Fic: The Envy of Castle Gate (Jack POV - Jack/ Ianto PG-13)
Title: The Envy of Castle Gate
Author: wynkat1313
Characters: Jack
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 3958
Author's Notes: Written for tw_lucky_7 , Sin number seven: Envy. POV: Jack
Beta: The maaaaaa'velous temporal_witch
Summary: “You have memories, but only of one lifetime, one person, or one set of people - even if you love a hundred people in your lifetime, there’s a lid to your memories. That book will close, and you will always know where it is, where to find the faces and the stories. I envy that.”
Envy / Jack Harkness
Jack looked out across the roof of the Millennium Center at a sleepy Cardiff. He watched as fingers of pre-dawn light washed the buildings with a pink and orange blush and pushed the darkness back towards the planet’s axis. He could feel the morning winds tugging and twisting the heavy fabric of his coat about his legs, begging him to play along, but he wasn’t ready for their games. He shrugged his shoulders, adjusting the coat along his back, and sending the wind sprites in search of other playmates.
The soft scuff of shoe on roof tile and the faint hint of freshly washed Welshman made him smile. Ianto, he mused, must have decided that he’d brooded long enough.
Jack took a deep breath of the salty morning air, flexed his hands in his pockets and set his thoughts free from their bindings.
“Do you know what I miss the most about mortality?” he asked, still watching the gulls hovering in the air stream.
“No,” Ianto said softly.
Jack felt Ianto step up behind him, out of the wind, chest to back, just barely touching. He could feel Ianto’s warmth radiating between them, and the heat of him just above his collar as Ianto’s breath puffed against his skin.
“Knowing where I belong,” Jack said, leaning back slighting into the warmth. “Knowing how I fit in with all the people around me. I’ve lived so long already, loved so many people in so many places. And it’s only going to get worse. I remember every face, of every person I’ve ever loved. Estelle’s and Lucia’s, Ted’s and Marcus’, Need’aatha, Rose, and… the Doctor. So many people and its only been 175 years, give or take a time jump. What happens when it’s a thousand years? Or a million?”
“I don’t know,” Ianto said.
“I don’t either.”
“I never thought of immortality that way.”
“Hmm?” Jack looked over his shoulder at Ianto, one eyebrow raised.
“I always imagined, I suppose, that it would be something grand and thrilling. To live forever, but it’s not that way for you. And it’s not just the dying and coming back.”
“No.” Jack looked back out at the bay, his memories pressing against his ribcage.
“We have a finite amount of everything, but you … there’s no expiration date on anything for you, is there?”
“No. You have memories, but only of one lifetime, one person, or one set of people - even if you love a hundred people in your lifetime, there’s a lid to your memories. That book will close, and you will always know where it is, where to find the faces and the stories. I envy that.”
“But only one death.”
“Sometimes I envy that as well.”
“Why?”
Jack shrugged. He’d never been able to explain this part to himself, let alone anyone else.
Ianto tugged Jack around, away from Cardiff’s rising sun and steel gray bay, into the circle of his arms. “Why?”
Jack shrugged again, unwilling to meet Ianto’s gaze. He didn’t want to see the questions, or the wisdom that lived in those eyes that was so much greater than it should be. This tall, deceptively thin Welshman constantly surprised him, but only, Jack realized, because Jack chose to be surprised.
Jack liked the fact that Ianto surprised him, so much so that he sometimes purposely, even willfully, forgot things about Ianto so that he could rediscover them. He liked unwrapping the immaculate suits that hid the lustful body underneath. He liked turning his head to see the desire-filled eyes behind Ianto’s stoic mask of professionalism. And he loved finding the one thing, or the one touch, that would unlock Ianto’s reserve and have him writhing and cursing above, around, beneath him. Each new revelation was a delight and a reminder of the complexity, not just of Ianto Jones himself, but of humanity, and Jack relished each one.
“Jack…” Ianto pressed. Jack knew there was no getting past him, not after the mess with the alien and the medical supplies, and the way Jack died. Jack owed him at least a little honesty this time.
“Sometimes…” Jack said, feeling his way through his thoughts. “Sometimes I just get tired. Tired of living. Tired of coming back. Tired of being the only one who can.”
“So, what? You’d rather let it all go? Just die and be done?”
Jack gripped Ianto’s arms, holding him in place. The fine wool of his suit jacket bunched between Jack’s fingers, startling him. It was different than what Ianto had been wearing earlier. Apparently he’d changed jackets after they gotten back to the Hub. That meant that this one wouldn’t have the telltale burn mark the size of an American silver dollar just over Ianto’s right shoulder blade where the alien’s pistol had seared through to his flesh.
“How’s your shoulder?”
Ianto sighed, probably annoyed at him for changing the subject.
“Better. Owen patched it up on site and then looked it over again once we were back at the Hub. Even watched me take the pain meds before he let me come looking for you.”
“Did he catch the one you palmed?”
“If he did, he didn’t say anything.”
“Ah.”
Jack stroked his hand up and over Ianto’s shoulder, feeling along the bones and muscles for the bandage. Ianto winced when he made contact. Jack looked up into Ianto’s eyes and pressed just a little harder, watching Ianto’s expression. Ianto’s eyes went wide, then glazed as the pain called up something deeper, needier, and darker within them both. His lips parted and he sighed just a little.
“It never works,” Jack said. “The dying. But for that one moment, I think… maybe… just maybe, this time…”
“What?” Ianto whispered, his eyes unfocused, but still watching Jack.
“It’ll end.” Jack pressed harder on the wound.
“And what about me?” Ianto asked with a gasp of several kinds of pain. “What about the team?”
Jack pulled his hand from Ianto’s shoulder to cup his cheek. “You are the reason I’m glad when it doesn’t work - when I open my eyes and my lungs start working again. You make me happy to still be here.”
Ianto blinked, a world of emotion spinning in his eyes, then leaned in and kissed Jack. It was the softest, sweetest kiss Jack could remember, just the press of Ianto’s lips to his, a sigh of air shared between them, before it turned hungry and demanding.
“Your bunk, now.” Ianto growled into Jack’s neck.
***
Later, when Ianto had had his fill of the immortal man, and Jack was sated on the taste of Welsh archivist, Ianto slipped upstairs to make coffee for the team, with a snarky muttering of, “Before they kill us all for want of caffeine.”
Jack allowed himself the luxury of a shower. He stood under the pounding heat of the shower, washing away the phantom pain of the alien’s claw marks. He let the water wash away the memory of the pincers cutting into the flesh of his legs, how they had dug into his neck and crushed his chest. All the injuries healed without a trace each time he regenerated, but he remembered, and his cells remembered, at least for a time.
As Jack scrubbed at his arms, washing away the night in sweat- and dirt-tinged rivulets, he thought back to Ianto's unanswered question.
“What about the team?”
The answer was simple, really. Jack had meant what he’d said when he’d come back after his time with the Doctor and the year that wasn’t on the Valiant. He’d come back for Ianto, and for all of them.
He ran the soap up and over his calves, across his thighs and buttocks, pressing the coarse bar into his skin. He wanted to carve away a layer of grime and guilt, but there was only so much one bar of soap could do.
He’d come back for Gwen and her stubborn pride that was nearly a match for his own. Gwen who would take on anyone or anything and never let go until she got answers. Because under that pride and tenacity was a heart of gold that hid a softness and a humility that she didn’t want anyone to see. But it was that very softness, that very human modesty that allowed her to connect with people and get them talking when the team most needed answers.
Jack stuck his head under the water, rinsing shampoo from his hair. He opened his eyes and watched the foam, tinged pink with crusted blood, wind its way down his body and swirl around the drain.
He’d come back for Owen: harsh, lazy, drunken, womanizing, broken Owen, his very human doctor whom he could never truly fix. Jack only hoped that he could give Owen enough space and time that Owen, who did more diligent and inspired work in one day than most people did in a lifetime, could find his way back to peace.
Jack turned up the heat and turned his back to the shower head, letting the pressure and warmth unknot his muscles and remind them that he, and they, were truly still alive.
He’d come back for his Toshiko, with her beautiful eyes and sword-sharp anger hidden so deep beneath that calm exterior that few even knew it existed. But he did; he saw her late at night, deep in the bowels of the Hub, swinging her black practice swords through a set of katas. He hadn’t needed to see her working out to know that she had a patience to match her anger, equally as strong and intense, that could outwit nearly any computer or technological system ever created. He needed her gifts as much as she needed a place to use them.
And today two more people had crept under his skin, at least for the moment, and on to his team. Jack chuckled as he turned off the water. Who was he kidding? Once he allowed someone onto the team, if only in his heart, they were there to stay, even if they never had full access to the Hub or any of the Torchwood toys.
Jack toweled off and padded back into his room, pulling fresh clothes from his wardrobe. He chose a dark blue shirt for the day to balance Ianto’s light purple one. He ran his hand over the waistcoats and finally opted for a dark blue one. Okay, maybe he was still a bit moody. Ianto could coax him or tease him about it later; either way, they would both win. Trousers and bracers, pants, socks, and undershirt were added to the pile: his armor for another day of work and another day of living forever.
As he dressed, Jack pondered the two newest members to slip into his memories and his protective circle.
Gwen’s Rhys, whose heart was bigger than his eyes; always wanting to help and wanting more than what was just outside the door of his flat. Though maybe, after the last few adventures with Torchwood, and now at last being married to Gwen, Rhys could finally see that he had more to offer Gwen, and to receive in return, by being the one person who could temper the chaos in her life, in all their lives.
Jack emerged from his bunker, still deep in thought. His fingers did up the buttons of his waistcoat as his feet took him on a slow circuit of his office.
And then there was Andy Davidson, the other PC in Torchwood’s world. Andy, who saw what Gwen had, what Torchwood appeared to offer, and wanted to be a super spy like his former partner. He was a good constable, and a good man. Jack just wasn’t sure Andy was cut out for the pain that Torchwood inevitably inflicted on “good” people. And Andy was a good man to his core, charitable and kind, honest to a fault - all amazing qualities in a beat copper, but not ideal ones for an alien crime fighter.
Jack shook his head. They would just have to wait and see what to do with Andy as the days unfurled. Something told him that Andy might be smart enough to make his own choice now that he’d had a taste of the real action.
Absent gods, but he loved them all. And envied them all for their simple closed loops and finite lives.
He turned at a soft knock at the door and the smell of coffee.
“Back to brooding, I see,” Ianto said, handing him his cup with a wry grin.
“What tipped you off?”
“You’re only quiet when you’re thinking too hard.”
“Ouch,” Jack said, miming a direct hit, then sipped his coffee, unable to think of any way out of the circle of thoughts he had wrapped himself. Ianto came to his rescue with a change of topic. Jack almost sighed with relief.
“Owen says to tell you that he’s isolated two chemical compounds in alien lobster boy - that’s a direct quote, by the way.” Ianto looked at Jack over his coffee cup.
“I figured.”
“Yes, well, they were in its bloodstream and on its upper carapace, particularly around its mouth. Either or both of them could have acted as an hallucinogen on the alien’s system.”
“What were the compounds?”
“Talcum powder and penicillin.”
“The powder that tastes like nebulas, and the liquid that makes the world spin…” Jack quoted.
“…and the air feel like starlight,” Ianto finished.
“Just as Andy reported,” Jack stated, draining the last of his coffee and setting the cup on his desk.
“Yep.”
“So it was wired.”
“Apparently.” Ianto nodded. “That would also explain why we had no mention of the alien’s behavior before yesterday. Owen estimates the chemicals had been in its system no more than 24 hours, even though the Rift energy within its body coincides with a spike that Owen found from last week. One you logged in, but which we never had time to investigate.”
Jack scrubbed his hands across his face, his frustration roaring back full force. He pushed his hands a way with a burst of sound that meant nothing and everything.
“Sometimes I think Yvonne was right to have such a large staff.”
Ianto looked at Jack, surprised, then thoughtful. “Larger? Yes. Cardiff and the Rift are too big for just the five of us. As large as Torchwood One? Never. And certainly never the way Yvonne managed things!”
“True,” Jack agreed. Torchwood Three had always been the smaller of the working branches. No one actually considered Two an officially working branch. Archie was Archie, and that was the way things were. But maybe it was time to find a better balance between “rogue” branch and “official” office styles.
Jack looked up at Ianto, who was standing beside the desk, wearing the invisible mantle of Executive Assistant. “Something else?”
Ianto nodded. “Gwen called. She and Rhys have gotten all the supplies sorted onto the lorries. Rhys will be bringing Owen’s load over this afternoon, along with the equipment you said he could keep. The rest are being sent on to a free clinic in Newport as an anonymous donation.”
“Ah. Whose idea was that?”
“Joint decision, really.” Ianto looked at Jack, one eyebrow raised as if he dared Jack to question what was apparently his choice.
“I see.” Jack nodded and kept his thoughts to himself about how cute Ianto and Gwen were when they plotted to help their neighbors.
“Oh, and she said Rhys will also be bringing lunch with him for the team. Something about how we’ve all been eating too much takeaway, and he’s not having any more of that, if he can help it.”
Jack could feel his eyebrows crawling into his hairline. “Oh really?”
Ianto pursed his lips in a near smile, his eyes very wide, and he nodded. “Yep.”
Jack shook his head. “Wonder if he’s any good?”
“Gwen mentioned that she doesn’t cook much, but she doesn’t complain about his cooking either, so I reckon he’s at least better than takeaway.”
Ianto bent to retrieve their mugs and Jack watched the smooth line of Ianto trousers tighten and flex as he walked towards the door. Jack grinned when Ianto stopped, hoping for a repeat performance, but he just stood by the door. When Jack looked up at his face, Ianto looked raw, as though his whole being was open and exposed to the world, or maybe just to Jack.
“What?” Jack took a step toward Ianto, worried.
The raw look faded from Ianto’s eyes, but if anything the intensity of emotions racing across his face intensified.
Jack waited.
Finally Ianto took a breath and walked towards Jack. “I was taught that the opposite of envy is kindness and compassion.”
Jack couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. “So?”
Ianto shrugged and hovered an arm’s-length away. “You say you envy us our short lives and our limited memories. But you love us as well. You care for us, for all of us. I see it every day, in the way you brush back a lock of Tosh’s hair, and how you tease Gwen into staying normal, in how you push Owen to be better than he believes he can ever be again.”
Ianto turned his eyes away from Jack, down to the floor, then to the window, and back to the space on the floor between them. He was silent, as though all his energy and motion had fled into his fingers to dance between them like a shield or an offering.
“In how you let me organize the office and the archives,” Ianto whispered to the floor. “And…” He took a deep breath and raised his eyes to meet Jack’s “…your life, because you know how it helps me.”
Jack nodded slowly and reached a hand to Ianto’s twitching fingers. He brushed his fingertips across Ianto’s, feeling them tremble, even as he felt the strength within them. They tangled together, clenching and unclenching as Ianto gathered his thoughts.
“But kindness and compassion aren’t only about others. They are never only for other people, Jack. They’re for ourselves as well.”
Jack tugged Ianto to him, and studied every line of his face, memorizing the contours. Then he kissed him, soft and sweet and with every ounce of kindness and compassion he had within his heart for both of them.
Epilogue
“That it, there - The Coral Strut,” Ianto said, pointing his PDA at the bulk of the tanker resting low in the water. A massive iron “dog” was loading a container onto its already-packed deck.
In the bright light of morning, the bustle of activity in the shipyard was palpable. Every dock was buzzing with workers preparing cargo ships for the tide, shoving one last container into one last crevice on every ship. The noise reminded Jack of the war, any war at sea, with its hustle to prepare vehicles and men for battle. It was in the smell of diesel and metal, salt-water and sweat, hope and desire. All of that was here, even without a war to fight. That thought gave Jack a moment of peace.
The boarding ramp of the Coral Strut was guarded by a tall man with the colored hard-hat of a supervisor. He looked up from his clipboard to look Jack and Ianto over with a thoughtful eye.
“What can I do for you, mates?” His accent was not local, Jack noted. Northern Irish, most likely, which meant he was either an import come across for the money, or working for the shipping company and assigned to the ship directly. One would recognize them, the other probably wouldn’t.
“Cap’n Jack Harkness with Torchwood,” Jack said, and noticed the man just nodded; working locally, then. “This ship has cargo for a group called the Heart of the Earth.”
“Name don’t ring a bell.” He flipped through the pages of the manifest, spotted something and nodded. “Ah, them. You’ll be wanting to talk to Ted.”
“And where would we find ‘Ted’?”
The man looked over Jack’s shoulder.
“That would be me,” a voice said from behind them.
Jack and Ianto turned as one to see a strange sight. Jack had expected a roughneck or some slick businessman, not this hippy with a backpack. He did not sigh. The hippy get-up explained a lot about this whole mess.
He nodded at Ted. “We need to talk about your cargo.”
“Um… okay,” Ted said quietly, then looked at the dock official. “All right if I leave my gear here?”
The official nodded. Jack could feel him watching them as they walked down the dock, away from the worst of the noise. When he felt like they were far enough away to be able to hear themselves think, but not be overheard, Jack stopped and gazed at Ted. Ianto stopped just behind and to Jack’s right, turned out slightly so that he could watch the foot traffic on the dock. It was a familiar routine for them, and one of the things Jack appreciated about working with Ianto.
“Interesting stuff you have in your manifest,” Jack began.
“Just aid supplies.”
Jack barked a laugh that was meant to intimidate, widened his stance and crossed his arms over his chest. “Perhaps I should have said, your supplies come from interesting sources.”
Ted actually blushed.
“So you do know that not all the supplies were legally obtained?” Ianto asked, turning so that he could lean into towards Ted. Ted pulled his head down and closer to his body, doing a fair impersonation of a turtle.
“Well, yes,” Ted said, grasping at words. “But… those places… they had plenty of supplies, and well, they …. and…”
“And budgets large enough to cover the overage?” Ianto finished for him.
Ted nodded, his eyes wide as saucers. Either someone was relying on Ted’s naïveté, or this whole group really was run by fools and madmen. Jack sighed. This was all pretty much what they had thought was going on, right down to the naïve do-gooders out to save the world, only without the alien tech.
Jack looked at Ianto, who shrugged.
“Tell you what,” Jack said at last. “You get on that ship and you keep your schedule.” Ted’s head shot up, hope and wonder in his eyes. Jack stopped him with a finger in his face. “But - you tell your bosses that the stealing has to stop.”
Ted nodded like a bobble-head doll on crack.
“We support what you’re trying to do, but this Robin Hood routine is only going to get people hurt, and frankly, we have enough work to do without you folks storing stolen goods all around Cardiff. Do I make myself clear?” Jack growled for effect.
Ted nodded again. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
Ianto handed him a card. “Next time you’re having trouble filling a shipment, call us. We have friends in… interesting places. Should be able to cut some supplies loose - legitimately - once in a while.”
Ted looked at Ianto, then at Jack, then down at the card, then back at Jack and Ianto. “Torchwood’s real?”
“As real as Father Christmas,” Jack said. “Now get before your ship leaves without you!”
Jack and Ianto watched Ted race back to the boarding ramp, grab his gear and scramble, with all the awkwardness of the land-born, onto the ship.
“Business cards? Really?” Jack asked, looking at Ianto with a grin.
“Black SUV with an engraved logo? Really?” Ianto retorted.
Jack blinked, then burst out laughing.
“Not much of a secret, are we?” he asked after he found his breath again.
Ianto shook his head with what Jack liked to think was a fond smile.
“Home?” Jack asked.
“Home,” Ianto nodded.
Fini
Author: wynkat1313
Characters: Jack
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 3958
Author's Notes: Written for tw_lucky_7 , Sin number seven: Envy. POV: Jack
Beta: The maaaaaa'velous temporal_witch
Summary: “You have memories, but only of one lifetime, one person, or one set of people - even if you love a hundred people in your lifetime, there’s a lid to your memories. That book will close, and you will always know where it is, where to find the faces and the stories. I envy that.”
Envy / Jack Harkness
Jack looked out across the roof of the Millennium Center at a sleepy Cardiff. He watched as fingers of pre-dawn light washed the buildings with a pink and orange blush and pushed the darkness back towards the planet’s axis. He could feel the morning winds tugging and twisting the heavy fabric of his coat about his legs, begging him to play along, but he wasn’t ready for their games. He shrugged his shoulders, adjusting the coat along his back, and sending the wind sprites in search of other playmates.
The soft scuff of shoe on roof tile and the faint hint of freshly washed Welshman made him smile. Ianto, he mused, must have decided that he’d brooded long enough.
Jack took a deep breath of the salty morning air, flexed his hands in his pockets and set his thoughts free from their bindings.
“Do you know what I miss the most about mortality?” he asked, still watching the gulls hovering in the air stream.
“No,” Ianto said softly.
Jack felt Ianto step up behind him, out of the wind, chest to back, just barely touching. He could feel Ianto’s warmth radiating between them, and the heat of him just above his collar as Ianto’s breath puffed against his skin.
“Knowing where I belong,” Jack said, leaning back slighting into the warmth. “Knowing how I fit in with all the people around me. I’ve lived so long already, loved so many people in so many places. And it’s only going to get worse. I remember every face, of every person I’ve ever loved. Estelle’s and Lucia’s, Ted’s and Marcus’, Need’aatha, Rose, and… the Doctor. So many people and its only been 175 years, give or take a time jump. What happens when it’s a thousand years? Or a million?”
“I don’t know,” Ianto said.
“I don’t either.”
“I never thought of immortality that way.”
“Hmm?” Jack looked over his shoulder at Ianto, one eyebrow raised.
“I always imagined, I suppose, that it would be something grand and thrilling. To live forever, but it’s not that way for you. And it’s not just the dying and coming back.”
“No.” Jack looked back out at the bay, his memories pressing against his ribcage.
“We have a finite amount of everything, but you … there’s no expiration date on anything for you, is there?”
“No. You have memories, but only of one lifetime, one person, or one set of people - even if you love a hundred people in your lifetime, there’s a lid to your memories. That book will close, and you will always know where it is, where to find the faces and the stories. I envy that.”
“But only one death.”
“Sometimes I envy that as well.”
“Why?”
Jack shrugged. He’d never been able to explain this part to himself, let alone anyone else.
Ianto tugged Jack around, away from Cardiff’s rising sun and steel gray bay, into the circle of his arms. “Why?”
Jack shrugged again, unwilling to meet Ianto’s gaze. He didn’t want to see the questions, or the wisdom that lived in those eyes that was so much greater than it should be. This tall, deceptively thin Welshman constantly surprised him, but only, Jack realized, because Jack chose to be surprised.
Jack liked the fact that Ianto surprised him, so much so that he sometimes purposely, even willfully, forgot things about Ianto so that he could rediscover them. He liked unwrapping the immaculate suits that hid the lustful body underneath. He liked turning his head to see the desire-filled eyes behind Ianto’s stoic mask of professionalism. And he loved finding the one thing, or the one touch, that would unlock Ianto’s reserve and have him writhing and cursing above, around, beneath him. Each new revelation was a delight and a reminder of the complexity, not just of Ianto Jones himself, but of humanity, and Jack relished each one.
“Jack…” Ianto pressed. Jack knew there was no getting past him, not after the mess with the alien and the medical supplies, and the way Jack died. Jack owed him at least a little honesty this time.
“Sometimes…” Jack said, feeling his way through his thoughts. “Sometimes I just get tired. Tired of living. Tired of coming back. Tired of being the only one who can.”
“So, what? You’d rather let it all go? Just die and be done?”
Jack gripped Ianto’s arms, holding him in place. The fine wool of his suit jacket bunched between Jack’s fingers, startling him. It was different than what Ianto had been wearing earlier. Apparently he’d changed jackets after they gotten back to the Hub. That meant that this one wouldn’t have the telltale burn mark the size of an American silver dollar just over Ianto’s right shoulder blade where the alien’s pistol had seared through to his flesh.
“How’s your shoulder?”
Ianto sighed, probably annoyed at him for changing the subject.
“Better. Owen patched it up on site and then looked it over again once we were back at the Hub. Even watched me take the pain meds before he let me come looking for you.”
“Did he catch the one you palmed?”
“If he did, he didn’t say anything.”
“Ah.”
Jack stroked his hand up and over Ianto’s shoulder, feeling along the bones and muscles for the bandage. Ianto winced when he made contact. Jack looked up into Ianto’s eyes and pressed just a little harder, watching Ianto’s expression. Ianto’s eyes went wide, then glazed as the pain called up something deeper, needier, and darker within them both. His lips parted and he sighed just a little.
“It never works,” Jack said. “The dying. But for that one moment, I think… maybe… just maybe, this time…”
“What?” Ianto whispered, his eyes unfocused, but still watching Jack.
“It’ll end.” Jack pressed harder on the wound.
“And what about me?” Ianto asked with a gasp of several kinds of pain. “What about the team?”
Jack pulled his hand from Ianto’s shoulder to cup his cheek. “You are the reason I’m glad when it doesn’t work - when I open my eyes and my lungs start working again. You make me happy to still be here.”
Ianto blinked, a world of emotion spinning in his eyes, then leaned in and kissed Jack. It was the softest, sweetest kiss Jack could remember, just the press of Ianto’s lips to his, a sigh of air shared between them, before it turned hungry and demanding.
“Your bunk, now.” Ianto growled into Jack’s neck.
***
Later, when Ianto had had his fill of the immortal man, and Jack was sated on the taste of Welsh archivist, Ianto slipped upstairs to make coffee for the team, with a snarky muttering of, “Before they kill us all for want of caffeine.”
Jack allowed himself the luxury of a shower. He stood under the pounding heat of the shower, washing away the phantom pain of the alien’s claw marks. He let the water wash away the memory of the pincers cutting into the flesh of his legs, how they had dug into his neck and crushed his chest. All the injuries healed without a trace each time he regenerated, but he remembered, and his cells remembered, at least for a time.
As Jack scrubbed at his arms, washing away the night in sweat- and dirt-tinged rivulets, he thought back to Ianto's unanswered question.
“What about the team?”
The answer was simple, really. Jack had meant what he’d said when he’d come back after his time with the Doctor and the year that wasn’t on the Valiant. He’d come back for Ianto, and for all of them.
He ran the soap up and over his calves, across his thighs and buttocks, pressing the coarse bar into his skin. He wanted to carve away a layer of grime and guilt, but there was only so much one bar of soap could do.
He’d come back for Gwen and her stubborn pride that was nearly a match for his own. Gwen who would take on anyone or anything and never let go until she got answers. Because under that pride and tenacity was a heart of gold that hid a softness and a humility that she didn’t want anyone to see. But it was that very softness, that very human modesty that allowed her to connect with people and get them talking when the team most needed answers.
Jack stuck his head under the water, rinsing shampoo from his hair. He opened his eyes and watched the foam, tinged pink with crusted blood, wind its way down his body and swirl around the drain.
He’d come back for Owen: harsh, lazy, drunken, womanizing, broken Owen, his very human doctor whom he could never truly fix. Jack only hoped that he could give Owen enough space and time that Owen, who did more diligent and inspired work in one day than most people did in a lifetime, could find his way back to peace.
Jack turned up the heat and turned his back to the shower head, letting the pressure and warmth unknot his muscles and remind them that he, and they, were truly still alive.
He’d come back for his Toshiko, with her beautiful eyes and sword-sharp anger hidden so deep beneath that calm exterior that few even knew it existed. But he did; he saw her late at night, deep in the bowels of the Hub, swinging her black practice swords through a set of katas. He hadn’t needed to see her working out to know that she had a patience to match her anger, equally as strong and intense, that could outwit nearly any computer or technological system ever created. He needed her gifts as much as she needed a place to use them.
And today two more people had crept under his skin, at least for the moment, and on to his team. Jack chuckled as he turned off the water. Who was he kidding? Once he allowed someone onto the team, if only in his heart, they were there to stay, even if they never had full access to the Hub or any of the Torchwood toys.
Jack toweled off and padded back into his room, pulling fresh clothes from his wardrobe. He chose a dark blue shirt for the day to balance Ianto’s light purple one. He ran his hand over the waistcoats and finally opted for a dark blue one. Okay, maybe he was still a bit moody. Ianto could coax him or tease him about it later; either way, they would both win. Trousers and bracers, pants, socks, and undershirt were added to the pile: his armor for another day of work and another day of living forever.
As he dressed, Jack pondered the two newest members to slip into his memories and his protective circle.
Gwen’s Rhys, whose heart was bigger than his eyes; always wanting to help and wanting more than what was just outside the door of his flat. Though maybe, after the last few adventures with Torchwood, and now at last being married to Gwen, Rhys could finally see that he had more to offer Gwen, and to receive in return, by being the one person who could temper the chaos in her life, in all their lives.
Jack emerged from his bunker, still deep in thought. His fingers did up the buttons of his waistcoat as his feet took him on a slow circuit of his office.
And then there was Andy Davidson, the other PC in Torchwood’s world. Andy, who saw what Gwen had, what Torchwood appeared to offer, and wanted to be a super spy like his former partner. He was a good constable, and a good man. Jack just wasn’t sure Andy was cut out for the pain that Torchwood inevitably inflicted on “good” people. And Andy was a good man to his core, charitable and kind, honest to a fault - all amazing qualities in a beat copper, but not ideal ones for an alien crime fighter.
Jack shook his head. They would just have to wait and see what to do with Andy as the days unfurled. Something told him that Andy might be smart enough to make his own choice now that he’d had a taste of the real action.
Absent gods, but he loved them all. And envied them all for their simple closed loops and finite lives.
He turned at a soft knock at the door and the smell of coffee.
“Back to brooding, I see,” Ianto said, handing him his cup with a wry grin.
“What tipped you off?”
“You’re only quiet when you’re thinking too hard.”
“Ouch,” Jack said, miming a direct hit, then sipped his coffee, unable to think of any way out of the circle of thoughts he had wrapped himself. Ianto came to his rescue with a change of topic. Jack almost sighed with relief.
“Owen says to tell you that he’s isolated two chemical compounds in alien lobster boy - that’s a direct quote, by the way.” Ianto looked at Jack over his coffee cup.
“I figured.”
“Yes, well, they were in its bloodstream and on its upper carapace, particularly around its mouth. Either or both of them could have acted as an hallucinogen on the alien’s system.”
“What were the compounds?”
“Talcum powder and penicillin.”
“The powder that tastes like nebulas, and the liquid that makes the world spin…” Jack quoted.
“…and the air feel like starlight,” Ianto finished.
“Just as Andy reported,” Jack stated, draining the last of his coffee and setting the cup on his desk.
“Yep.”
“So it was wired.”
“Apparently.” Ianto nodded. “That would also explain why we had no mention of the alien’s behavior before yesterday. Owen estimates the chemicals had been in its system no more than 24 hours, even though the Rift energy within its body coincides with a spike that Owen found from last week. One you logged in, but which we never had time to investigate.”
Jack scrubbed his hands across his face, his frustration roaring back full force. He pushed his hands a way with a burst of sound that meant nothing and everything.
“Sometimes I think Yvonne was right to have such a large staff.”
Ianto looked at Jack, surprised, then thoughtful. “Larger? Yes. Cardiff and the Rift are too big for just the five of us. As large as Torchwood One? Never. And certainly never the way Yvonne managed things!”
“True,” Jack agreed. Torchwood Three had always been the smaller of the working branches. No one actually considered Two an officially working branch. Archie was Archie, and that was the way things were. But maybe it was time to find a better balance between “rogue” branch and “official” office styles.
Jack looked up at Ianto, who was standing beside the desk, wearing the invisible mantle of Executive Assistant. “Something else?”
Ianto nodded. “Gwen called. She and Rhys have gotten all the supplies sorted onto the lorries. Rhys will be bringing Owen’s load over this afternoon, along with the equipment you said he could keep. The rest are being sent on to a free clinic in Newport as an anonymous donation.”
“Ah. Whose idea was that?”
“Joint decision, really.” Ianto looked at Jack, one eyebrow raised as if he dared Jack to question what was apparently his choice.
“I see.” Jack nodded and kept his thoughts to himself about how cute Ianto and Gwen were when they plotted to help their neighbors.
“Oh, and she said Rhys will also be bringing lunch with him for the team. Something about how we’ve all been eating too much takeaway, and he’s not having any more of that, if he can help it.”
Jack could feel his eyebrows crawling into his hairline. “Oh really?”
Ianto pursed his lips in a near smile, his eyes very wide, and he nodded. “Yep.”
Jack shook his head. “Wonder if he’s any good?”
“Gwen mentioned that she doesn’t cook much, but she doesn’t complain about his cooking either, so I reckon he’s at least better than takeaway.”
Ianto bent to retrieve their mugs and Jack watched the smooth line of Ianto trousers tighten and flex as he walked towards the door. Jack grinned when Ianto stopped, hoping for a repeat performance, but he just stood by the door. When Jack looked up at his face, Ianto looked raw, as though his whole being was open and exposed to the world, or maybe just to Jack.
“What?” Jack took a step toward Ianto, worried.
The raw look faded from Ianto’s eyes, but if anything the intensity of emotions racing across his face intensified.
Jack waited.
Finally Ianto took a breath and walked towards Jack. “I was taught that the opposite of envy is kindness and compassion.”
Jack couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. “So?”
Ianto shrugged and hovered an arm’s-length away. “You say you envy us our short lives and our limited memories. But you love us as well. You care for us, for all of us. I see it every day, in the way you brush back a lock of Tosh’s hair, and how you tease Gwen into staying normal, in how you push Owen to be better than he believes he can ever be again.”
Ianto turned his eyes away from Jack, down to the floor, then to the window, and back to the space on the floor between them. He was silent, as though all his energy and motion had fled into his fingers to dance between them like a shield or an offering.
“In how you let me organize the office and the archives,” Ianto whispered to the floor. “And…” He took a deep breath and raised his eyes to meet Jack’s “…your life, because you know how it helps me.”
Jack nodded slowly and reached a hand to Ianto’s twitching fingers. He brushed his fingertips across Ianto’s, feeling them tremble, even as he felt the strength within them. They tangled together, clenching and unclenching as Ianto gathered his thoughts.
“But kindness and compassion aren’t only about others. They are never only for other people, Jack. They’re for ourselves as well.”
Jack tugged Ianto to him, and studied every line of his face, memorizing the contours. Then he kissed him, soft and sweet and with every ounce of kindness and compassion he had within his heart for both of them.
Epilogue
“That it, there - The Coral Strut,” Ianto said, pointing his PDA at the bulk of the tanker resting low in the water. A massive iron “dog” was loading a container onto its already-packed deck.
In the bright light of morning, the bustle of activity in the shipyard was palpable. Every dock was buzzing with workers preparing cargo ships for the tide, shoving one last container into one last crevice on every ship. The noise reminded Jack of the war, any war at sea, with its hustle to prepare vehicles and men for battle. It was in the smell of diesel and metal, salt-water and sweat, hope and desire. All of that was here, even without a war to fight. That thought gave Jack a moment of peace.
The boarding ramp of the Coral Strut was guarded by a tall man with the colored hard-hat of a supervisor. He looked up from his clipboard to look Jack and Ianto over with a thoughtful eye.
“What can I do for you, mates?” His accent was not local, Jack noted. Northern Irish, most likely, which meant he was either an import come across for the money, or working for the shipping company and assigned to the ship directly. One would recognize them, the other probably wouldn’t.
“Cap’n Jack Harkness with Torchwood,” Jack said, and noticed the man just nodded; working locally, then. “This ship has cargo for a group called the Heart of the Earth.”
“Name don’t ring a bell.” He flipped through the pages of the manifest, spotted something and nodded. “Ah, them. You’ll be wanting to talk to Ted.”
“And where would we find ‘Ted’?”
The man looked over Jack’s shoulder.
“That would be me,” a voice said from behind them.
Jack and Ianto turned as one to see a strange sight. Jack had expected a roughneck or some slick businessman, not this hippy with a backpack. He did not sigh. The hippy get-up explained a lot about this whole mess.
He nodded at Ted. “We need to talk about your cargo.”
“Um… okay,” Ted said quietly, then looked at the dock official. “All right if I leave my gear here?”
The official nodded. Jack could feel him watching them as they walked down the dock, away from the worst of the noise. When he felt like they were far enough away to be able to hear themselves think, but not be overheard, Jack stopped and gazed at Ted. Ianto stopped just behind and to Jack’s right, turned out slightly so that he could watch the foot traffic on the dock. It was a familiar routine for them, and one of the things Jack appreciated about working with Ianto.
“Interesting stuff you have in your manifest,” Jack began.
“Just aid supplies.”
Jack barked a laugh that was meant to intimidate, widened his stance and crossed his arms over his chest. “Perhaps I should have said, your supplies come from interesting sources.”
Ted actually blushed.
“So you do know that not all the supplies were legally obtained?” Ianto asked, turning so that he could lean into towards Ted. Ted pulled his head down and closer to his body, doing a fair impersonation of a turtle.
“Well, yes,” Ted said, grasping at words. “But… those places… they had plenty of supplies, and well, they …. and…”
“And budgets large enough to cover the overage?” Ianto finished for him.
Ted nodded, his eyes wide as saucers. Either someone was relying on Ted’s naïveté, or this whole group really was run by fools and madmen. Jack sighed. This was all pretty much what they had thought was going on, right down to the naïve do-gooders out to save the world, only without the alien tech.
Jack looked at Ianto, who shrugged.
“Tell you what,” Jack said at last. “You get on that ship and you keep your schedule.” Ted’s head shot up, hope and wonder in his eyes. Jack stopped him with a finger in his face. “But - you tell your bosses that the stealing has to stop.”
Ted nodded like a bobble-head doll on crack.
“We support what you’re trying to do, but this Robin Hood routine is only going to get people hurt, and frankly, we have enough work to do without you folks storing stolen goods all around Cardiff. Do I make myself clear?” Jack growled for effect.
Ted nodded again. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
Ianto handed him a card. “Next time you’re having trouble filling a shipment, call us. We have friends in… interesting places. Should be able to cut some supplies loose - legitimately - once in a while.”
Ted looked at Ianto, then at Jack, then down at the card, then back at Jack and Ianto. “Torchwood’s real?”
“As real as Father Christmas,” Jack said. “Now get before your ship leaves without you!”
Jack and Ianto watched Ted race back to the boarding ramp, grab his gear and scramble, with all the awkwardness of the land-born, onto the ship.
“Business cards? Really?” Jack asked, looking at Ianto with a grin.
“Black SUV with an engraved logo? Really?” Ianto retorted.
Jack blinked, then burst out laughing.
“Not much of a secret, are we?” he asked after he found his breath again.
Ianto shook his head with what Jack liked to think was a fond smile.
“Home?” Jack asked.
“Home,” Ianto nodded.
Fini