'd paid attention during the undressing; he knew how each unfamiliar garment went. Jack, he thought, had had other things on his mind. God, the man was handsome though. Ianto couldn't fault Jack for his taste, not this time.
Gwen dimmed the lights a little, to take the edge off the stark lab surroundings, and Jack administered the shot to wake their visitor up.
The man tensed, opened his eyes and was off the bed and crouched against the wall. Blue-grey eyes flickered across all of them, came to rest on Jack.
“Where's my sword?” The voice was a growl, the words modern English as far as Ianto could tell. The computer murmured confirmation in his ear; accent, unplaceable; voice recognition, no match.
Jack held up a placatory hand. “We've taken it away so that no-one gets hurt. You can have it back as soon as we are sure that you won't attack anyone.”
“In other words, when pigs fly,” Ianto muttered, sotto voce.
The leather clad man nodded reluctant acknowledgement. Smart, Ianto thought. Knows when to let something go, for the moment. Ianto was willing to bet that retrieving his weapon was going to be high on the man's to do list from now on, however. “Where am I?”
“Cardiff. We're Torchwood. We found you in the city.”
“Cardiff?” The man frowned. “Wales?” Jack exchanged a quick glance with Ianto.
“Yes. Do you know how you got here?”
The man shook his head.
“OK. Never mind for now. I'm Captain Jack Harkness. This is Gwen Cooper, and Ianto Jones. Can you tell us your name?”
The man got to his feet, chin high. “Sir Guy of Gisborne.”
No surprise there. Still, Ianto thought, it made no sense at all.
Guy was unfazed by pizza. Stuff on top of bread, Ianto thought. I guess that makes sense to him. Olives got a small, pleased exclamation of recognition. Anchovies got carefully removed after the first unguarded taste.
“Anchovies, Ianto?” Gwen was scathing. “What were you thinking? We're meant to be reducing culture shock!”
“I thought he might like them,” Ianto replied, slightly shamefaced. He hadn't really been thinking at all, just dialling in their usual order plus a bit. There were other things on his mind, like impossible guests.
After lunch it was business. Interrogations were Gwen's job; sympathy and hard determination in equal measure. Or Jack's, if the unlucky victim needed breaking down in six different ways. Ianto had never envied either of them the task. Talking to strangers wasn't his thing; he knew the skills he had, didn't pretend to more.
This time Jack didn't give him any choice. “You know more about this than we do, Ianto. You'll know what to ask. Find out what connection he has to that bloody TV show. Find out how he got here. “ Ianto's protests were firmly overruled. “Consider it a punishment for watching too much bad television.”
“You can talk! Spooks, for God's sake!”
“Well, we don't have a fictional traumatised secret agent here, Ianto. We have a fictional hot medieval bad guy. Go and ask him some questions. We'll be watching from here, and you'll have the earpiece. You'll be fine.” Jack pushed Ianto gently. “Go on.”
Guy was standing behind the chair in their small interrogation room. He watched Ianto enter with no discernable reaction.
“Please, sit down.” Ianto drew his own chair back, settled down. Surely Jack knew that he didn't know how to do this.
Gisborne stayed standing, hands on the back of the chair. “I'm a prisoner.” It wasn't a question.
A murmur through the earpiece. “Explain about Torchwood.” Ianto tried.
“There's a rift here in Cardiff- a hole. In space, and time. Things- people- come through, from other worlds, from other times. On purpose, or by accident.
Guy caught at the words. “Other worlds? Do the dead come back?”
Shit. “No.” Ianto said firmly, and mendaciously. “Only living people. And things. We are the guards; it's our job to keep the city- the world- safe from anything dangerous that comes through. So we have to ask you questions, do tests, find out if you are a threat .”
“And if you decide I am?” The voice was low. Ianto had very little doubt that the man was dangerous, at least on a hitting people with sharp objects level.
Ianto paused, hoping for help in his ear. It didn't come. Thanks a lot, Harkness, he thought. “Then we will decide what to do with you.” he said, obscurely. To his relief there was no comeback. The man was watching him so intently that Ianto struggled not to squirm. Finally Guy sat down
“I'll answer your questions. For the moment.” There was no hint of concession in his voice.
“Thank you.” Ianto knew he was responding to the overpowering presence in the room by becoming quieter, more formal. He didn't know if that was right or wrong- for God's sake, he didn't do this! He could have fed Gwen questions, or Jack. Instead here he was, an amateur, up against a man clearly used to this sort of manoeuvring.
Ianto took a breath, started. “Tell me where you live.”
Guy answered the easy questions smoothly, barely hesitating. Ianto checked out detail after detail; it matched what he knew pretty much exactly. Guy was calm; family? He had a sister, hadn't seen her for many years. Parents long dead. Position; he was lieutenant to the Sheriff of Nottingham. Married? No. Engaged? The first long pause. No. Was there someone special? Dead, he said quietly, and his expression made Ianto shift to safer subjects.
As far as Ianto could gather, without going back and checking the Wikipedia episode guides, Guy appeared to come from somewhere around the first few episodes of season 3. Before Isabella, before Prince John- Ianto couldn't recall when he turned up. After he'd killed Marian.
Guy refused the next question. “I want to know some things, first” Ianto nodded. A murmur in his ear, “Be careful.” Well that was bloody helpful, wasn't it?
“Is anyone else- here? Did they come through your hole?”
Ianto shook his head. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“We're certain. We have instruments- like alarm bells- that tell us when the rift opens. We know that you are the only person to have come through it at that time, and nothing since.”
Guy thought about that for a moment, nodded. Ianto could see the man filing the information away, turning from thoughts of his enemies to the present. Very dangerous, this one.
“Can I go back?”
The answer was always no, but sometimes it was better not to give it straight away. “We don't yet know exactly where you came from.” A tightening around Guy's eyes- he'd recognised the evasion.
“I have little to go back for. When will you decide whether to let me go or not?”
“It's going to be some time yet. I'm sorry.”
“Then you had better carry on with your questions.”
Gwen brought drinks, coffee for Ianto and water for Gisborne. Guy sniffed it, clearly decided that he was not in a position to worry about being poisoned, and drank thirstily. “You have necessaries in this place?”
Ianto took him out to the toilet, explained as best he could. Guy didn't see a need for privacy; Ianto snatched an appreciative look. He'd seen the man unconscious but this was a little different. He'd be sure to mention it to Jack.
The small room felt even more claustrophobic when they returned. Ianto switched to the gaps. Guy's answers came just as easily. How he'd met the Sheriff. The route they'd taken back from the Holy Land. Where he'd lived as a young child; the name of a brother who had died as an infant. Where he'd bought his favourite horse. What he'd eaten for supper the night before. If he wondered at the questions he didn't comment.
He had nothing useful to say about his transition. One minute he had been riding from Locksley to Nottingham; the next he was on his knees in the confusing maze of brick, stone and lights that was modern Cardiff. No sensation, no noise, just there.
Eventually Ianto stopped. “That will do for the moment, Ianto. Good job.” Jack in his earpiece sounded as mystified as Ianto felt.
“You're done?” Guy was watching him again.
“For the moment. Thank you. Wait here, and we'll be back shortly.”
A quick conference only established their total bafflement.
“We can't let him go.” Jack. “He's too much of a mystery. He's not from the past, I'm sure of that. But he's definitely from the Rift.”
“Maybe we're all mass hallucinating?” Gwen.
Ianto shook his head. He'd just spent the best part of three hours in a room with the man, leather and sweat and dark eyes. He was no hallucination. “So what shall we do with him?”
“For the moment, treat him as a guest. Gwen- can you give him the tour?”
“And tonight? Are we going to put him in a cell?”
Jack sighed. “Do you have any better ideas? Find a mattress and some blankets, at least.”
Ianto came back up from making one of the cells as cosy as he could manage. Which, he had to admit, wasn't very, but hopefully their guest wasn't used to too much luxury. Jack was watching the screens in his office. Ianto walked up behind him, put an arm around his neck. Gwen was introducing Guy to Myfanwy. Guy seemed impressed but not particularly intimidated by the pterosaur.
“I can see you're not going to get any work done while he's here.” Ianto murmured.
“Surely you're not jealous, Mr Jones?” Jack tore his eyes away from the screens long enough for a swift pat to Ianto's backside.
“Oh no. I'm going to need a little bit more than that to stop me being jealous.”
Jack raised his eyebrows. “Three hours in a room with all those hormones getting to you?”
That was pretty close to the truth. At the time Ianto had been too worried about the interrogation to appreciate the man on the other side of the desk, but now, away from the pressure, the combination of proximity to Guy and now Jack was really making him quite single minded. Fortunately Jack seemed to have picked up something of the same atmosphere. When Gwen opened the door the two men were technically still decent, but the position that they had got into suggested that they were unlikely to to stay that way for long.
“We'll come back.” Gwen announced loudly, backing out and attempting to close the door in Guy's face. Guy pushed it open with ease, kept it there, his eyes wide.
Ianto squirmed to get out from under Jack. “Sorry- Gwen- Guy. It's just.”
Jack pulled himself upright, an arm firmly around Ianto. “Hello again, Guy. This is my office. Gwen seems to have disappeared for the moment, so Ianto will show you the coffee machine. Off you go, Ianto.”
Ianto walked reluctantly to the door. Guy shifted to let him past. They were halfway down the corridor when the voice came in Ianto's ear, dry and definite.
“You were fucking.”
Ianto kept walking. “No. Not really. Not in office hours. I mean, we do, but not when Gwen's around, obviously. We were just, well. Kissing a bit.”
He was talking to someone with at least a semi-medieval mindset. He really ought to be keeping quiet. Still, he was curious.
“I suppose men don't do that where you come from.”
Guy laughed. “Oh yes, they do. Sometimes. Not for long. Have you ever seen a man stoned to death? It really isn't pretty.”
Ouch. “It's not like that here. Now. Now one can love who one chooses, man or woman.”
“Love.” Guy's voice was cynical. “He's in authority, isn't he? You do what you're told. Not much seems to have changed.”
Ianto stopped. Turned. The man was close; too close. Ianto's interrupted interlude with Jack had left him a little... susceptible. “No. No. He's my boss, yes, but that's not what's between us. It never has been.”
Blue eyes looked down at him, cold. “I've heard that before.”
Ianto passed the man back to Gwen, with relief. He and Jack watched them on the camera; Guy apparently relaxed, sprawled over the sofa, discussing Myfanwy with Gwen.
“Damn.” Jack murmured. “He really is remarkable.”
He looked round at Ianto. “If anyone is going to be jealous, I think it should be me. How is it that you never mentioned this TV show of yours? I doubt that you were watching it for the historical accuracy.”
Ianto shrugged. “Didn't think you'd be interested. Kid's show, remember.”
“Yes, right. Is that why you were so grumpy when I called you in last night?”
“Right in the middle of.” Ianto stopped. His fingers were flying on the keyboard, his eyes intent on the screen. “There. BBC1 at the exact moment when the Rift opened.”
Jack peered over his shoulder. “Oh. Get Gwen up here, now.”
The three of them stood round the screen, staring. “It still doesn't make sense.” Gwen complained. “Characters don't die on TV and simultaneously appear in real life. Not even with the Rift. And what happened to the months in between? The ones he can't remember.”
Jack laughed. “He's not a TV character, Gwen. He's an alien.”
“Or at least,” he amended as they turned to him, “he was. Scanners say he's human now and I'm inclined to believe them. But an alien came through the Rift last night. They're mimics, remarkable ones. Telepathic; they camouflage themselves by picking up thoughts from the people they are around. Generally it's just that, camouflage, but this poor devil managed to arrive at just the wrong fraction of a second, and got caught up in the emotional backwash from your TV show. Hit them with too much at once, so I've heard, and they change permanently.”
Ianto frowned. “But he's got a lot more depth than the TV character. I haven't caught him out yet in an inconsistency.”
Jack nodded. “Part of their camouflage; they have the most amazing capacity to grab information, entirely unconsciously, and create a coherent whole. I suspect he's pulled every reference to his character on the Internet; TV shows, historical analyses, medieval background, the lot. You won't catch him out, Ianto, he's better than you. Better than all of us.”
“So is he dangerous?” Ianto glanced at the other screen, where the thing that looked like Guy waited patiently in the interrogation room again.
Jack shrugged. “You tell me. Was Guy of Gisborne dangerous? That's who he is. Your TV show character plus whatever he's picked up to fill the gaps, make him fully human. And he is human, now.”
Yes, then. Not “destroy the Earth” dangerous, but certainly “kill people” dangerous. Onscreen, Guy was examining the blank paper that Ianto had left on the table. Long fingers fluttered over it and Ianto felt a sudden stab of lust.
“The internet,” he started, slowly. “That would include fanfiction, wouldn't it? All sorts?”
Jack and Gwen exchanged glances. “They don't write that stuff about Robin Hood, surely?” Gwen asked.
“Oh yes.” Ianto's smile disappeared. “We'd better find out just how he filled those gaps.” He led the way down to the small room. Guy stood up as they came in, taut, intent.
“Just one question this time,” Ianto said, calmly. “When Allan worked for you, last year.” (he nearly said last season, caught it.) “Were you screwing him?”
Guy tensed further. For a second Ianto thought the man would attack him. Then he relaxed, still unsmiling. Glanced over Ianto's shoulder at Jack. “Yes.”
Ianto took a breath. “So.” he said to Jack. “If he's picked that up... There were other things in some of those stories. Less harmless.”
Jack nodded. “We'll bear it in mind.”
“I've had enough of this.” The dark tones cut across Jack's comment. Guy was watching Ianto again, spoke to Jack.
“I've tolerated your...servant's...lies long enough. You claim not to know where I come from, how I got here, but every new question makes it clearer that you've known all about me from the start. I'm not here by chance. You brought me here, imprisoned me, and as far as I'm concerned that makes you- all three of you- my enemies. And I warn you, I'm a dangerous enemy.”
“So am I.” Jack's tone was absolute. “I won't have you threatening my people, Gisborne. Whatever you may think, this is none of our doing.”
“So explain. If you can.”
There were three of them, and they were all armed. Still Ianto shivered. Jack was still staring the man down, or trying to.
“I'll show you what we know. Explain as well as I can. Ianto, can you set the first couple of episodes up on the big screen?”
Guy clearly had trouble with television at first. Flat screen, changing camera angles, cut scenes- little of it looked as it might to an observer. Still, he froze when Robin came into view, watched intensely, his fingers tight around the edge of the chair. As Sit Guy of Gisborne rode onto the screen he was out of his seat, crouching up by the screen. That close it would be no more that a blur of pixels. Ianto paused the picture, persuaded him back a little, arm's length.
Guy reached out, touched the screen. “That's me. Isn't it? Only- this happened years ago. Show me more.”
He watched the rest of the episode without speaking. As the incomprehensible credits rolled he looked up at Jack.
“You know far more than this. There must be more. Show me.”
Ianto commented, quietly. “Three seasons, 13 episodes, 45 minutes- nearly 30 hours worth. Two days, with nothing but watching this, Jack. We don't have the time. Even if it were sensible.”
Jack nodded. “There is too much to show it all to you, Guy. But tell us what part of your life after the time you've just watched you want to see, and we'll show you that, if it's there.”
The reply was immediate. “Her death. Show me that.”
Ianto looked round at Jack, in appeal. That couldn't possibly be a good idea. Jack inclined his head. “Go on, Ianto.”
Maybe context would help. Ianto started the final episode from the beginning. Absolute silence from his audience. Ianto realised that there was stuff in there, betrayals, that Guy couldn't have known. His hand was inside his jacket, on his gun. They were about to show this volatile and disorientated man- alien- pictures of him killing the woman he loved, of her dying in the arms of his enemy. Ianto really hoped Jack knew what he was doing.
He suddenly realised that he'd barely touched on Marian's death in his briefings. Jack probably didn't know what was coming. Shit. He glanced round at Jack. He could pause it, claim a technical hitch, get the chance to talk to the boss first. Jack was shaking his head at Ianto, slowly. “Go on.” he mouthed.
The unforgiving scenes rolled by. Guy was on his feet, then his knees, utterly focussed on the screen as the outlaws rescued King Richard. Behind him Ianto muttered to Jack. “He kills her. You do know that?”
Jack took a sharp breath. “Fuck. Yes, you said- I was distracted. Too late now- if we stop it, he'll never trust us.”
“I can hear you.” The voice from in front of them was for the first time shaky. Guy didn't take his eyes off the screen. “You'll stop nothing. I will see this.”
The scene switched to the open square. Ianto sighed, ran his hand over the butt of his gun. On the screen Marian defied Guy, laughing. Gwen's hands were hovering over their guest's shoulders. The sword moved, and Guy jerked in response, his hands over his own stomach, watched himself fleeing, Marian and Robin, her last breath. Then he stood up, blind to them all, staggered to the edge of the room and threw up. Sat against the wall, arms round his knees, tearless, staring at nothing.
Jack was swearing, just loud enough for Ianto to hear. “A fucking kid's programme, Ianto. Safe enough, I thought. What sort of bloody kids watch that?”
Gwen was crouching at Guy's shoulder, hand on his arm. “Just pictures,” she was saying, gently. “It's long over. Guy? Do you understand? Just pictures. Like a painting, a tapestry. We shouldn't have shown you that. I'm sorry.”
Guy's backhanded blow sent her sprawling. Two guns covered the man instantly. Ianto was kneeling by Gwen, his gun still trained on Guy.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine.” She got to her feet, shakily. “Nothing broken.” Guy was still sitting on the floor. He looked up at Jack.
“Those.” He nodded at the gun. “Are weapons.”
“Yes.”
“Good. You've seen this. You know what sort of man I am. Are you going to let me into your city?”
“No.” Jack hadn't hesitated.
“Can you send me back?”
“No.”
“So you don't have much choice, do you? Use your weapons, Captain Jack Harkness.”
Jack shook his head. “I don't like ultimatums. I'm not sure yet that killing you is the only option. But,” and his voice dropped, “You lay one finger on any member of my staff again and I'll shoot you without another thought.”
Guy nodded. Glanced over to Gwen. “I don't appreciate consolation. But I won't touch her again.”
Their guest was locked in a cell, apparently sleeping deeply. They'd shown him how to take a shower, had found him some clean clothes; black t shirt and trousers, underwear. Ianto had been up for 24 hours straight and no amount of coffee was going to keep him going for much longer. “Get some rest,” Jack directed. “Gwen, go home. See Rhys. I'll see you tomorrow morning. Guy's not going anywhere.”
Alone in the Hub, Ianto looked at Jack. “Do you need me to stay?”
“I can keep an eye on one prisoner on my own, Ianto. You need some sleep.”
“That's not quite the assistance that what I was thinking of.”
Jack smiled, shook his head. “Stay on the couch. Get a few hours' sleep first. I'll wake you with coffee. Long before Gwen's due to get back in.”
Ianto nodded, happy. Headed off for the couch. State he was in, he could have slept on the lab floor.
The coffee was excellent. Ianto drank it in gulps, between kisses. “How's our prisoner?” he murmured into Jack's ear, ran his tongue round it while he waited for the answer.
Jack's fingers were caressing the back of his neck. “He has a very interesting way of amusing himself.”
“Oh yes?” Ianto's hand were warm under Jack's shirt.
“He woke up an hour or so after you went to sleep. Stood in the middle of his cell, dropped his trousers and jerked himself off. Standing there, legs apart, facing the glass. Absolutely silent.”
Ianto laughed. “I guess he didn't know you were watching.”
“Of course he did. If there's one thing he knows about us, it's that we watch. He's telling us something. I wish I knew what.”
His hand slid down between Ianto's legs. “Of course he might just be telling us that he's particularly well endowed. You were right there.”
“You can thank the fanfic for that one, I suspect. Damn, Jack, how can he be real? He's a collection of wishful thinking stories.”
“He's real, however he came about. And brave. This must be confusing as hell for him. If he hadn't hit Gwen....I really don't know what to do with him, Ianto.” Murmured into Ianto's neck, the unusual admission of doubt made Ianto pull Jack closer. “We'll work it out.” He started to unbutton Jack's trousers, the other man's mouth warm on his.
Alarms sounded. Jack rolled off the couch, Ianto behind him. “That's the cells.” They grabbed weapons and ran.
Guy had wrenched a leg off the bed and was systematically hammering on the glass. As soon as he saw the two men running down the corridor he stopped, stood back, dropping the piece of wood.
“Good” he said calmly. “Let me out of here. I want to talk to you.” Jack shrugged, keyed the cell door open. “Come upstairs.”
The man didn't move straight away. He was looking them both up and down.
“I interrupted your fucking. Again.”
Ianto was acutely conscious of their state of disarray, and his own arousal. Standing in front of this dark, amused stranger, it wasn't going away. Jack was grinning.
“Your timing is pretty awful, yes. Don't fancy postponing this chat for 30 minutes, do you?”
Guy was grinning back. “I could do. If you would lend me your servant for half an hour afterwards.”
Ianto concentrated on looking calm and professional. Let Jack handle this. Ianto was going to get it so wrong if he said anything at all.
Jack raised an eyebrow. “We're a team. We work best together.”
Ianto concentrated harder. This was Jack's idea of handling this? Guy's grin had widened. “That, I'd like to see.”
Jack did at least consult Ianto, if a turn of the head and an eyebrow raised could be considered consultation. Damn. This was Gisborne. Ianto hadn't watched that damn show, read the fanfic for three years, to turn up a chance like this. He nodded, faintly.
Jack took his gun out of its holster, placed it outside the cell, gestured to Ianto to do the same. “The door's keyed to our voices- it will only open if we speak the right words.” Guy nodded. Jack swung the cell door shut.
Jack and Guy were facing each other, eyes locked. Ianto thought that maybe he ought to have brought a book. Looked like neither man was going to have much time for him. God, how embarrassing was that going to be.
Then Jack murmured “Ianto.” and both men were watching him. Ianto swallowed. They were waiting for him to move.
He glanced at Jack, who nodded slightly towards Guy. Oh. Right. Why was this up to him all of a sudden? Telling himself firmly that this would be fine once it started, he walked up to Guy, placed both hands on his t-shirted chest and slid them up to his shoulders. God, the muscles under there!
A hand round the back of his head dragged his mouth onto Guy's. The kiss was utterly uncompromising; there was no room for anything reciprocal. No room to breathe, either. Guy's other hand grabbed Ianto's crotch through the material of his trousers. Right, Ianto thought, breathlessly. No ambiguity there. His heart was racing.
Guy pulled his mouth away, grinning down at Ianto. “Take your clothes off. I want to see if you're worth fucking.” His voice was a sneer.
“Hey!” Jack was at Ianto's shoulder. “Don't talk to him like that!”
Ianto turned his head. “Shut up, Jack.” he said, firmly.
Jack looked surprised, then laughed. “Sorry, Ianto. I'll just let you two carry on, shall I?”
“Yes.” Guy's voice was harsh. “I'll get to you in a minute, Harkness.”
“Oh. Good.” Ianto couldn't tell if Guy realised just how hard Jack was laughing under the mock serious tone. He wished Jack would stop it. It was rather detracting from the atmosphere.
Hot eyes burned into his and he forgot about Jack for a minute. “Strip.” Not like stripping for Jack. This man just wanted him naked, no finesse. No comments, no chat. Ianto removed his clothes automatically, efficiently, wondering what came next, drawing comfort from the presence of his lover somewhere behind him.
Naked, he faced Guy. His erection was hard; Guy glanced at it, slid a hand over it, under aching balls. “Wait,” he commanded and turned to Jack. Ianto turned sideways so that he could watch them both.
There was a long pause.
“Going to give me orders, Guy?” Jack was still laughing.
“You're not used to taking them, are you?”
Jack shook his head. “Not for many years.”
“You've seen my life; who I obey, how I do it. Do you despise me, Jack Harkness?” Guy's voice was cold.
Jack shook his head; “No!” and his arms were round the other man, mouth on his. Ianto watched them pull at each others' clothes, rake bare flesh, more like fighting than anything else. He knew these desperate moods of Jack's; it hurt, not to hold his lover.
Finally naked, they were on the ground, rolling over, and Jack was on top, hands pinning down the wrists of the other man, sprawled across his thighs. He dipped his head, kissing Guy's chest, and the man bucked and cursed under him.
Jack looked round, at Ianto. “Please?” Ianto was at his side, kissing him, Jack's fey mood passed. One of Ianto's hands slid down to caress Jack, the other around Guy. Nothing desperate, just stroking, gentle. After the first furious exclamations Guy went quiet, stopped struggling.
“Now”. Jack's voice was amused again. “I think we all know where we stand.” He stood up, releasing Guy.
“Guy, if you don't fuck Ianto he will never forgive me.”
“If I must.” Ianto could hear the lust under the lazy drawl, was apprehensive and desperate for it simultaneously.
“Which gives you a choice, Guy. I can either sit out here and watch. Or not. I'll not come where I'm not welcome.”
Guy rolled over and onto his feet, facing Jack. Then he turned to Ianto.
“Well, Ianto.” It was the first time he'd used the name. “Does it shame you, to be taken by that man?”
“No.” He could answer that one, calmly enough. He'd sorted that out to his satisfaction months back.
“So. If your Ianto can bear it, so can I. But next time, we will maybe stand a little differently”
“God, I like you!” Jack was laughing again. “Kiss the man, Ianto, for heaven's sake.”
Ianto kissed the man, feeling that mouth crushing down on his again. He broke away reluctantly. “Condoms, Jack?”
They didn't normally. Jack was constitutionally incapable of either catching or transmitting anything. Still, there must be some somewhere in the Hub.
Jack shook his head. “Guy, between arriving in Cardiff and us catching you, did you have sex at all?”
Guy looked at him in disbelief. “It was hardly top of my mind. I was mostly running away from things.”
“Scans would have picked up anything. And that goes for both of you. I think we're safe enough.”
Ianto signed in relief, went back to kissing Guy. Hands were at his crotch; he ran his down over the hard stomach, into the wiry black hair. A second set of hands touched him from behind, one running up his spine, the other lower, pushing very gently around his rear. Gods, this was good. He clutched gently at Guy's hands- he was going to come if the man did that much longer.
Hands on his shoulders pushed him firmly down, onto his knees. His eyes widened. Fuck, he could kill some of those fic writers! It's all very well writing in enormous genitals, but what happens when normal people want to have sex with them? Never think about that, do they? Bastards, he thought, not entirely reasonably.
The man was pulling him up again, hand tight around his erection. “Now I fuck you.” He sounded very cheerful. A hand on Ianto's shoulder dragged him over to the remnants of the bed, pushed him down so that he sprawled across it, legs dangling. Jack was there, a hand on his other shoulder. “Ianto.” There was so much affection in his voice that Ianto nearly started crying. How could he do this with anyone but Jack?
“I'm here.” Jack had read his thoughts, as so often. “We're doing this together.” A finger pushed, not roughly, and he blinked.
Jack's fingers were tighter around his shoulder. “God, that's a sight.” Fingers sliding in and out now, and he could hear Jack's breathing quicken. “I can't believe I'm letting anyone else do this to you.”
“Together, remember.” Ianto's voice was a gasp. He wanted Jack; he wanted Guy, as well. It was Guy's other hand caressing him as his fingers pushed and pulled. Ianto could hear something; he craned his head. Jack and Guy kissing, Guy's hands not pausing for a moment.
Then the fingers left him, and he sighed in frustration. Soon enough they were replaced and he wriggled backwards as he was penetrated, moaning with the pleasure of it. That hadn't been so bad; he must have overestimated the size.
Half a dozen thrusts, and he was squirming and panting.
“Enough.” Guy's low voice. “My turn.” And he was empty again, trying to make sense of the words.
This time there was near impossible stretching, shooting pain through the pleasure. He didn't much care; he was desperate to come, even if it ripped him apart. He could feel the man behind him gasping for breath. “Hold still.” Jack's voice, and Guy stopped moving for a while, agonising for Ianto, then swore, started again, more gently. Ianto imagined the three of them, said “Bloody hell!” and came.
A half dozen more thrusts and Guy was panting his climax in Ianto's ear. His body kept jerking, still inside Ianto, until Ianto heard the familiar sound of Jack's orgasm.
Ow. That was quite sore. Ianto thought he could get used to it though, given the chance. Guy rolled him over, kissed him, slightly less fiercely than before. Jack was pushing Guy aside, his own tongue down Ianto's throat. Then Jack looked up at Guy.
“Borrow him. That's all.”
Guy sighed. “Thank you. For the loan.”
He climbed off the bed, started to get dressed.
“You still haven't explained anything. Those pictures, why I'm here. How I got here. You know, now, but you haven't told me.”
Jack climbed off Ianto. Sighed. “You're not going to like the answers, Guy. You're probably not going to believe them. But I'll tell you. I don't know what else we can do.”
It took a lot of explaining, and a great deal of coffee. Guy had no concept of an alien, for starters. Not, they kept telling him, like demons. No. More like people, just as one kind of animal was like another.
Fictional TV show was another problematical concept. Especially since Guy could see very well that it wasn't fictional- it was his whole life there.
Ianto didn't even mention fanfic.
Eventually they had explained as well as they could, and Guy had got the general idea. Nothing in his life was real. Nothing before Cardiff had actually happened. His life had been part of a story, and this- thing- that had come through the Rift had taken the story to be its history, to define who it was. And that was him; a person from a make-believe story, who used to be an alien.
Guy didn't argue. He didn't deny it, accuse them of lying. It might, Ianto thought, have been easier if he had.
“She's not dead.” he said quietly. “She was only a dream.”
Jack nodded. “Yes.”
“So, am I a murderer? Or only the dream of one?”
Jack shook his head. “I don't know, Guy. All I know is that there's nothing left for you there. If you're going to live, it has to be here, in this world. What you do here is what matters.”
“So far in this world,” Guy said, amused through his distress, “I seem to have run away from things and had sex. Is that a good basis for a life?”
Ianto shrugged. “It's what we do, half the time.”
Guy lifted his head, looked at Ianto. “What do you do the rest of the time?”
Ianto glanced at Jack. “I told you, we are guards. We guard the world from the Rift.”
“I could do that.” Guy was definite. Jack shook his head. “No.”
“Why not?”
Jack sighed. “Right now, I need a doctor and a computer technician. Not a semi-medieval villain.”
Guy frowned. “I can't stay as a semi-medieval villain, can I? You've just told me that. So teach me something else. Teach me this.”
Jack glanced at Ianto, slammed a hand into the desk. “Not you, too! For God's sake, Ianto, we are not an orphanage!”
Ianto was expressionless. “I didn't venture an opinion.”
“I could see your bloody opinion on your face. No! We'll find something for you, Guy, a new identity, some training. But not Torchwood.”
Ianto suppressed a smile. Sometimes Jack couldn't be moved. Sometimes he moved himself. Ianto was willing to bet that in a couple of months time Torchwood would have a new doctor, a new computer technician and a new semi-medieval villain.
Interesting times.
THE END
Sequel- "Under His Skin" Considerably darker and more explicit- please read the warnings.
Author: Unsentimental Fool
Fandom: Torchwood/BBC Robin Hood Crossover
Pairing: Ianto/Jack/Guy
Rating: Hard 15
Word Count:7,000
Summary: Since when has the Rift started spitting out fictional characters?
Notes/Warnings: Spoilers to end S3 Robin Hood, end S2 Torchwood.
Jack whistled quietly, and Ianto sighed. Over the radio Gwen's voice was impatient. “Can you see him yet?”
“Oh yes.” Jack was smugly lecherous. “I can definitely see him. Ianto, can you get us any nearer?”
“No!” Ianto turned off the ignition. “You can see the poor sod quite well enough from here.”
“So what does he look like, then, boys? Come on!”
“He looks magnificent.” Jack murmured. “He looks heroic, and dangerous, and just a little bit mad. He looks..”
“Like Richard Armitage.” Ianto interrupted. “Because it is Richard Armitage.”
“Bloody hell!” from over the radio. “I think you'd better bring him in.”
“Richard Armitage?” Jack was looking at Ianto, bewildered.
“Yes. Guy of Gisborne. From Robin Hood. You know, the BBC one.”
“Kids' stuff.” Jack waved a dismissive hand. “Never seen it. “
Ianto bridled slightly, let it go. “Well, that is Armitage, playing Guy, Third season.”
Jack opened the car door, slid out. The man in the headlights lifted his sword and charged and Jack was back in his seat with the door slammed shut before Ianto could blink.
“That is not Richard Armitage.” he said, firmly.
“How would you know? You never saw the show, you said?”
Gwen's voice said, somewhat plaintively, “I'd settle for someone who looked like Richard, if that's all that's going.”
“Be quiet, immoral woman. You're happily married, and we're working here.” Jack peered through the windscreen again at the still figure outside. “I have seen Armitage in other things, you know.”
“Like what?” Ianto's eyes didn't leave the dark figure with its back to the alley wall.
Jack murmured something, muffled. “What did you say?” Ianto turned to look at his partner.
“I might have seen Spooks, Once or twice. Research purposes. Anyway, why would Richard Armitage be trying to decapitate me?”
“Good point.” Ianto conceded. “Crazed lookalike fanboy, do you think?”
Jack shook his head. “Too authentic. That sword's genuine, and no roleplaying kid would handle it like that. Besides, I've seen far too many cases of culture shock, and that man's got it in spades. And there was the Rift activity yesterday evening.”
Ianto sighed. “But there's nothing at all authentic about that costume. No-one from the middle ages dressed like that, in those materials. It's straight from Saturday night TV and nowhere else. So who the hell is he?”
“Let's go and find out, shall we?”
Whoever he was, he didn't want to co-operate with Torchwood. Jack and Ianto bundled the unconscious body into the back of the car, removed sword and knife from his belt and compared near misses. A scratch down Jack's arm, a rip in Ianto's jacket; not bad for thirty seconds of frantically dodging a slashing blade.
“Get us back to the Hub, Ianto. I want to see what we've picked up under those unlikely clothes.”
“Don't we all,” Ianto muttered quietly, and drove.
It was at times like these that they missed having a doctor. No, that was too bland. They missed Owen. Still, they could all operate the basic scanners, understand most of the readouts. Their unconscious guest was entirely human. In his late 30s, healthy- hardly medieval, but no trace of 21st century medicine either- no tooth decay, no fillings, no operation scars, no implants, no vaccinations. The muscles of a swordsman, and calluses to match. A number of scars, consistent with sword injuries, and scar tissue along one upper arm. “?chemical?” the computer suggested. Ianto shook his head at that. “I don't understand,” he said, to no-one in particular.
Ianto pulled some clips from the BBC archives. The resemblance was startling, but not exact. Their astoundingly good face recognition software was uncertain about the correlation. The clothes looked similar, but the TV show used modern materials; these were genuine leather and wool, if treated in some way that the computer was unfamiliar with.
“It's as if,” Gwen said, as puzzled as any of them, “the show was a near exact modern copy.” The man in front of them was rawer, more real. “More dangerous.” Jack said, with relish.
They'd done as much poking and prying as they could while the man lay unconscious. Ianto dressed him again, carefully. He'd paid attention during the undressing; he knew how each unfamiliar garment went. Jack, he thought, had had other things on his mind. God, the man was handsome though. Ianto couldn't fault Jack for his taste, not this time.
Gwen dimmed the lights a little, to take the edge off the stark lab surroundings, and Jack administered the shot to wake their visitor up.
The man tensed, opened his eyes and was off the bed and crouched against the wall. Blue-grey eyes flickered across all of them, came to rest on Jack.
“Where's my sword?” The voice was a growl, the words modern English as far as Ianto could tell. The computer murmured confirmation in his ear; accent, unplaceable; voice recognition, no match.
Jack held up a placatory hand. “We've taken it away so that no-one gets hurt. You can have it back as soon as we are sure that you won't attack anyone.”
“In other words, when pigs fly,” Ianto muttered, sotto voce.
The leather clad man nodded reluctant acknowledgement. Smart, Ianto thought. Knows when to let something go, for the moment. Ianto was willing to bet that retrieving his weapon was going to be high on the man's to do list from now on, however. “Where am I?”
“Cardiff. We're Torchwood. We found you in the city.”
“Cardiff?” The man frowned. “Wales?” Jack exchanged a quick glance with Ianto.
“Yes. Do you know how you got here?”
The man shook his head.
“OK. Never mind for now. I'm Captain Jack Harkness. This is Gwen Cooper, and Ianto Jones. Can you tell us your name?”
The man got to his feet, chin high. “Sir Guy of Gisborne.”
No surprise there. Still, Ianto thought, it made no sense at all.
Guy was unfazed by pizza. Stuff on top of bread, Ianto thought. I guess that makes sense to him. Olives got a small, pleased exclamation of recognition. Anchovies got carefully removed after the first unguarded taste.
“Anchovies, Ianto?” Gwen was scathing. “What were you thinking? We're meant to be reducing culture shock!”
“I thought he might like them,” Ianto replied, slightly shamefaced. He hadn't really been thinking at all, just dialling in their usual order plus a bit. There were other things on his mind, like impossible guests.
After lunch it was business. Interrogations were Gwen's job; sympathy and hard determination in equal measure. Or Jack's, if the unlucky victim needed breaking down in six different ways. Ianto had never envied either of them the task. Talking to strangers wasn't his thing; he knew the skills he had, didn't pretend to more.
This time Jack didn't give him any choice. “You know more about this than we do, Ianto. You'll know what to ask. Find out what connection he has to that bloody TV show. Find out how he got here. “ Ianto's protests were firmly overruled. “Consider it a punishment for watching too much bad television.”
“You can talk! Spooks, for God's sake!”
“Well, we don't have a fictional traumatised secret agent here, Ianto. We have a fictional hot medieval bad guy. Go and ask him some questions. We'll be watching from here, and you'll have the earpiece. You'll be fine.” Jack pushed Ianto gently. “Go on.”
Guy was standing behind the chair in their small interrogation room. He watched Ianto enter with no discernable reaction.
“Please, sit down.” Ianto drew his own chair back, settled down. Surely Jack knew that he didn't know how to do this.
Gisborne stayed standing, hands on the back of the chair. “I'm a prisoner.” It wasn't a question.
A murmur through the earpiece. “Explain about Torchwood.” Ianto tried.
“There's a rift here in Cardiff- a hole. In space, and time. Things- people- come through, from other worlds, from other times. On purpose, or by accident.
Guy caught at the words. “Other worlds? Do the dead come back?”
Shit. “No.” Ianto said firmly, and mendaciously. “Only living people. And things. We are the guards; it's our job to keep the city- the world- safe from anything dangerous that comes through. So we have to ask you questions, do tests, find out if you are a threat .”
“And if you decide I am?” The voice was low. Ianto had very little doubt that the man was dangerous, at least on a hitting people with sharp objects level.
Ianto paused, hoping for help in his ear. It didn't come. Thanks a lot, Harkness, he thought. “Then we will decide what to do with you.” he said, obscurely. To his relief there was no comeback. The man was watching him so intently that Ianto struggled not to squirm. Finally Guy sat down
“I'll answer your questions. For the moment.” There was no hint of concession in his voice.
“Thank you.” Ianto knew he was responding to the overpowering presence in the room by becoming quieter, more formal. He didn't know if that was right or wrong- for God's sake, he didn't do this! He could have fed Gwen questions, or Jack. Instead here he was, an amateur, up against a man clearly used to this sort of manoeuvring.
Ianto took a breath, started. “Tell me where you live.”
Guy answered the easy questions smoothly, barely hesitating. Ianto checked out detail after detail; it matched what he knew pretty much exactly. Guy was calm; family? He had a sister, hadn't seen her for many years. Parents long dead. Position; he was lieutenant to the Sheriff of Nottingham. Married? No. Engaged? The first long pause. No. Was there someone special? Dead, he said quietly, and his expression made Ianto shift to safer subjects.
As far as Ianto could gather, without going back and checking the Wikipedia episode guides, Guy appeared to come from somewhere around the first few episodes of season 3. Before Isabella, before Prince John- Ianto couldn't recall when he turned up. After he'd killed Marian.
Guy refused the next question. “I want to know some things, first” Ianto nodded. A murmur in his ear, “Be careful.” Well that was bloody helpful, wasn't it?
“Is anyone else- here? Did they come through your hole?”
Ianto shook his head. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“We're certain. We have instruments- like alarm bells- that tell us when the rift opens. We know that you are the only person to have come through it at that time, and nothing since.”
Guy thought about that for a moment, nodded. Ianto could see the man filing the information away, turning from thoughts of his enemies to the present. Very dangerous, this one.
“Can I go back?”
The answer was always no, but sometimes it was better not to give it straight away. “We don't yet know exactly where you came from.” A tightening around Guy's eyes- he'd recognised the evasion.
“I have little to go back for. When will you decide whether to let me go or not?”
“It's going to be some time yet. I'm sorry.”
“Then you had better carry on with your questions.”
Gwen brought drinks, coffee for Ianto and water for Gisborne. Guy sniffed it, clearly decided that he was not in a position to worry about being poisoned, and drank thirstily. “You have necessaries in this place?”
Ianto took him out to the toilet, explained as best he could. Guy didn't see a need for privacy; Ianto snatched an appreciative look. He'd seen the man unconscious but this was a little different. He'd be sure to mention it to Jack.
The small room felt even more claustrophobic when they returned. Ianto switched to the gaps. Guy's answers came just as easily. How he'd met the Sheriff. The route they'd taken back from the Holy Land. Where he'd lived as a young child; the name of a brother who had died as an infant. Where he'd bought his favourite horse. What he'd eaten for supper the night before. If he wondered at the questions he didn't comment.
He had nothing useful to say about his transition. One minute he had been riding from Locksley to Nottingham; the next he was on his knees in the confusing maze of brick, stone and lights that was modern Cardiff. No sensation, no noise, just there.
Eventually Ianto stopped. “That will do for the moment, Ianto. Good job.” Jack in his earpiece sounded as mystified as Ianto felt.
“You're done?” Guy was watching him again.
“For the moment. Thank you. Wait here, and we'll be back shortly.”
A quick conference only established their total bafflement.
“We can't let him go.” Jack. “He's too much of a mystery. He's not from the past, I'm sure of that. But he's definitely from the Rift.”
“Maybe we're all mass hallucinating?” Gwen.
Ianto shook his head. He'd just spent the best part of three hours in a room with the man, leather and sweat and dark eyes. He was no hallucination. “So what shall we do with him?”
“For the moment, treat him as a guest. Gwen- can you give him the tour?”
“And tonight? Are we going to put him in a cell?”
Jack sighed. “Do you have any better ideas? Find a mattress and some blankets, at least.”
Ianto came back up from making one of the cells as cosy as he could manage. Which, he had to admit, wasn't very, but hopefully their guest wasn't used to too much luxury. Jack was watching the screens in his office. Ianto walked up behind him, put an arm around his neck. Gwen was introducing Guy to Myfanwy. Guy seemed impressed but not particularly intimidated by the pterosaur.
“I can see you're not going to get any work done while he's here.” Ianto murmured.
“Surely you're not jealous, Mr Jones?” Jack tore his eyes away from the screens long enough for a swift pat to Ianto's backside.
“Oh no. I'm going to need a little bit more than that to stop me being jealous.”
Jack raised his eyebrows. “Three hours in a room with all those hormones getting to you?”
That was pretty close to the truth. At the time Ianto had been too worried about the interrogation to appreciate the man on the other side of the desk, but now, away from the pressure, the combination of proximity to Guy and now Jack was really making him quite single minded. Fortunately Jack seemed to have picked up something of the same atmosphere. When Gwen opened the door the two men were technically still decent, but the position that they had got into suggested that they were unlikely to to stay that way for long.
“We'll come back.” Gwen announced loudly, backing out and attempting to close the door in Guy's face. Guy pushed it open with ease, kept it there, his eyes wide.
Ianto squirmed to get out from under Jack. “Sorry- Gwen- Guy. It's just.”
Jack pulled himself upright, an arm firmly around Ianto. “Hello again, Guy. This is my office. Gwen seems to have disappeared for the moment, so Ianto will show you the coffee machine. Off you go, Ianto.”
Ianto walked reluctantly to the door. Guy shifted to let him past. They were halfway down the corridor when the voice came in Ianto's ear, dry and definite.
“You were fucking.”
Ianto kept walking. “No. Not really. Not in office hours. I mean, we do, but not when Gwen's around, obviously. We were just, well. Kissing a bit.”
He was talking to someone with at least a semi-medieval mindset. He really ought to be keeping quiet. Still, he was curious.
“I suppose men don't do that where you come from.”
Guy laughed. “Oh yes, they do. Sometimes. Not for long. Have you ever seen a man stoned to death? It really isn't pretty.”
Ouch. “It's not like that here. Now. Now one can love who one chooses, man or woman.”
“Love.” Guy's voice was cynical. “He's in authority, isn't he? You do what you're told. Not much seems to have changed.”
Ianto stopped. Turned. The man was close; too close. Ianto's interrupted interlude with Jack had left him a little... susceptible. “No. No. He's my boss, yes, but that's not what's between us. It never has been.”
Blue eyes looked down at him, cold. “I've heard that before.”
Ianto passed the man back to Gwen, with relief. He and Jack watched them on the camera; Guy apparently relaxed, sprawled over the sofa, discussing Myfanwy with Gwen.
“Damn.” Jack murmured. “He really is remarkable.”
He looked round at Ianto. “If anyone is going to be jealous, I think it should be me. How is it that you never mentioned this TV show of yours? I doubt that you were watching it for the historical accuracy.”
Ianto shrugged. “Didn't think you'd be interested. Kid's show, remember.”
“Yes, right. Is that why you were so grumpy when I called you in last night?”
“Right in the middle of.” Ianto stopped. His fingers were flying on the keyboard, his eyes intent on the screen. “There. BBC1 at the exact moment when the Rift opened.”
Jack peered over his shoulder. “Oh. Get Gwen up here, now.”
The three of them stood round the screen, staring. “It still doesn't make sense.” Gwen complained. “Characters don't die on TV and simultaneously appear in real life. Not even with the Rift. And what happened to the months in between? The ones he can't remember.”
Jack laughed. “He's not a TV character, Gwen. He's an alien.”
“Or at least,” he amended as they turned to him, “he was. Scanners say he's human now and I'm inclined to believe them. But an alien came through the Rift last night. They're mimics, remarkable ones. Telepathic; they camouflage themselves by picking up thoughts from the people they are around. Generally it's just that, camouflage, but this poor devil managed to arrive at just the wrong fraction of a second, and got caught up in the emotional backwash from your TV show. Hit them with too much at once, so I've heard, and they change permanently.”
Ianto frowned. “But he's got a lot more depth than the TV character. I haven't caught him out yet in an inconsistency.”
Jack nodded. “Part of their camouflage; they have the most amazing capacity to grab information, entirely unconsciously, and create a coherent whole. I suspect he's pulled every reference to his character on the Internet; TV shows, historical analyses, medieval background, the lot. You won't catch him out, Ianto, he's better than you. Better than all of us.”
“So is he dangerous?” Ianto glanced at the other screen, where the thing that looked like Guy waited patiently in the interrogation room again.
Jack shrugged. “You tell me. Was Guy of Gisborne dangerous? That's who he is. Your TV show character plus whatever he's picked up to fill the gaps, make him fully human. And he is human, now.”
Yes, then. Not “destroy the Earth” dangerous, but certainly “kill people” dangerous. Onscreen, Guy was examining the blank paper that Ianto had left on the table. Long fingers fluttered over it and Ianto felt a sudden stab of lust.
“The internet,” he started, slowly. “That would include fanfiction, wouldn't it? All sorts?”
Jack and Gwen exchanged glances. “They don't write that stuff about Robin Hood, surely?” Gwen asked.
“Oh yes.” Ianto's smile disappeared. “We'd better find out just how he filled those gaps.” He led the way down to the small room. Guy stood up as they came in, taut, intent.
“Just one question this time,” Ianto said, calmly. “When Allan worked for you, last year.” (he nearly said last season, caught it.) “Were you screwing him?”
Guy tensed further. For a second Ianto thought the man would attack him. Then he relaxed, still unsmiling. Glanced over Ianto's shoulder at Jack. “Yes.”
Ianto took a breath. “So.” he said to Jack. “If he's picked that up... There were other things in some of those stories. Less harmless.”
Jack nodded. “We'll bear it in mind.”
“I've had enough of this.” The dark tones cut across Jack's comment. Guy was watching Ianto again, spoke to Jack.
“I've tolerated your...servant's...lies long enough. You claim not to know where I come from, how I got here, but every new question makes it clearer that you've known all about me from the start. I'm not here by chance. You brought me here, imprisoned me, and as far as I'm concerned that makes you- all three of you- my enemies. And I warn you, I'm a dangerous enemy.”
“So am I.” Jack's tone was absolute. “I won't have you threatening my people, Gisborne. Whatever you may think, this is none of our doing.”
“So explain. If you can.”
There were three of them, and they were all armed. Still Ianto shivered. Jack was still staring the man down, or trying to.
“I'll show you what we know. Explain as well as I can. Ianto, can you set the first couple of episodes up on the big screen?”
Guy clearly had trouble with television at first. Flat screen, changing camera angles, cut scenes- little of it looked as it might to an observer. Still, he froze when Robin came into view, watched intensely, his fingers tight around the edge of the chair. As Sit Guy of Gisborne rode onto the screen he was out of his seat, crouching up by the screen. That close it would be no more that a blur of pixels. Ianto paused the picture, persuaded him back a little, arm's length.
Guy reached out, touched the screen. “That's me. Isn't it? Only- this happened years ago. Show me more.”
He watched the rest of the episode without speaking. As the incomprehensible credits rolled he looked up at Jack.
“You know far more than this. There must be more. Show me.”
Ianto commented, quietly. “Three seasons, 13 episodes, 45 minutes- nearly 30 hours worth. Two days, with nothing but watching this, Jack. We don't have the time. Even if it were sensible.”
Jack nodded. “There is too much to show it all to you, Guy. But tell us what part of your life after the time you've just watched you want to see, and we'll show you that, if it's there.”
The reply was immediate. “Her death. Show me that.”
Ianto looked round at Jack, in appeal. That couldn't possibly be a good idea. Jack inclined his head. “Go on, Ianto.”
Maybe context would help. Ianto started the final episode from the beginning. Absolute silence from his audience. Ianto realised that there was stuff in there, betrayals, that Guy couldn't have known. His hand was inside his jacket, on his gun. They were about to show this volatile and disorientated man- alien- pictures of him killing the woman he loved, of her dying in the arms of his enemy. Ianto really hoped Jack knew what he was doing.
He suddenly realised that he'd barely touched on Marian's death in his briefings. Jack probably didn't know what was coming. Shit. He glanced round at Jack. He could pause it, claim a technical hitch, get the chance to talk to the boss first. Jack was shaking his head at Ianto, slowly. “Go on.” he mouthed.
The unforgiving scenes rolled by. Guy was on his feet, then his knees, utterly focussed on the screen as the outlaws rescued King Richard. Behind him Ianto muttered to Jack. “He kills her. You do know that?”
Jack took a sharp breath. “Fuck. Yes, you said- I was distracted. Too late now- if we stop it, he'll never trust us.”
“I can hear you.” The voice from in front of them was for the first time shaky. Guy didn't take his eyes off the screen. “You'll stop nothing. I will see this.”
The scene switched to the open square. Ianto sighed, ran his hand over the butt of his gun. On the screen Marian defied Guy, laughing. Gwen's hands were hovering over their guest's shoulders. The sword moved, and Guy jerked in response, his hands over his own stomach, watched himself fleeing, Marian and Robin, her last breath. Then he stood up, blind to them all, staggered to the edge of the room and threw up. Sat against the wall, arms round his knees, tearless, staring at nothing.
Jack was swearing, just loud enough for Ianto to hear. “A fucking kid's programme, Ianto. Safe enough, I thought. What sort of bloody kids watch that?”
Gwen was crouching at Guy's shoulder, hand on his arm. “Just pictures,” she was saying, gently. “It's long over. Guy? Do you understand? Just pictures. Like a painting, a tapestry. We shouldn't have shown you that. I'm sorry.”
Guy's backhanded blow sent her sprawling. Two guns covered the man instantly. Ianto was kneeling by Gwen, his gun still trained on Guy.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine.” She got to her feet, shakily. “Nothing broken.” Guy was still sitting on the floor. He looked up at Jack.
“Those.” He nodded at the gun. “Are weapons.”
“Yes.”
“Good. You've seen this. You know what sort of man I am. Are you going to let me into your city?”
“No.” Jack hadn't hesitated.
“Can you send me back?”
“No.”
“So you don't have much choice, do you? Use your weapons, Captain Jack Harkness.”
Jack shook his head. “I don't like ultimatums. I'm not sure yet that killing you is the only option. But,” and his voice dropped, “You lay one finger on any member of my staff again and I'll shoot you without another thought.”
Guy nodded. Glanced over to Gwen. “I don't appreciate consolation. But I won't touch her again.”
Their guest was locked in a cell, apparently sleeping deeply. They'd shown him how to take a shower, had found him some clean clothes; black t shirt and trousers, underwear. Ianto had been up for 24 hours straight and no amount of coffee was going to keep him going for much longer. “Get some rest,” Jack directed. “Gwen, go home. See Rhys. I'll see you tomorrow morning. Guy's not going anywhere.”
Alone in the Hub, Ianto looked at Jack. “Do you need me to stay?”
“I can keep an eye on one prisoner on my own, Ianto. You need some sleep.”
“That's not quite the assistance that what I was thinking of.”
Jack smiled, shook his head. “Stay on the couch. Get a few hours' sleep first. I'll wake you with coffee. Long before Gwen's due to get back in.”
Ianto nodded, happy. Headed off for the couch. State he was in, he could have slept on the lab floor.
The coffee was excellent. Ianto drank it in gulps, between kisses. “How's our prisoner?” he murmured into Jack's ear, ran his tongue round it while he waited for the answer.
Jack's fingers were caressing the back of his neck. “He has a very interesting way of amusing himself.”
“Oh yes?” Ianto's hand were warm under Jack's shirt.
“He woke up an hour or so after you went to sleep. Stood in the middle of his cell, dropped his trousers and jerked himself off. Standing there, legs apart, facing the glass. Absolutely silent.”
Ianto laughed. “I guess he didn't know you were watching.”
“Of course he did. If there's one thing he knows about us, it's that we watch. He's telling us something. I wish I knew what.”
His hand slid down between Ianto's legs. “Of course he might just be telling us that he's particularly well endowed. You were right there.”
“You can thank the fanfic for that one, I suspect. Damn, Jack, how can he be real? He's a collection of wishful thinking stories.”
“He's real, however he came about. And brave. This must be confusing as hell for him. If he hadn't hit Gwen....I really don't know what to do with him, Ianto.” Murmured into Ianto's neck, the unusual admission of doubt made Ianto pull Jack closer. “We'll work it out.” He started to unbutton Jack's trousers, the other man's mouth warm on his.
Alarms sounded. Jack rolled off the couch, Ianto behind him. “That's the cells.” They grabbed weapons and ran.
Guy had wrenched a leg off the bed and was systematically hammering on the glass. As soon as he saw the two men running down the corridor he stopped, stood back, dropping the piece of wood.
“Good” he said calmly. “Let me out of here. I want to talk to you.” Jack shrugged, keyed the cell door open. “Come upstairs.”
The man didn't move straight away. He was looking them both up and down.
“I interrupted your fucking. Again.”
Ianto was acutely conscious of their state of disarray, and his own arousal. Standing in front of this dark, amused stranger, it wasn't going away. Jack was grinning.
“Your timing is pretty awful, yes. Don't fancy postponing this chat for 30 minutes, do you?”
Guy was grinning back. “I could do. If you would lend me your servant for half an hour afterwards.”
Ianto concentrated on looking calm and professional. Let Jack handle this. Ianto was going to get it so wrong if he said anything at all.
Jack raised an eyebrow. “We're a team. We work best together.”
Ianto concentrated harder. This was Jack's idea of handling this? Guy's grin had widened. “That, I'd like to see.”
Jack did at least consult Ianto, if a turn of the head and an eyebrow raised could be considered consultation. Damn. This was Gisborne. Ianto hadn't watched that damn show, read the fanfic for three years, to turn up a chance like this. He nodded, faintly.
Jack took his gun out of its holster, placed it outside the cell, gestured to Ianto to do the same. “The door's keyed to our voices- it will only open if we speak the right words.” Guy nodded. Jack swung the cell door shut.
Jack and Guy were facing each other, eyes locked. Ianto thought that maybe he ought to have brought a book. Looked like neither man was going to have much time for him. God, how embarrassing was that going to be.
Then Jack murmured “Ianto.” and both men were watching him. Ianto swallowed. They were waiting for him to move.
He glanced at Jack, who nodded slightly towards Guy. Oh. Right. Why was this up to him all of a sudden? Telling himself firmly that this would be fine once it started, he walked up to Guy, placed both hands on his t-shirted chest and slid them up to his shoulders. God, the muscles under there!
A hand round the back of his head dragged his mouth onto Guy's. The kiss was utterly uncompromising; there was no room for anything reciprocal. No room to breathe, either. Guy's other hand grabbed Ianto's crotch through the material of his trousers. Right, Ianto thought, breathlessly. No ambiguity there. His heart was racing.
Guy pulled his mouth away, grinning down at Ianto. “Take your clothes off. I want to see if you're worth fucking.” His voice was a sneer.
“Hey!” Jack was at Ianto's shoulder. “Don't talk to him like that!”
Ianto turned his head. “Shut up, Jack.” he said, firmly.
Jack looked surprised, then laughed. “Sorry, Ianto. I'll just let you two carry on, shall I?”
“Yes.” Guy's voice was harsh. “I'll get to you in a minute, Harkness.”
“Oh. Good.” Ianto couldn't tell if Guy realised just how hard Jack was laughing under the mock serious tone. He wished Jack would stop it. It was rather detracting from the atmosphere.
Hot eyes burned into his and he forgot about Jack for a minute. “Strip.” Not like stripping for Jack. This man just wanted him naked, no finesse. No comments, no chat. Ianto removed his clothes automatically, efficiently, wondering what came next, drawing comfort from the presence of his lover somewhere behind him.
Naked, he faced Guy. His erection was hard; Guy glanced at it, slid a hand over it, under aching balls. “Wait,” he commanded and turned to Jack. Ianto turned sideways so that he could watch them both.
There was a long pause.
“Going to give me orders, Guy?” Jack was still laughing.
“You're not used to taking them, are you?”
Jack shook his head. “Not for many years.”
“You've seen my life; who I obey, how I do it. Do you despise me, Jack Harkness?” Guy's voice was cold.
Jack shook his head; “No!” and his arms were round the other man, mouth on his. Ianto watched them pull at each others' clothes, rake bare flesh, more like fighting than anything else. He knew these desperate moods of Jack's; it hurt, not to hold his lover.
Finally naked, they were on the ground, rolling over, and Jack was on top, hands pinning down the wrists of the other man, sprawled across his thighs. He dipped his head, kissing Guy's chest, and the man bucked and cursed under him.
Jack looked round, at Ianto. “Please?” Ianto was at his side, kissing him, Jack's fey mood passed. One of Ianto's hands slid down to caress Jack, the other around Guy. Nothing desperate, just stroking, gentle. After the first furious exclamations Guy went quiet, stopped struggling.
“Now”. Jack's voice was amused again. “I think we all know where we stand.” He stood up, releasing Guy.
“Guy, if you don't fuck Ianto he will never forgive me.”
“If I must.” Ianto could hear the lust under the lazy drawl, was apprehensive and desperate for it simultaneously.
“Which gives you a choice, Guy. I can either sit out here and watch. Or not. I'll not come where I'm not welcome.”
Guy rolled over and onto his feet, facing Jack. Then he turned to Ianto.
“Well, Ianto.” It was the first time he'd used the name. “Does it shame you, to be taken by that man?”
“No.” He could answer that one, calmly enough. He'd sorted that out to his satisfaction months back.
“So. If your Ianto can bear it, so can I. But next time, we will maybe stand a little differently”
“God, I like you!” Jack was laughing again. “Kiss the man, Ianto, for heaven's sake.”
Ianto kissed the man, feeling that mouth crushing down on his again. He broke away reluctantly. “Condoms, Jack?”
They didn't normally. Jack was constitutionally incapable of either catching or transmitting anything. Still, there must be some somewhere in the Hub.
Jack shook his head. “Guy, between arriving in Cardiff and us catching you, did you have sex at all?”
Guy looked at him in disbelief. “It was hardly top of my mind. I was mostly running away from things.”
“Scans would have picked up anything. And that goes for both of you. I think we're safe enough.”
Ianto signed in relief, went back to kissing Guy. Hands were at his crotch; he ran his down over the hard stomach, into the wiry black hair. A second set of hands touched him from behind, one running up his spine, the other lower, pushing very gently around his rear. Gods, this was good. He clutched gently at Guy's hands- he was going to come if the man did that much longer.
Hands on his shoulders pushed him firmly down, onto his knees. His eyes widened. Fuck, he could kill some of those fic writers! It's all very well writing in enormous genitals, but what happens when normal people want to have sex with them? Never think about that, do they? Bastards, he thought, not entirely reasonably.
The man was pulling him up again, hand tight around his erection. “Now I fuck you.” He sounded very cheerful. A hand on Ianto's shoulder dragged him over to the remnants of the bed, pushed him down so that he sprawled across it, legs dangling. Jack was there, a hand on his other shoulder. “Ianto.” There was so much affection in his voice that Ianto nearly started crying. How could he do this with anyone but Jack?
“I'm here.” Jack had read his thoughts, as so often. “We're doing this together.” A finger pushed, not roughly, and he blinked.
Jack's fingers were tighter around his shoulder. “God, that's a sight.” Fingers sliding in and out now, and he could hear Jack's breathing quicken. “I can't believe I'm letting anyone else do this to you.”
“Together, remember.” Ianto's voice was a gasp. He wanted Jack; he wanted Guy, as well. It was Guy's other hand caressing him as his fingers pushed and pulled. Ianto could hear something; he craned his head. Jack and Guy kissing, Guy's hands not pausing for a moment.
Then the fingers left him, and he sighed in frustration. Soon enough they were replaced and he wriggled backwards as he was penetrated, moaning with the pleasure of it. That hadn't been so bad; he must have overestimated the size.
Half a dozen thrusts, and he was squirming and panting.
“Enough.” Guy's low voice. “My turn.” And he was empty again, trying to make sense of the words.
This time there was near impossible stretching, shooting pain through the pleasure. He didn't much care; he was desperate to come, even if it ripped him apart. He could feel the man behind him gasping for breath. “Hold still.” Jack's voice, and Guy stopped moving for a while, agonising for Ianto, then swore, started again, more gently. Ianto imagined the three of them, said “Bloody hell!” and came.
A half dozen more thrusts and Guy was panting his climax in Ianto's ear. His body kept jerking, still inside Ianto, until Ianto heard the familiar sound of Jack's orgasm.
Ow. That was quite sore. Ianto thought he could get used to it though, given the chance. Guy rolled him over, kissed him, slightly less fiercely than before. Jack was pushing Guy aside, his own tongue down Ianto's throat. Then Jack looked up at Guy.
“Borrow him. That's all.”
Guy sighed. “Thank you. For the loan.”
He climbed off the bed, started to get dressed.
“You still haven't explained anything. Those pictures, why I'm here. How I got here. You know, now, but you haven't told me.”
Jack climbed off Ianto. Sighed. “You're not going to like the answers, Guy. You're probably not going to believe them. But I'll tell you. I don't know what else we can do.”
It took a lot of explaining, and a great deal of coffee. Guy had no concept of an alien, for starters. Not, they kept telling him, like demons. No. More like people, just as one kind of animal was like another.
Fictional TV show was another problematical concept. Especially since Guy could see very well that it wasn't fictional- it was his whole life there.
Ianto didn't even mention fanfic.
Eventually they had explained as well as they could, and Guy had got the general idea. Nothing in his life was real. Nothing before Cardiff had actually happened. His life had been part of a story, and this- thing- that had come through the Rift had taken the story to be its history, to define who it was. And that was him; a person from a make-believe story, who used to be an alien.
Guy didn't argue. He didn't deny it, accuse them of lying. It might, Ianto thought, have been easier if he had.
“She's not dead.” he said quietly. “She was only a dream.”
Jack nodded. “Yes.”
“So, am I a murderer? Or only the dream of one?”
Jack shook his head. “I don't know, Guy. All I know is that there's nothing left for you there. If you're going to live, it has to be here, in this world. What you do here is what matters.”
“So far in this world,” Guy said, amused through his distress, “I seem to have run away from things and had sex. Is that a good basis for a life?”
Ianto shrugged. “It's what we do, half the time.”
Guy lifted his head, looked at Ianto. “What do you do the rest of the time?”
Ianto glanced at Jack. “I told you, we are guards. We guard the world from the Rift.”
“I could do that.” Guy was definite. Jack shook his head. “No.”
“Why not?”
Jack sighed. “Right now, I need a doctor and a computer technician. Not a semi-medieval villain.”
Guy frowned. “I can't stay as a semi-medieval villain, can I? You've just told me that. So teach me something else. Teach me this.”
Jack glanced at Ianto, slammed a hand into the desk. “Not you, too! For God's sake, Ianto, we are not an orphanage!”
Ianto was expressionless. “I didn't venture an opinion.”
“I could see your bloody opinion on your face. No! We'll find something for you, Guy, a new identity, some training. But not Torchwood.”
Ianto suppressed a smile. Sometimes Jack couldn't be moved. Sometimes he moved himself. Ianto was willing to bet that in a couple of months time Torchwood would have a new doctor, a new computer technician and a new semi-medieval villain.
Interesting times.
THE END
Sequel- "Under His Skin" Considerably darker and more explicit- please read the warnings.