It'll End in Tears #17: "Diminished Responsibility"
Title: "Diminished Responsibility"
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: Overall: Ianto/Andy, Jack/Ianto, Jack/Ianto/Andy, with occasional guest cameos.
Rating: Series ranges from relatively safe to hard NC-17. This installment is in the PG-13 range.
Notes/Summary: Part #17 of the " It'll End In Tears" cluster, and #15 on the un_love_you prompt table. Thanks to sanginmychains, ridikuluss, and demotu for giving this the sweet, sweet beta-fu.
While Ianto isn’t one to complain about the strange hours Torchwood tends to inflict on him, it does occasionally leave him feeling wildly out of step with the rest of the world. So much of his work occurs underground and out of hours that he’s forgotten the old, ordinary rhythms. For example, while it’s a quarter to eleven on Monday morning out on the Plass, he’s been in the office since early Sunday evening. Whatever time it feels like in the tourist office, it’s certainly not an hour to lunch.
He turns the page of his newspaper. A slightly manic photograph of the Prime Minister stares up at him, sandwiched between the words “This Is My Desperation In Action!” and “PM Fears Assassination Scheme.” He doesn’t normally read The Sun, but he’d noticed an amusing headline about “alien mania” in Wales when he’d passed a newsagent earlier in the morning and couldn’t resist.
The funniest bit was that he’d actually been on his way back from tracking down a pair of pensioners who’d unwittingly bought a Kardoni tachyon cannon at a charity shop. They’d been quite nice about it actually, especially after he told them that the ‘vase’ they’d purchased was a lost heirloom his great-grandfather had bought in France during the war. They’d given it to him straight away, and then chatted him nearly to death about their own children and grandchildren, and how lovely the vase was, and how good it would look on his mantelpiece, or a bookshelf.
And then they’d sent him off with sandwiches. So much for “alien mania.”
It’s a good thing they never got around to putting water in it, he reflects as he turns the page. Otherwise, the Council would dealing with the sudden appearance of a large crater where Ely, Caerau, and Fairwater used to be.
When the shop door jingles open, he doesn’t look up. Anyone who’s working is down below. Anyone who comes in is a tourist. He mutters the usual rubbish - “good morning, bore da, let me know if I can assist you” - and then turns the page of his newspaper again.
“You know some of these ‘What’s On’ schedules are from 2006, right?” Andy says as he lays it down on the counter in front of Ianto to get his attention. Which it does, handily.
“It was a good year,” Ianto says, surprised but without missing a beat. He picks up the pamphlet and flips through it. “I think we may have some even older ones in the back if you’re feeling nostalgic.”
Andy laughs quietly. “Is that what you do? Nostalgia tourism?” He’s in uniform and apparently on duty, judging by the radio clipped onto his jacket.
“I work in a niche industry,” Ianto replies and steps out from behind the counter to put the booklet back where Andy found it. It isn’t a lie. It’s just true in ways anyone outside of Torchwood will fail to catch. “How’d you find me?”
Andy shrugs. “Jack mentioned once that you worked by the Bay, and I figured he meant the Tube. They said they didn’t know you, but one of them had heard there was a little shop over here near the Quay. Thought it wouldn’t hurt to investigate.”
“He did?” Ianto says with raised brows. He does his best to look amused, but spares a glance at the CCTV camera. The chances of the others checking the tourist office feed are slim, but not impossible, especially if someone had spotted Andy on the Plass. That, he thinks, is much more likely.
Ianto suppresses a curse. Andy being seen in the tourist office - or worse, Andy running into Gwen or Jack - could be a catastrophic loss of cover.
“You’re lucky to catch me,” Ianto improvises, plucking his keys from the basket next to the monitor as he thanks every god he can think of that his coffee mug is on the lower shelf. “I was just getting ready for a bit of a coffee break. Interested?”
Andy checks his watch. “Sure. I think I’ve got time for a coffee.”
“Good,” Ianto says, and leads them out onto the walkway. He’s shocked by the brightness of the sun as he locks the door behind them. It makes his eyes ache, and reminds him how long he’s been awake. Andy, however, seems perfectly at home out here. Night and day, Ianto thinks. It’s not a bad correspondence, really.
Ianto decides to take him to the café at Craft in the Bay, within sight of the Wales Millennium Centre. They make small talk on the way, which mostly amounts to Andy telling funny stories about his coworkers. Ianto is surprised by how much he enjoys it, but doesn’t reciprocate with tales of his own. Instead, he leads Andy into the café where the owner greets Ianto warmly with a kiss on the cheek, and then tells them to seat themselves wherever they’d like.
“She seems friendly,” Andy says a little awkwardly as they choose a table and settle in across from one another.
“I can promise you our relationship is almost entirely professional,” Ianto says with a wicked smirk.
Andy sputters and chokes on his water. “I never know when you’re joking.”
Ianto grins. “I know.”
Andy spares an extra glance at the front counter as he taps nervously with his fingers. “So, how’s someone like you wind up spending his days doing random lunches with the police and rearranging a collection of ancient post cards? It doesn’t seem very, uh, you.”
“Well, I used to work for a much larger firm in London,” Ianto tells him. He’s reluctant to share too much with Andy, but he remembers Jack’s mysterious phase well enough to know that holding out completely is a poor strategy. “Let’s just say it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.”
“Yeah, but London’s big. Surely you could have found something you liked better instead of moving all the way back to Wales?”
“The office I worked for closed very suddenly. Sort of a hostile takeover.” He fixes his eyes on his hands for a moment and is pleased to find them still, not shaking. “I didn’t really have the resources to stay, but I knew some people who could help me sort things out here in Cardiff.” Not entirely true, but close enough again without getting into things too deeply, or touching on the details that even now can break Ianto down if he isn’t careful.
“And anyway,” Ianto continues, daring to make eye contact. If I’d stayed in London, we might never have met.” The corners of his mouth twitch into a smile that catches both of them off guard.
When their coffees arrive, Ianto cups his in his palms. He likes the way the heat seeps through the ceramic and into his fingers. It reminds him that he is still alive and feeling and human instead of a machine. Also, it gives him something to do with his hands.
“So,” Ianto asks as casually as he can manage. “How are you sleeping? Any better?” It hasn’t quite been a week since Andy showed up fatigued and desperate on his doorstep but he'd seemed to sleep well enough on Thursday night. In any case, Ianto still hasn’t been able to bring himself to tell Jack about any of this. He justifies it on the basis that Jack is more likely to go off half-cocked rather than think things through. Given a little time, Ianto’s confident he can sort out how to handle this properly without putting Andy’s mind at risk.
“More or less,” Andy replies. “I woke up in a panic Saturday night because I thought I’d forgotten something important. I had to walk through my flat and check that the oven and the iron were off and that the doors were locked and that I wasn’t sleeping through my shift. That sort of thing. Bad dreams still, but I think they’re easing off a little. Though,” he says, pulling a bit of a face. “I woke up this morning feeling like I had a head full of scrambled eggs. Kept checking my pockets for things, couldn’t think straight until nine.”
“Have you thought about talking to your GP about it?” Ianto asks, his concern as sincere as it is necessary. He needs to know if he should factor things like sleeping pills, anti-psychotics, and talk therapy into the overall equation.
“I’d rather not if I can avoid it. Anything that could go psychiatric is tricky with the police. They say it’s not supposed to be, but…well the thing is, I could lose my job.”
“Oh.” Ianto looks down at his drink. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t thought of that.” And really, he hadn’t. He’d been too busy figuring up probabilities and worrying about Jack jumping the gun that the realities of Andy’s daily life were barely a consideration.
He must look more disturbed than he intends, because Andy reaches out to touch his fingers. “Hey, it’s not your fault. Being with you makes it easier, actually. I slept better Thursday night than I have in a while. Honestly, I think it’s just stress.”
Ianto’s guts feel like they’re twisting up inside his belly. Stress was Torchwood One’s favorite smokescreen for Retcon cases. Tell the patient he’s stressed, send him to his doctor, and then make arrangements for additional dosage or hypnosis or institutionalization, or -
Andy glances around the café, and then slips his fingers in between Ianto’s. Ianto makes a conscious effort to relax, but how can he when so much of this actually is his fault?
He takes Andy’s hand in both of his and traces the lines of his wrist with his fingertips. The bracelet is smooth and reassuring.
“God, I wish we didn’t have to go back to work,” Andy murmurs, relaxing instantly into Ianto’s touch.
“Me too,” Ianto sighs.
# # #
He returns to the Hub nearly thirty minutes later. It looks as if he hasn’t been missed, but he ventures down below to check on the others’ coffees just in case.
As he works, he tries to convince himself that the decrease in the intensity of Andy’s dreams is a good sign, and that that the Retcon is still working and will continue to work properly without additional dosing. Andy’s brain is coping with the dissonance, that’s all. He’s working it out on his own. Human memory is volatile enough even without pharmaceutical help. Everything is fine.
Yes, and I’m Kylie Minogue.
By the time he finishes loading everyone’s mugs on his tray, he’s working out probabilities and worst case scenarios. He delivers coffees to Toshiko and Gwen, leaves Owen’s on the counter nearest the autopsy table, and carries the final two to Jack’s office.
It’s work hours, and Jack is laboring over a stack of government forms that would intimidate almost anyone. He’s wearing an expression of intense concentration, and Ianto decides it might be best to leave him to it. Ianto places the blue and white striped mug a couple of inches from Jack’s right hand and waits a beat before turning toward the door.
“Kemi’s, huh?” Jack chuckles behind him just as Ianto reaches the door frame. “You could have brought me cake.”
“Good boys get cake,” Ianto says, turning around and trying to hide his embarrassment. “Good boys don’t inadvertently give away the location of our secret base to pliable young constables.”
“Pliable,” Jack says, sitting back. “I like that. Though wait, does that mean Andy got cake and I didn’t?”
“We’re not quite to cake yet. We’ve managed a coffee each. No refills.”
Jack’s eyebrows rise. “Would I be correct in categorizing this little afternoon happening as a date?”
“No,” Ianto says, a little quicker than perhaps he’d like. “Dates are planned in advance. Dates involve, um. Kissing.”
“There’s surprisingly good CCTV coverage in a certain area of Mermaid Quay,” Jack says with a chuckle.
Ianto sighs. “I’m not going to win this one, am I?”
“No, but you made an excellent effort. Gold star. No, two gold stars.”
“Thank you,” Ianto says, tucking his tray under his arm and finally having a sip of his own coffee. “I’ll just be in the archives if anybody needs me.”
Jack nodded and went back to his work before glancing up. “Oh, Ianto?”
“Yes, Jack?”
“Next time, bring cake.”
# # #
Andy slides into the passenger seat of the uniform car and clips the buckle home. He’s a few minutes late, and Travis is glowering.
“Took your sweet bloody time, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, sorry,” Andy says, not actually feeling the least bit sorry, but compelled to at least be polite. “I ran into someone.”
Travis snorts. “Yeah, well, arrest her next time, eh? At least then you’ll get a girl into handcuffs for once in your life, and amuse your partner, yeah?”
“Yeah, sure,” Andy answers a little absently. He’s still smiling about how he spent his break, and the little thing he didn’t tell Ianto because it seemed too twee and childish to share.
In his nightmares, Ianto is there to keep him safe. Ianto walks him away from the flames and takes him somewhere safe. Ianto brings him a coffee.
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Prev (Pt #16) (Warnings: Smut & language.)
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Next (Pt #18) (Warnings: Smut, kink (D/s), & language.)
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Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: Overall: Ianto/Andy, Jack/Ianto, Jack/Ianto/Andy, with occasional guest cameos.
Rating: Series ranges from relatively safe to hard NC-17. This installment is in the PG-13 range.
Notes/Summary: Part #17 of the " It'll End In Tears" cluster, and #15 on the un_love_you prompt table. Thanks to sanginmychains, ridikuluss, and demotu for giving this the sweet, sweet beta-fu.
While Ianto isn’t one to complain about the strange hours Torchwood tends to inflict on him, it does occasionally leave him feeling wildly out of step with the rest of the world. So much of his work occurs underground and out of hours that he’s forgotten the old, ordinary rhythms. For example, while it’s a quarter to eleven on Monday morning out on the Plass, he’s been in the office since early Sunday evening. Whatever time it feels like in the tourist office, it’s certainly not an hour to lunch.
He turns the page of his newspaper. A slightly manic photograph of the Prime Minister stares up at him, sandwiched between the words “This Is My Desperation In Action!” and “PM Fears Assassination Scheme.” He doesn’t normally read The Sun, but he’d noticed an amusing headline about “alien mania” in Wales when he’d passed a newsagent earlier in the morning and couldn’t resist.
The funniest bit was that he’d actually been on his way back from tracking down a pair of pensioners who’d unwittingly bought a Kardoni tachyon cannon at a charity shop. They’d been quite nice about it actually, especially after he told them that the ‘vase’ they’d purchased was a lost heirloom his great-grandfather had bought in France during the war. They’d given it to him straight away, and then chatted him nearly to death about their own children and grandchildren, and how lovely the vase was, and how good it would look on his mantelpiece, or a bookshelf.
And then they’d sent him off with sandwiches. So much for “alien mania.”
It’s a good thing they never got around to putting water in it, he reflects as he turns the page. Otherwise, the Council would dealing with the sudden appearance of a large crater where Ely, Caerau, and Fairwater used to be.
When the shop door jingles open, he doesn’t look up. Anyone who’s working is down below. Anyone who comes in is a tourist. He mutters the usual rubbish - “good morning, bore da, let me know if I can assist you” - and then turns the page of his newspaper again.
“You know some of these ‘What’s On’ schedules are from 2006, right?” Andy says as he lays it down on the counter in front of Ianto to get his attention. Which it does, handily.
“It was a good year,” Ianto says, surprised but without missing a beat. He picks up the pamphlet and flips through it. “I think we may have some even older ones in the back if you’re feeling nostalgic.”
Andy laughs quietly. “Is that what you do? Nostalgia tourism?” He’s in uniform and apparently on duty, judging by the radio clipped onto his jacket.
“I work in a niche industry,” Ianto replies and steps out from behind the counter to put the booklet back where Andy found it. It isn’t a lie. It’s just true in ways anyone outside of Torchwood will fail to catch. “How’d you find me?”
Andy shrugs. “Jack mentioned once that you worked by the Bay, and I figured he meant the Tube. They said they didn’t know you, but one of them had heard there was a little shop over here near the Quay. Thought it wouldn’t hurt to investigate.”
“He did?” Ianto says with raised brows. He does his best to look amused, but spares a glance at the CCTV camera. The chances of the others checking the tourist office feed are slim, but not impossible, especially if someone had spotted Andy on the Plass. That, he thinks, is much more likely.
Ianto suppresses a curse. Andy being seen in the tourist office - or worse, Andy running into Gwen or Jack - could be a catastrophic loss of cover.
“You’re lucky to catch me,” Ianto improvises, plucking his keys from the basket next to the monitor as he thanks every god he can think of that his coffee mug is on the lower shelf. “I was just getting ready for a bit of a coffee break. Interested?”
Andy checks his watch. “Sure. I think I’ve got time for a coffee.”
“Good,” Ianto says, and leads them out onto the walkway. He’s shocked by the brightness of the sun as he locks the door behind them. It makes his eyes ache, and reminds him how long he’s been awake. Andy, however, seems perfectly at home out here. Night and day, Ianto thinks. It’s not a bad correspondence, really.
Ianto decides to take him to the café at Craft in the Bay, within sight of the Wales Millennium Centre. They make small talk on the way, which mostly amounts to Andy telling funny stories about his coworkers. Ianto is surprised by how much he enjoys it, but doesn’t reciprocate with tales of his own. Instead, he leads Andy into the café where the owner greets Ianto warmly with a kiss on the cheek, and then tells them to seat themselves wherever they’d like.
“She seems friendly,” Andy says a little awkwardly as they choose a table and settle in across from one another.
“I can promise you our relationship is almost entirely professional,” Ianto says with a wicked smirk.
Andy sputters and chokes on his water. “I never know when you’re joking.”
Ianto grins. “I know.”
Andy spares an extra glance at the front counter as he taps nervously with his fingers. “So, how’s someone like you wind up spending his days doing random lunches with the police and rearranging a collection of ancient post cards? It doesn’t seem very, uh, you.”
“Well, I used to work for a much larger firm in London,” Ianto tells him. He’s reluctant to share too much with Andy, but he remembers Jack’s mysterious phase well enough to know that holding out completely is a poor strategy. “Let’s just say it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.”
“Yeah, but London’s big. Surely you could have found something you liked better instead of moving all the way back to Wales?”
“The office I worked for closed very suddenly. Sort of a hostile takeover.” He fixes his eyes on his hands for a moment and is pleased to find them still, not shaking. “I didn’t really have the resources to stay, but I knew some people who could help me sort things out here in Cardiff.” Not entirely true, but close enough again without getting into things too deeply, or touching on the details that even now can break Ianto down if he isn’t careful.
“And anyway,” Ianto continues, daring to make eye contact. If I’d stayed in London, we might never have met.” The corners of his mouth twitch into a smile that catches both of them off guard.
When their coffees arrive, Ianto cups his in his palms. He likes the way the heat seeps through the ceramic and into his fingers. It reminds him that he is still alive and feeling and human instead of a machine. Also, it gives him something to do with his hands.
“So,” Ianto asks as casually as he can manage. “How are you sleeping? Any better?” It hasn’t quite been a week since Andy showed up fatigued and desperate on his doorstep but he'd seemed to sleep well enough on Thursday night. In any case, Ianto still hasn’t been able to bring himself to tell Jack about any of this. He justifies it on the basis that Jack is more likely to go off half-cocked rather than think things through. Given a little time, Ianto’s confident he can sort out how to handle this properly without putting Andy’s mind at risk.
“More or less,” Andy replies. “I woke up in a panic Saturday night because I thought I’d forgotten something important. I had to walk through my flat and check that the oven and the iron were off and that the doors were locked and that I wasn’t sleeping through my shift. That sort of thing. Bad dreams still, but I think they’re easing off a little. Though,” he says, pulling a bit of a face. “I woke up this morning feeling like I had a head full of scrambled eggs. Kept checking my pockets for things, couldn’t think straight until nine.”
“Have you thought about talking to your GP about it?” Ianto asks, his concern as sincere as it is necessary. He needs to know if he should factor things like sleeping pills, anti-psychotics, and talk therapy into the overall equation.
“I’d rather not if I can avoid it. Anything that could go psychiatric is tricky with the police. They say it’s not supposed to be, but…well the thing is, I could lose my job.”
“Oh.” Ianto looks down at his drink. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t thought of that.” And really, he hadn’t. He’d been too busy figuring up probabilities and worrying about Jack jumping the gun that the realities of Andy’s daily life were barely a consideration.
He must look more disturbed than he intends, because Andy reaches out to touch his fingers. “Hey, it’s not your fault. Being with you makes it easier, actually. I slept better Thursday night than I have in a while. Honestly, I think it’s just stress.”
Ianto’s guts feel like they’re twisting up inside his belly. Stress was Torchwood One’s favorite smokescreen for Retcon cases. Tell the patient he’s stressed, send him to his doctor, and then make arrangements for additional dosage or hypnosis or institutionalization, or -
Andy glances around the café, and then slips his fingers in between Ianto’s. Ianto makes a conscious effort to relax, but how can he when so much of this actually is his fault?
He takes Andy’s hand in both of his and traces the lines of his wrist with his fingertips. The bracelet is smooth and reassuring.
“God, I wish we didn’t have to go back to work,” Andy murmurs, relaxing instantly into Ianto’s touch.
“Me too,” Ianto sighs.
# # #
He returns to the Hub nearly thirty minutes later. It looks as if he hasn’t been missed, but he ventures down below to check on the others’ coffees just in case.
As he works, he tries to convince himself that the decrease in the intensity of Andy’s dreams is a good sign, and that that the Retcon is still working and will continue to work properly without additional dosing. Andy’s brain is coping with the dissonance, that’s all. He’s working it out on his own. Human memory is volatile enough even without pharmaceutical help. Everything is fine.
Yes, and I’m Kylie Minogue.
By the time he finishes loading everyone’s mugs on his tray, he’s working out probabilities and worst case scenarios. He delivers coffees to Toshiko and Gwen, leaves Owen’s on the counter nearest the autopsy table, and carries the final two to Jack’s office.
It’s work hours, and Jack is laboring over a stack of government forms that would intimidate almost anyone. He’s wearing an expression of intense concentration, and Ianto decides it might be best to leave him to it. Ianto places the blue and white striped mug a couple of inches from Jack’s right hand and waits a beat before turning toward the door.
“Kemi’s, huh?” Jack chuckles behind him just as Ianto reaches the door frame. “You could have brought me cake.”
“Good boys get cake,” Ianto says, turning around and trying to hide his embarrassment. “Good boys don’t inadvertently give away the location of our secret base to pliable young constables.”
“Pliable,” Jack says, sitting back. “I like that. Though wait, does that mean Andy got cake and I didn’t?”
“We’re not quite to cake yet. We’ve managed a coffee each. No refills.”
Jack’s eyebrows rise. “Would I be correct in categorizing this little afternoon happening as a date?”
“No,” Ianto says, a little quicker than perhaps he’d like. “Dates are planned in advance. Dates involve, um. Kissing.”
“There’s surprisingly good CCTV coverage in a certain area of Mermaid Quay,” Jack says with a chuckle.
Ianto sighs. “I’m not going to win this one, am I?”
“No, but you made an excellent effort. Gold star. No, two gold stars.”
“Thank you,” Ianto says, tucking his tray under his arm and finally having a sip of his own coffee. “I’ll just be in the archives if anybody needs me.”
Jack nodded and went back to his work before glancing up. “Oh, Ianto?”
“Yes, Jack?”
“Next time, bring cake.”
# # #
Andy slides into the passenger seat of the uniform car and clips the buckle home. He’s a few minutes late, and Travis is glowering.
“Took your sweet bloody time, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, sorry,” Andy says, not actually feeling the least bit sorry, but compelled to at least be polite. “I ran into someone.”
Travis snorts. “Yeah, well, arrest her next time, eh? At least then you’ll get a girl into handcuffs for once in your life, and amuse your partner, yeah?”
“Yeah, sure,” Andy answers a little absently. He’s still smiling about how he spent his break, and the little thing he didn’t tell Ianto because it seemed too twee and childish to share.
In his nightmares, Ianto is there to keep him safe. Ianto walks him away from the flames and takes him somewhere safe. Ianto brings him a coffee.
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Prev (Pt #16) (Warnings: Smut & language.)
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Next (Pt #18) (Warnings: Smut, kink (D/s), & language.)
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