Fic: Graveyard Shift
Title: Graveyard Shift
Summary: Ianto loved his job, he really did. However, working for Torchwood still managed to surprise him once in a while.
Fandom(s): Torchwood/Doctor Who
Characters: Jack, Ianto
Spoilers: Vague hints for DW 4x12 The Stolen Earth and TW 2x13 Exit Wounds
Rating/Warnings: None
Word count: 2374
Notes: Betaed by the wonderful jadesfire2808, who held my hand whenever I was lost in translation and convinced me to post it. Comments are love.
Fic Masterlist: Here.
Ianto loved his job, he really did. However, working for Torchwood still managed to surprise him with its peculiar demands once in a while. Training a pterodactyl had thrown him a little until the dinosaur had stopped snapping at him.
Yet this, he had to admit, was one of the stranger things that he'd ever had to do at Torchwood Three.
He rammed the spade into the resisting ground, levering it backwards and forwards and tearing another lump of dirt out of the growing hole. Only two thousand shovelfuls to go. Burying things was nothing new in his job, but digging on Cardiff's cemetery at night wasn't something Torchwood did very often. Although Ianto had to admit that Yvonne Hartman had been grave robbing in more than one sense of the word.
He rammed the spade back into the earth, the smell of wet soil mingling with the fog, muffling all noise. He shook his head. This was so full of horror movie clichés that it wasn't even funny anymore. Jack really had the strangest pastimes.
He turned slightly, about to make some quip about crappy dates to the Captain currently digging at the head of the grave (would there be bones? His stomach clenched. Their target had died in 1869, there would be no bones, right?), only to shut his mouth again as he spotted Jack's face in the sparse moonlight. He'd shed his coat a while ago, as the night was warm and the work dirty. It made him look younger somehow, vulnerable.
Ianto's sight had improved during their work, while Jack, probably by some future genetic quirk, had strode from the orange lit streets into the darkness of the graves as if he'd belonged there. Maybe he did, Ianto had thought glumly as he'd followed his Captain, bumping into gravestones and stumbling onwards on the gravel path. No lamps, Jack had insisted. The caretaker had been quite suspicious at Jack's questions about the haunted grave earlier, and Torchwood really didn't need a reputation as grave robbers on top of everything else.
Jack seemed determined to find the reason for the recent hauntings, though, never mind their reputation. Something dangerous had been gleaming in his eyes as he'd planned this midnight visit in the dim light of the SUV, which changed into surprise quickly enough when he realized that Ianto had anticipated him, and brought along shovels.
Ianto was glad for the lack of light, otherwise he would've never seen Jack's face as unguarded as it was now. He was definitely underestimating Ianto's night sight, which was no wonder after three introductions of his shin to gravestones.
Ianto watched from the corner of his eyes as Jack dug on, his thrusts at the earth almost violent, as if wielding a sword and not a shovel. They hadn't spent much time together since the Doctor and the Daleks, how wonderfully easy it had been to blame it all on drugs in the water once more, figuring his Captain wanted some space after another reminder of what he'd left behind. Not that Ianto minded; there were worse things than being stuck with Jack.
It was only now, as things returned to the dreaded routine that it became obvious how much they had lost with Owen and Tosh. Jack took it hardest, always feeling responsible for everything, Ianto sighed as he kicked a pebble out of the way and gazed at the growing mound of earth beside him, but hid it well enough during the day. But now something grim had obviously gripped his heart, the prospect of digging up the dead and playing ghost hunter suddenly more than just a very silly job for an alien hunting organization.
Ianto was too winded to start a conversation about the hate and fear mingling in Jack's face, and he wouldn't get a decent answer anyway. Staying quiet was the best way to get him talking, Ianto had found out the hard way.
The hole grew, the sounds and light of the graveyard fading the deeper they went, walls of dirt obscuring Ianto's view until all he could see were the stars above whenever he shovelled another spade of dirt from the grave. In front of him, Jack suddenly stopped, breathing hard. It was hard work, Ianto had to admit, but Jack was in good enough condition that he would hardly be affected by this. This was something else, something he knew too well, something that had assaulted him for months after Lisa's death whenever he'd seen blood. In the darkness of the grave, it was hard to make out more than the heaving silhouette and its ragged breaths, but he was sure he could see Jack staring at the stars, willing his heart to calm down, to keep his composure in the middle of a grave. It was scary to see him so panicked.
"Jack?" he asked more for his own sanity than anything else, and felt bad when the silhouette flinched violently at the single spoken word in the otherwise utter silence. Ianto listened to both their breathing before coming to a decision.
"I think I need a break," he stated as calmly as he could, staring at the wall he'd have to tackle to get out, "give me a hand?"
On every other night, this would've lead to some quite lewd suggestions and serious groping, but tonight Jack's hands did nothing more than shove his foot high enough to claw his way out of their (by now quite impressive) excavation. He wondered how deep they still had to go to find what they were looking for.
He turned around and watched as the dark shape below touched the dirt walls absently, flinching once more when Ianto called his name and offered a hand out of the grave. They sat with their feet dangling, before Jack leant on his elbows to stare at the sky above. Ianto didn't join him, instead he watched carefully in the moonlight as Jack's breathing slowed and a casual smile covered the fear still lurking below. Suddenly, he began to laugh, a quiet, almost painful sound that Ianto mistook for sobbing for a second or two.
"Jack?" The laugh scared Ianto; it was the kind of hysteria that only hit after the world slowed down from madness again.
"You fight your entire life; you protect those you love as best as you can, and still your past will come around one day and everyone will end up in one of these." The Captain gave a weak nod towards the pitch black of the grave, running his hands over his face. It was strange to see the Captain so angry at the universe. He usually took his nightmares to high buildings to shred them on his own, not even sharing with Ianto.
"You won't end there," Ianto said quietly, staring at his dirty hands, that simple realisation almost too much to bear.
"Who says I didn't already?" Jack laughed shakily, and separate carefully collected facts clicked together into one horrible realization. The dirt on Jack's clothes after they'd dealt with Gray, the story of a former Torchwood team coming for help. Ianto shuddered and lay back, staring at the same stars as Jack, probably not seeing the same things in them.
"You don't have to face this alone, you know?" he said quietly, but Jack didn't answer.
They lay there for a very long time, the coldness of the ground beneath creeping into their bodies. It was more intimate than many nights they'd shared, but Ianto had worked long enough at Torchwood to ignore the macabre thoughts that moved in his brain when he remembered where they were.
He was about to speak when something moved in the corner of his eye, something ethereal moving through the fog. He sat up and stared at the vaguely human form ghosting between the sickly shrubs, advancing slowly. He felt Jack move behind him, probably following his gaze.
"Seems like we've found our ghost," he whispered, and the delightful smirk was back in his voice as he watched the fog move towards them.
Ianto's grandmother's stories about evil sprites and haunted places resurfaced, and made the hairs on his neck stand up as a ghostly shape - slightly paler than the moonlight - advanced and made him scramble to his feet. It was only Jack's reassuring hand that held him and his sanity in place. Briefly he wondered at how quickly their roles had been reversed.
"That's an Ishtar." Jack smiled and bowed slightly to the creature now sporting something resembling a human head. "And it's a long way from home…" Judging from the Captain's delight, it meant no harm, and that was enough to make most of Ianto's fears dissipate.
"Its Neurosphere must've washed through the Rift." Jack frowned. "They look like gemstones, sometimes." He scanned their freshly dug hole with his wrist strap, as if unaware of the gaping darkness that had only minutes before threatened to break him. "Must've found its way into some necklace or bracelet, and was buried with its owner."
The ghostly shape hovered beside Jack as he scanned, peering down with eyes made of nothing, as if eager for his findings. Ianto shook his head. He tried to imagine how lonely this creature must've been, but cut the thought off before it turned to his own memories. He was anthropomorphising again.
"Is it dangerous?" He asked, because he felt obliged to. He would have to file the report after all, and it was good to hear Jack so enthusiastic. It had been some time since he'd seen the Captain full of glee.
"Nah," Jack flashed him and then the creature a quick grin. "Muses of the universe, Ishtars. They abhor violence and ignorance. They prefer inspiring poems."
"It's very quiet for a poet." Ianto frowned, eyeing the shape questioningly. When the alien focussed its non-existent eyes on him, he realised that that had probably been an insult. The echo of a memory of a long-suffering sigh bubbled in his mind and made him blink.
Jack chuckled. "Believe me, telepathically, it's babbling."
"You can hear it?" Ianto asked incredulous, regretting the question instantly when Jack's face darkened again.
"Practice," he nodded curtly before concentrating on his wrist strap again. What had he said now?
Jack looked up, as did the alien behind him, the awkward silence stretching.
"Not now, Ianto," Jack sighed tiredly, almost pleading while running a hand through his hair. Ianto nodded.
The silence continued before the wrist strap gave a tiny beep and Jack jumped down into the open grave as if he did it every night. He didn't use the spade Ianto offered, instead dug into the earth with his bare hands, his fingers gently extricating two halves of a blue, smooth orb the size of a walnut.
"Humans," he sighed as he held it up for Ianto and the ghost to see, freeing the orb from a silver necklace "always taking things down with them."
One day he'd find out why Jack talked like he didn't belong to his own species anymore, Ianto thought as he helped Jack out of the grave again.
"It was buried here, but only now had enough energy to project a message for help and repair." He held the halves of the orb up in front of the alien and put them back together, the scar melting away in an instant. The ghost shimmered and suddenly vanished, leaving the otherworldly silence of the graveyard open for human superstition once more.
"So it's free now?" Ianto asked, not sure if it could've been that easy.
"Should have enough energy for the interdimensional jump," Jack nodded and set the now whole orb on the mossy gravestone, where it shone for a moment, then winked out of existence. "Going home," he sighed, staring at the sky.
"Good." Ianto smiled. They needed more days - or nights - like this.
"A very good night," Jack agreed, as if reading his thoughts.
"Might I remind you, Sir," Jack's mouth twitched at the familiar tease, "that this grave has to be covered again before the caretaker finds out that the peace of this place was disturbed?" It was so easy to fall back into their banter.
"You always have to ruin the mood, don't you?" Jack grinned, hastily shoving earth back into the grave. Ianto noticed not without some tiny sliver of pride that the haunted look did not return to Jack's eyes at this work. They both needed to face their demons instead of burying them, it seemed. That or help ghosts once in a while. Knowing Torchwood, there was no telling what would happen more often.
"So," Jack leant his arms casually over his spade, watching Ianto tread the lawn back into place. "Does this actually count as a date?"
Ianto stopped, but didn't even try to begin to list all the things that were wrong with that statement.
"Not if you don't buy me a drink," he replied haughtily, collecting Jack's coat from the ground and exchanging it for the shovel.
"I think I saw a pub that should still be open on our way here," he sniffed, the air somehow crisper now that they were deeper into the night. The fog had lifted, and the world seemed cleaner. "If they serve dirty men like us," he added mournfully after a glance at his trousers, realizing too late just what he'd said.
"You know I like that," Jack laughed, and swung his arm around Ianto's shoulder. Ianto wiped the sweat off his brow, feeling lighter after this job well done. He shot a glance at Jack, noticing a slight spring back in his step, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, too. Ianto had no idea what they'd left behind in that grave, but it felt good to walk back into the sodium light of Cardiff's streets.
He stared up at the stars as he waited for Jack to scramble over the graveyard wall (there'd been groping and much eye rolling) and they sat there for a while, embraced in the darkness of the place they left behind.
A lost soul found. His grandmother would've loved this story.
Summary: Ianto loved his job, he really did. However, working for Torchwood still managed to surprise him once in a while.
Fandom(s): Torchwood/Doctor Who
Characters: Jack, Ianto
Spoilers: Vague hints for DW 4x12 The Stolen Earth and TW 2x13 Exit Wounds
Rating/Warnings: None
Word count: 2374
Notes: Betaed by the wonderful jadesfire2808, who held my hand whenever I was lost in translation and convinced me to post it. Comments are love.
Fic Masterlist: Here.
Ianto loved his job, he really did. However, working for Torchwood still managed to surprise him with its peculiar demands once in a while. Training a pterodactyl had thrown him a little until the dinosaur had stopped snapping at him.
Yet this, he had to admit, was one of the stranger things that he'd ever had to do at Torchwood Three.
He rammed the spade into the resisting ground, levering it backwards and forwards and tearing another lump of dirt out of the growing hole. Only two thousand shovelfuls to go. Burying things was nothing new in his job, but digging on Cardiff's cemetery at night wasn't something Torchwood did very often. Although Ianto had to admit that Yvonne Hartman had been grave robbing in more than one sense of the word.
He rammed the spade back into the earth, the smell of wet soil mingling with the fog, muffling all noise. He shook his head. This was so full of horror movie clichés that it wasn't even funny anymore. Jack really had the strangest pastimes.
He turned slightly, about to make some quip about crappy dates to the Captain currently digging at the head of the grave (would there be bones? His stomach clenched. Their target had died in 1869, there would be no bones, right?), only to shut his mouth again as he spotted Jack's face in the sparse moonlight. He'd shed his coat a while ago, as the night was warm and the work dirty. It made him look younger somehow, vulnerable.
Ianto's sight had improved during their work, while Jack, probably by some future genetic quirk, had strode from the orange lit streets into the darkness of the graves as if he'd belonged there. Maybe he did, Ianto had thought glumly as he'd followed his Captain, bumping into gravestones and stumbling onwards on the gravel path. No lamps, Jack had insisted. The caretaker had been quite suspicious at Jack's questions about the haunted grave earlier, and Torchwood really didn't need a reputation as grave robbers on top of everything else.
Jack seemed determined to find the reason for the recent hauntings, though, never mind their reputation. Something dangerous had been gleaming in his eyes as he'd planned this midnight visit in the dim light of the SUV, which changed into surprise quickly enough when he realized that Ianto had anticipated him, and brought along shovels.
Ianto was glad for the lack of light, otherwise he would've never seen Jack's face as unguarded as it was now. He was definitely underestimating Ianto's night sight, which was no wonder after three introductions of his shin to gravestones.
Ianto watched from the corner of his eyes as Jack dug on, his thrusts at the earth almost violent, as if wielding a sword and not a shovel. They hadn't spent much time together since the Doctor and the Daleks, how wonderfully easy it had been to blame it all on drugs in the water once more, figuring his Captain wanted some space after another reminder of what he'd left behind. Not that Ianto minded; there were worse things than being stuck with Jack.
It was only now, as things returned to the dreaded routine that it became obvious how much they had lost with Owen and Tosh. Jack took it hardest, always feeling responsible for everything, Ianto sighed as he kicked a pebble out of the way and gazed at the growing mound of earth beside him, but hid it well enough during the day. But now something grim had obviously gripped his heart, the prospect of digging up the dead and playing ghost hunter suddenly more than just a very silly job for an alien hunting organization.
Ianto was too winded to start a conversation about the hate and fear mingling in Jack's face, and he wouldn't get a decent answer anyway. Staying quiet was the best way to get him talking, Ianto had found out the hard way.
The hole grew, the sounds and light of the graveyard fading the deeper they went, walls of dirt obscuring Ianto's view until all he could see were the stars above whenever he shovelled another spade of dirt from the grave. In front of him, Jack suddenly stopped, breathing hard. It was hard work, Ianto had to admit, but Jack was in good enough condition that he would hardly be affected by this. This was something else, something he knew too well, something that had assaulted him for months after Lisa's death whenever he'd seen blood. In the darkness of the grave, it was hard to make out more than the heaving silhouette and its ragged breaths, but he was sure he could see Jack staring at the stars, willing his heart to calm down, to keep his composure in the middle of a grave. It was scary to see him so panicked.
"Jack?" he asked more for his own sanity than anything else, and felt bad when the silhouette flinched violently at the single spoken word in the otherwise utter silence. Ianto listened to both their breathing before coming to a decision.
"I think I need a break," he stated as calmly as he could, staring at the wall he'd have to tackle to get out, "give me a hand?"
On every other night, this would've lead to some quite lewd suggestions and serious groping, but tonight Jack's hands did nothing more than shove his foot high enough to claw his way out of their (by now quite impressive) excavation. He wondered how deep they still had to go to find what they were looking for.
He turned around and watched as the dark shape below touched the dirt walls absently, flinching once more when Ianto called his name and offered a hand out of the grave. They sat with their feet dangling, before Jack leant on his elbows to stare at the sky above. Ianto didn't join him, instead he watched carefully in the moonlight as Jack's breathing slowed and a casual smile covered the fear still lurking below. Suddenly, he began to laugh, a quiet, almost painful sound that Ianto mistook for sobbing for a second or two.
"Jack?" The laugh scared Ianto; it was the kind of hysteria that only hit after the world slowed down from madness again.
"You fight your entire life; you protect those you love as best as you can, and still your past will come around one day and everyone will end up in one of these." The Captain gave a weak nod towards the pitch black of the grave, running his hands over his face. It was strange to see the Captain so angry at the universe. He usually took his nightmares to high buildings to shred them on his own, not even sharing with Ianto.
"You won't end there," Ianto said quietly, staring at his dirty hands, that simple realisation almost too much to bear.
"Who says I didn't already?" Jack laughed shakily, and separate carefully collected facts clicked together into one horrible realization. The dirt on Jack's clothes after they'd dealt with Gray, the story of a former Torchwood team coming for help. Ianto shuddered and lay back, staring at the same stars as Jack, probably not seeing the same things in them.
"You don't have to face this alone, you know?" he said quietly, but Jack didn't answer.
They lay there for a very long time, the coldness of the ground beneath creeping into their bodies. It was more intimate than many nights they'd shared, but Ianto had worked long enough at Torchwood to ignore the macabre thoughts that moved in his brain when he remembered where they were.
He was about to speak when something moved in the corner of his eye, something ethereal moving through the fog. He sat up and stared at the vaguely human form ghosting between the sickly shrubs, advancing slowly. He felt Jack move behind him, probably following his gaze.
"Seems like we've found our ghost," he whispered, and the delightful smirk was back in his voice as he watched the fog move towards them.
Ianto's grandmother's stories about evil sprites and haunted places resurfaced, and made the hairs on his neck stand up as a ghostly shape - slightly paler than the moonlight - advanced and made him scramble to his feet. It was only Jack's reassuring hand that held him and his sanity in place. Briefly he wondered at how quickly their roles had been reversed.
"That's an Ishtar." Jack smiled and bowed slightly to the creature now sporting something resembling a human head. "And it's a long way from home…" Judging from the Captain's delight, it meant no harm, and that was enough to make most of Ianto's fears dissipate.
"Its Neurosphere must've washed through the Rift." Jack frowned. "They look like gemstones, sometimes." He scanned their freshly dug hole with his wrist strap, as if unaware of the gaping darkness that had only minutes before threatened to break him. "Must've found its way into some necklace or bracelet, and was buried with its owner."
The ghostly shape hovered beside Jack as he scanned, peering down with eyes made of nothing, as if eager for his findings. Ianto shook his head. He tried to imagine how lonely this creature must've been, but cut the thought off before it turned to his own memories. He was anthropomorphising again.
"Is it dangerous?" He asked, because he felt obliged to. He would have to file the report after all, and it was good to hear Jack so enthusiastic. It had been some time since he'd seen the Captain full of glee.
"Nah," Jack flashed him and then the creature a quick grin. "Muses of the universe, Ishtars. They abhor violence and ignorance. They prefer inspiring poems."
"It's very quiet for a poet." Ianto frowned, eyeing the shape questioningly. When the alien focussed its non-existent eyes on him, he realised that that had probably been an insult. The echo of a memory of a long-suffering sigh bubbled in his mind and made him blink.
Jack chuckled. "Believe me, telepathically, it's babbling."
"You can hear it?" Ianto asked incredulous, regretting the question instantly when Jack's face darkened again.
"Practice," he nodded curtly before concentrating on his wrist strap again. What had he said now?
Jack looked up, as did the alien behind him, the awkward silence stretching.
"Not now, Ianto," Jack sighed tiredly, almost pleading while running a hand through his hair. Ianto nodded.
The silence continued before the wrist strap gave a tiny beep and Jack jumped down into the open grave as if he did it every night. He didn't use the spade Ianto offered, instead dug into the earth with his bare hands, his fingers gently extricating two halves of a blue, smooth orb the size of a walnut.
"Humans," he sighed as he held it up for Ianto and the ghost to see, freeing the orb from a silver necklace "always taking things down with them."
One day he'd find out why Jack talked like he didn't belong to his own species anymore, Ianto thought as he helped Jack out of the grave again.
"It was buried here, but only now had enough energy to project a message for help and repair." He held the halves of the orb up in front of the alien and put them back together, the scar melting away in an instant. The ghost shimmered and suddenly vanished, leaving the otherworldly silence of the graveyard open for human superstition once more.
"So it's free now?" Ianto asked, not sure if it could've been that easy.
"Should have enough energy for the interdimensional jump," Jack nodded and set the now whole orb on the mossy gravestone, where it shone for a moment, then winked out of existence. "Going home," he sighed, staring at the sky.
"Good." Ianto smiled. They needed more days - or nights - like this.
"A very good night," Jack agreed, as if reading his thoughts.
"Might I remind you, Sir," Jack's mouth twitched at the familiar tease, "that this grave has to be covered again before the caretaker finds out that the peace of this place was disturbed?" It was so easy to fall back into their banter.
"You always have to ruin the mood, don't you?" Jack grinned, hastily shoving earth back into the grave. Ianto noticed not without some tiny sliver of pride that the haunted look did not return to Jack's eyes at this work. They both needed to face their demons instead of burying them, it seemed. That or help ghosts once in a while. Knowing Torchwood, there was no telling what would happen more often.
"So," Jack leant his arms casually over his spade, watching Ianto tread the lawn back into place. "Does this actually count as a date?"
Ianto stopped, but didn't even try to begin to list all the things that were wrong with that statement.
"Not if you don't buy me a drink," he replied haughtily, collecting Jack's coat from the ground and exchanging it for the shovel.
"I think I saw a pub that should still be open on our way here," he sniffed, the air somehow crisper now that they were deeper into the night. The fog had lifted, and the world seemed cleaner. "If they serve dirty men like us," he added mournfully after a glance at his trousers, realizing too late just what he'd said.
"You know I like that," Jack laughed, and swung his arm around Ianto's shoulder. Ianto wiped the sweat off his brow, feeling lighter after this job well done. He shot a glance at Jack, noticing a slight spring back in his step, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, too. Ianto had no idea what they'd left behind in that grave, but it felt good to walk back into the sodium light of Cardiff's streets.
He stared up at the stars as he waited for Jack to scramble over the graveyard wall (there'd been groping and much eye rolling) and they sat there for a while, embraced in the darkness of the place they left behind.
A lost soul found. His grandmother would've loved this story.