Fic: The suit
Title: The Suit
Rating: PG
Spoilers for 'Fragments' (episode 2.12)
Summary: Ianto gets ready to go to his first day of work at Torchwood Cardiff.
He said he liked the suit. Ianto straightened his tie in the mirror - demure blue tie, knot slipping like a noose around his throat. New blue shirt, warm from the iron, silk lined jacket, discretely striped trousers, polished shoes. Cufflinks salvaged from Torchwood One that would record the pass codes of every door, of every computer station, and track the power conduits down every corridor.
He straightened his sleeves, lifted his chin, checked the face looking back at him for signs of distress. There were none.
There were none as he unlocked the door to their bedroom, felt the blast of cold air on his skin, closed the door carefully behind him and went in to say good bye to Lisa. He had no right to emotions, expressions, while she lay here violated, cannibalized, invaded by metal. "I got the job, Lisa." The metal cold under his fingertips as he dithered over the controls; wake her to screaming agony or keep her comatose, like a violent sleeping beauty, dreaming of a prince who would come and save her?
He tried not to weep, but they had left her face, and she was still so beautiful. The tears hit her bare arm and steamed for a moment. She gave no sign that she could feel them, but the machine breathed on for her, unvarying, cold as a casket of glass.
"Give me a week to learn the layout of the place and I'll move you there." He'd need the underworld again - people who could work without permits or papertrails, who understood secrecy. He'd need to get access to the retcon, so that even that trace could be kicked over afterwards. "There'll be more power. I…" can't keep up the bills here. Not with no wage. "And there'll be everything we'll need close at hand to turn you back. Alien tech; plans; computers. You'll see. Only another couple of weeks, I promise. At least… at least until I can wake you up, talk to you again. I miss you so much. I miss you."
The handkerchief he used to dry his tears matched his tie; subdued indigo, and as he shut the door and locked it behind him, checking to make sure he was once again perfectly polished, the thought returned; he said he liked the suit.
Jack Harkness, lying beneath him, warm, so warm, laughing, his big body shaking with the joy of being alive, and his mouth open, offering, waiting, waiting to be kissed. God, the man smelled amazing and he was so….
He was so adamant there was going to be no job, until that moment. Ianto would have liked to think his pterodactyl wrangling and weevil hunting skills had made an impression, but no. It was the suit. It was the almost kiss.
What exactly was Jack Harkness expecting from him?
The ozone clear air of Cardiff's harbour tasted like the bedroom where Lisa lay entombed. She was waiting to be rescued, and she had no one to help her but him. When she was herself again - even if that was in a wheelchair, with prosthetic limbs, even if that was on permanent life support, just so long as she could live and love and talk to him again - they would get married, and he would know that every step and every sacrifice had been worthwhile. And if she died - please God don't let her die! - he would know he had done everything, not hesitated for a moment over any duty, no matter how odious, he could possibly do for her.
He smoothed down his tie, looked up, calmly bland, into the eye of the camera and waited for the door to open, to step into the dark corridor of a new life.
I will sleep with the boss if that's what it takes to make you well again, Lisa.
If only it didn't sound so fucking fantastic.
Rating: PG
Spoilers for 'Fragments' (episode 2.12)
Summary: Ianto gets ready to go to his first day of work at Torchwood Cardiff.
He said he liked the suit. Ianto straightened his tie in the mirror - demure blue tie, knot slipping like a noose around his throat. New blue shirt, warm from the iron, silk lined jacket, discretely striped trousers, polished shoes. Cufflinks salvaged from Torchwood One that would record the pass codes of every door, of every computer station, and track the power conduits down every corridor.
He straightened his sleeves, lifted his chin, checked the face looking back at him for signs of distress. There were none.
There were none as he unlocked the door to their bedroom, felt the blast of cold air on his skin, closed the door carefully behind him and went in to say good bye to Lisa. He had no right to emotions, expressions, while she lay here violated, cannibalized, invaded by metal. "I got the job, Lisa." The metal cold under his fingertips as he dithered over the controls; wake her to screaming agony or keep her comatose, like a violent sleeping beauty, dreaming of a prince who would come and save her?
He tried not to weep, but they had left her face, and she was still so beautiful. The tears hit her bare arm and steamed for a moment. She gave no sign that she could feel them, but the machine breathed on for her, unvarying, cold as a casket of glass.
"Give me a week to learn the layout of the place and I'll move you there." He'd need the underworld again - people who could work without permits or papertrails, who understood secrecy. He'd need to get access to the retcon, so that even that trace could be kicked over afterwards. "There'll be more power. I…" can't keep up the bills here. Not with no wage. "And there'll be everything we'll need close at hand to turn you back. Alien tech; plans; computers. You'll see. Only another couple of weeks, I promise. At least… at least until I can wake you up, talk to you again. I miss you so much. I miss you."
The handkerchief he used to dry his tears matched his tie; subdued indigo, and as he shut the door and locked it behind him, checking to make sure he was once again perfectly polished, the thought returned; he said he liked the suit.
Jack Harkness, lying beneath him, warm, so warm, laughing, his big body shaking with the joy of being alive, and his mouth open, offering, waiting, waiting to be kissed. God, the man smelled amazing and he was so….
He was so adamant there was going to be no job, until that moment. Ianto would have liked to think his pterodactyl wrangling and weevil hunting skills had made an impression, but no. It was the suit. It was the almost kiss.
What exactly was Jack Harkness expecting from him?
The ozone clear air of Cardiff's harbour tasted like the bedroom where Lisa lay entombed. She was waiting to be rescued, and she had no one to help her but him. When she was herself again - even if that was in a wheelchair, with prosthetic limbs, even if that was on permanent life support, just so long as she could live and love and talk to him again - they would get married, and he would know that every step and every sacrifice had been worthwhile. And if she died - please God don't let her die! - he would know he had done everything, not hesitated for a moment over any duty, no matter how odious, he could possibly do for her.
He smoothed down his tie, looked up, calmly bland, into the eye of the camera and waited for the door to open, to step into the dark corridor of a new life.
I will sleep with the boss if that's what it takes to make you well again, Lisa.
If only it didn't sound so fucking fantastic.