Continue Firm and Constant
Rating: PG-13 (for mentions of canonical ickyness)
Warnings: Equal parts angst and fluff. Spoilers through 1.06, Countrycide (one of my personal favorite episodes. Does that mean I'm macabre?)
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of their respective owners. I am in no way associated with the creators, and no copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: Short Countrycide reaction piece-this episode is awesome and deserves many, if only for Gareth David-Lloyd’s expression when he and Naoko Mori open the fridge. *heart* (Does this response make me weird? Ah, well.) Blatant Jack/Ianto and Ianto-Tosh friendship. The title is from a quote by Socrates: “Be slow to fall into friendship; but when thou art in, continue firm and constant.” I believe it sums up Jack and Ianto’s relationship perfectly if you replace friendship with love.
Continue Firm and Constant
Ianto’s never hated anyone more than he does Jack.
Of course, he’s never loved anyone more, either.
It’s not an either-or thing; Ianto isn’t very good at those. It’s both at once, and while Ianto isn’t exactly being torn apart by it, it’s not a very comfortable balance. He can't even just feel one at a time-they're both mixed in and mashed up and twisted around until Ianto can't differentiate between them anymore, and it hurts.
They all stagger back into the Hub after their encounter with the all-too-human cannibals, Gwen supported between Owen and Jack, who’ve both escaped relatively unscathed. Gwen has her teeth gritted, her face a little too pale, and while Ianto can't begrudge her the wound or the medical attention she receives because of it, he’s still a little unhappy that he and Tosh are left to stagger in alone, the more sensitive gear bumping along with them. Ianto spare the tech a concerned glance, and sees that she’s almost as pale as Gwen, eyes huge and dark in her face as she dumps the equipment beside the workstations.
Ianto hesitates, glancing between the autopsy bay-where the three other team members are ensconced-and Tosh, who looks shaken and horrified. There's a choice here, and as he hears Jack's voice lifted in condolences, reassurances that Rhys will be kept out of the loop, he can't help but hate Jack even more than he loves him for a moment. It doesn’t take much to choose.
“Come on, Tosh,” he murmurs, taking her elbow. “I’ll drive you home.”
She’s obviously exhausted, but she hesitates anyway, glancing towards Jack. They all do that, really. He’s their compass, their lodestone, their savior-but for tonight, Ianto’s had enough. Aliens he can handle; clans of cannibalistic countrymen are something entirely outside his area of expertise.
“Home,” he reiterates gently. “Yours or mine, if you’d care for company.” A selfish offer if there ever was one-he doesn’t want to be alone, and though Jack's forgiven him for Lisa, there's still tension there. He’s not staying at the Hub tonight, regardless.
Tosh simply looks at him for a moment, and he sees the same need for humane companionship in her eyes as she nods. “All right. If you don’t mind, Ianto, I think I’ll take your couch.”
He’s feeling a tad shaky as well, but the smile he offers her is genuine enough-relief plays a large part in it. “Very good, madam.” He offers her his elbow, more out of mutual support to make it out of the base than any courtly manners. “A cab?” He’d drive, but his vision is still a bit blurry, wavering towards seeing double if he moves too fast, and there's no way either of them are driving in their condition.
“Please.” Tosh smiles back, though it cracks halfway through, and takes his arm. “Thanks, Ianto.”
They stagger out of the Hub together, not bothering to say goodnight to the others, and hail the nearest cab. The driver gives them wary looks, but Ianto ignores him-it’s Cardiff, no one ever really sees anything, no matter how far in their face it’s shoved. He’s tired and punch-drunk enough that it almost seems funny, but he manages to control the insane urge to giggle-cannibals? Really?-and instead wraps a steadying arm around Tosh's shoulders to help her onto the curb when they stop. Paying the driver and finding the house keys he stashed in a bend of the stairwell are about all his fatigued brain can manage, but thankfully staggering to bed doesn’t require much mental acuity. Somehow, Tosh comes with him instead of ending up on the couch, and they collapse onto the mattress with twin groans.
“I hope you know,” Tosh mutters, wriggling out of her bra with her tank top still on in that mystifyingly nimble way girls perfect during puberty, “that I don’t normally just tumble into bed with a man who hasn’t even bought me dinner yet. And being dinner doesn’t count.”
For some reason, Ianto finds this insanely funny, and doubles over with gasps of laughter that turn to groans of pain from his battered ribs. He clutches at them, still laughing, and Tosh giggles along with him, her entire body shaking in a way that has nothing to do with mirth. But they can either laugh or cry, and Ianto makes no secret about which he prefers.
They curl up together, just barely touching, as the amusement subsides, but it’s enough for each of them to know that the other is there, human and alive and relatively normal. Ianto leans forward until their foreheads rest together, mindful of his bruised skull, and sighs softly.
“I think I can safely rank this among the top five most terrifying and horrible days of my life,” he mutters, closing his eyes, “and I survived Canary Wharf, so that’s saying something.”
Tosh shivers, moving a little closer as he pulls the blankets up. “At least Cybermen and Daleks just want to kill you, and not carve you up as a piece of meat.”
She’s got a point. Ianto controls his next shudder and carefully grips her hands, eyes still closed. “Goodnight, Tosh,” he whispers.
“Goodnight, Ianto,” she responds, and they both pretend that they're not listening to the other breathe long into the night.
*.~.*.~.*
The nightmares are terrible, but they're both alive in the morning, and that counts for something. Maybe even quite a lot, because Ianto wakes up warm and wrapped in his friend’s arms, and the day looks that much brighter because of it.
Tosh opens her eyes into the early morning sunlight, and smiles at him. Ianto smiles back, because he actually can, and listens to the sounds of Jack in his kitchen, no doubt burning breakfast. However many years he’s been a part of Torchwood-which Ianto knows is a lot, because he can read files quite well, thank you-and the Captain still cooks like a soldier.
That’s the love part, Ianto thinks as the smell of coffee drifts past his nose, because at this moment, there isn’t an ounce of hate in his heart.
He and Tosh sit up together, still smiling, no doubt thinking the same thing. They look at each other for a moment, and then bolt from the bed as fast as their respective injuries allow.
“Dibs!” Tosh calls, as she beats him to the shower by four steps.
“Damn,” Ianto mutters, and turns to find Jack in the doorway, laughing at him. He smiles back, a little crookedly, and they don’t kiss. Their relationship isn’t quite there yet, not after Lisa, but it’s close. Rather, Jack bows grandly towards the kitchen sink and says, “My lord, your tub awaits.”
Ianto tosses him a two-fingered salute, but goes anyway.
He may hate the bastard.
Then again, he loves him even more.