misswinterhill: Collective Noun: Pride (PG-13)
Title: Collective Noun: Pride
Author: Miss Winterhill
Challenge: Pride
Rating: PG-13 (angst and slashy situations)
Spoilers: Exit Wounds (big ones, y'all), a blink and you'll miss it for both Countrycide and the one at the end of S1 (can't remember what it's called), and a mention of some gear that shows up in the novel Another Life (but no plot spoilers for the novel).
Warnings: Angst (Oooh, a Janto fic with angst! Who'd have thought?)
Summary: Gwen and Ianto work out the collective noun for Torchwood. Jack has a bad day. Ianto has a worse day, but don't worry, he'll get comforted before the end of the fic. And the quotes at the start of each section may be found here at Wikipedia, in the article about Lions.
Notes: I know I can't be the only person in the challenge to have thought of this idea, so if you did and you are still writing it, please let me know when you post it. I'd love to see where someone else takes the concept. For those who went through school in the time of grammar-by-osmosis, a collective noun is a name for a group, like a murder of crows.
________________________________________________________________________
Both males and females defend the pride against intruders. Some individual lions consistently lead the defense against intruders, while others lag behind. These "laggards" are not punished by leaders. Possibly laggards provide other services to the group so that leaders forgive them.
________________________________________________________________________
“What d’ya reckon the collective noun for a group of weevils is?” asked Gwen, idly. She’d made a paper fan from a classified memo, and was trying to flap it at a high enough frequency to cool herself down. She didn’t remember Cardiff ever being this hot.
“Now I know you’re bored,” replied Ianto, tapping a few keys onscreen to bring up the cells onscreen and their collective group of weevils. “A waddle of weevils?”
“A slump, maybe?” asked Gwen. “I like waddle. They do sort of waddle. What about Torchwood? What’s our collective noun?”
“A troop,” said Ianto, loosening his tie.
“You just like alliteration,” Gwen replied, fanning her fan. It wasn’t working.
“An Empire, then.”
“That’s a bit creepy,” she said.
“That was the old party line,” replied Ianto, shrugging. The invisible lift rolled into life, and the stifling heat from the streets of Cardiff slipped into the relative coolness of the Hub. Jack was in his damn coat, Ianto noticed. A heatwave, and the man clung to that coat like a security blanket. He jumped impressively from the lift, and strode up past them to his office.
“We were just working out the collective noun for Torchwood,” said Gwen, companionably.
“A morgue,” said Jack, not stopping or looking, vanishing into his office and slamming the door. Gwen and Ianto didn’t dare look at each other for a second, and then their eyes met.
“Ouch,” said Gwen.
“Indeed. I’ll go,” said Ianto.
“No, you have to take him home at the end of the day. Let me give you a break,” sighed Gwen. Ianto nodded.
“Thanks, but I’ll do it,” he said. Not that he didn’t adore Jack, because he did. He adored Jack with all of his being. He just wasn’t a big fan of Jack’s black moods. “I haven’t had my daily dose of sturm and drang yet. Breakfast was incident-free.”
He slipped upstairs and tapped politely on the door.
“In.”
Ianto opened the door, and closed it again behind him, leaning against it. Jack was at his desk, head in his hands, coat still on.
“You drew the short straw?” His voice was muffled by his posture.
“I volunteered,” replied Ianto.
“Why?”
Ianto didn’t reply, just moved to Jack and gently plucked at the coat, helping him out of it. He then crouched so that he could look up into Jack’s eyes, pressing a hand to Jack’s cheek. Jack was hot. He’d stayed in that coat like a stubborn mule.
“Why?” repeated Jack.
“Because I wanted to,” replied Ianto. “You’re running a fever. What possessed you to keep your coat on? It’s got to be hotter than the Sahara out there.”
“Not quite,” replied Jack, with a bare smile. “It’s sort of a badge of office. Like a lion has his mane, and everyone knows he’s the lion because of it.”
“There is a such thing as a maneless lion,” replied Ianto. He was sure of it. He was sure he’d seen some National Geographic special on lions a few weeks ago. He spent a lot of time watching documentaries on his own nowadays, waiting for Jack to come down from his favourite brooding spot on the roof.
“Yeah, but I bet they’re pussies,” said Jack, and Ianto smiled at the tragic pun. If Jack was up to punning, he’d get through the rest of the day. All three of them making it through a day was, at the moment, the best they could manage. “I did something stupid, Ianto.”
“I know.”
He’d picked up the call from the nuclear facility. Assured them that it must be a figment of their imagination, that the contaminated area must still be contaminated, that the CCTV was wrong. Then he’d wiped the CCTV, just in case.
Jack had gone to visit Owen.
“Are you radioactive?” asked Ianto, carefully. “Is your coat radioactive? I’d really hate to poison the drycleaner.”
He’d really hate poisioning himself, too. Or nursing Jack through radiation sickness. Jack shook his head, and pulled a radiation sponge out of his pocket. Great. It’d soak up the radiation without any hassles.
“It’s horrible in there,” he said, as if confiding a great secret of the universe. Well, thought Ianto. I could have told you that. If you’d asked. But we were having a good morning, and you probably didn’t want to spoil it. So you went wandering in a contaminated nuclear site instead. Great. There wasn’t really much he could say in reply that wouldn’t be glib and disrespectful, so Ianto opted for kissing Jack’s hands instead. Jack sighed, and took Ianto’s face into his hands, his big hands. Ianto kissed his palm.
“Do you want to come down to the cafe with us for lunch?” Ianto asked. “We were going to get some icecream and watch the tourists.”
Jack nodded.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Come on,” Ianto replied.
People-watching was fun. Ianto had dealt with his fair share of insane tourists in his time running the little booth that was their front, and he could pick the types quite quickly. Gwen bought the icecream, and Jack lounged in a chair, Ianto finally getting him to shed his coat again. The coat, he decided, was a defense against the agoraphobia that Jack seemed to have picked up. The agoraphobia that Jack made relatively facile attempts to hide. Ianto had almost drawn the line when he’d found a handful of dirt in Jack’s coat pocket one night, but Jack claimed it helped calm him down. The smell was comforting.
Ianto supposed he’d spent so long in the dirt that it felt safe.
Jack took his hand, twining their fingers together.
“This is nice.”
“What’s making it so hot? I mean, is it something to do with us?” asked Gwen. She’d given up and started wearing summer dresses to work. Jack had only made a few lascivious comments, and she was wondering if she could make it a bit more permanent.
“Don’t think so,” replied Jack. “Hawaiian shirt alert!”
“Oh, lovely.” Ianto dug into his ice cream. “Such a nice floral. I’m glad it’s not us. I’m glad stupid shit happens that’s not us.”
“So am I,” replied Gwen. “Oh no, Hawaiian shirt doesn’t own that tiny dog, does he?”
“I think he does,” said Ianto, with a small smile. He licked the ice cream from the end of his spoon, and caught Jack looking, so made sure that his next spoonful was a subtle show. The large man in the Hawaiian shirt gave them all a filthy look as he picked up his tiny dog to shield its paws from the heat that radiated from the concrete.
Jack’s wrist comm started to beep, and he withdrew his hand from Ianto’s to look at it.
“Please, no Rift activity,” sighed Gwen. “I’ve just got a good happy on.”
“Rift activity,” replied Jack. “Come on.”
“I’ll pay, and follow you,” said Ianto. “Go on.”
He watched as Jack and Gwen trotted down the street, Jack pulling himself into his coat again. Ianto finished his ice cream and went in to pay for their treat, following them at a lesiurely pace. If it was urgent, Jack would have called, and hurrying in this heat was a recipe for heatstroke. He put his hands in his pockets as he wandered back, finding a hot and defeated Jack and Gwen sitting on the lounge.
“It was a computer glitch,” grumbled Gwen, laying back. “And now I’m hotter than ever.”
“You could always take a swim in our delightfully appointed indoor pool,” commented Ianto, drily.
“A.K.A the rift fountain. Ugh.”
“I’d go for a swim in it,” said Jack, raising an eyebrow.
“You’ve already been for a swim in it. You claimed you were never doing that again,” replied Ianto. “I prefer a cool shower.”
“I’d like to see you in a cool shower,” Jack replied, stretching. “That’d be just the thing.”
“You’re not that familiar with the traditional use of cool or cold showers, then?” asked Ianto, playfully. Gwen shook her head.
“You two really need to get a room sometimes.”
“I have a room,” protested Jack. “It’s at Ianto’s.”
“That would be my room? The one you’ve moved your stuff into?”
“Yeah, the one with the queen bed. I’d like to see you in bed, too,” said Jack, reflectively.
“You’ll see me in bed tonight,” replied Ianto, evenly. “So, Gwen. How about that local sporting team?”
Gwen laughed, and the Rift monitor went off again. It took several hours and four more alarms for Jack to work out that the heat was setting it off. In the meantime, Ianto busied himself looking for collective nouns. Something Jack had said earlier had sparked off a thought.
Wikipedia, font of all knowledge. Lions. He hit CTRL and highlighted a few choice phrases, and then Ianto left the window open on Gwen’s computer, an electronic post-it stuck on top of it.
Collective noun: PRIDE
________________________________________________________________________
Lionesses do the hunting for their pride. Lionesses hunt as a co-ordinated group and are smaller, swifter, and more agile than males. They are not encumbered by the heavy and conspicuous mane which causes overheating during exertion.
________________________________________________________________________
Ianto moaned into the gag. He hated being kidnapped. He’d been kidnapped precisely four times, and each time had been simply miserable. They’d been tracking odd technology blips... he and Gwen... and then...
Nothing.
Shit.
Jack would be worried. Jack always worried. Ianto liked being fussed over; there was something inherently wonderful about being petted and kissed and gentled, and he hoped that he’d get the chance again for Jack to look after him. He hoped that he wouldn’t be killed this time. Not that he’d been killed before, he was just against being killed in general.
“Sit up.”
He dizzily sat up. One thing he’d learned was to do as the kidnappers said until such time as he could try and escape, or Jack came to get him. The last time Ianto had been kidnapped, Jack had even run him a bath and sat there on the edge of the tub massaging his shoulders. He wondered how badly injured he’d need to be to get that sort of treatment again without asking.
“Where’s the monster?”
“In our top secret base, probably in the cells,” sighed Ianto, and he winced as his head was yanked backwards. Stars exploded in his vision. “Unless the pterodactyl ate it.”
“You lyin’?”
“Jack’s the lion,” he said, dreamily. “He has the mane.”
“What the fuck?”
“He’s ratshit. Leave him awhile.”
Ianto slipped back, falling asleep in a haze of dreams about lions. He and Gwen were out hunting for something in the grasslands, and Jack sat on a rock, adjusting his coat. Master of his domain. Master of his mane, thought Ianto, and smirked in his sleep. Jack would come for his Ianto, he knew it. The dream-Jack was sunning himself, and Gwen was trying to point to something in the grass, but Ianto wasn’t sure what she wanted, so she swished her tail at him in anger.
Ianto was warm, for once. Usually kidnappers chose the most moronically cold environment to hide him in, and he’d come out of it shivering and hypothermic, pale flesh all covered with goosebumps. Even the Hub was cold. He liked being warm for once.
The heat in the warehouse was oppressive as Jack and Gwen made their way silently inside. Gwen was beginning to regret wearing a dress. It’s difficult to look hardcore in a pretty summer dress, she conceded. Jack was in his coat, and overly hot, but with that fierce determination that he got whenever one of his team was in trouble; that fierce determination hardened by a threat to Ianto.
For all Jack’s flirting and cooing, Gwen knew that given the choice between herself and Ianto, Ianto would win. Ianto had won, he’d won months ago but Jack had withheld his favor until Tosh and Owen had died and Jack had moved in with Ianto the week after. It made things easier, in a way. She could flirt safely with Jack, knowing that for all the mixed messages he sent, nothing would ever eventuate.
“Over there,” hissed Jack, inclining his head. Gwen held her gun tightly. If Ianto was injured... if he was worse... she’d kill them, she’d kill them all. She wasn’t losing anyone else, and she knew that if Ianto was lost, she’d lose Jack too. Some days Ianto was all that stood between Jack and the abyss.
Ianto was tied to a chair - how unoriginal - and he was being questioned, if one took the term euphemistically. He was bleeding from his lip, and Gwen felt her jaw tighten. In her peripheral vision, she saw the colour drain from Jack’s face, the terror in his expression. Right before she shot the leading thug through the shoulder, and everything cascaded from there.
It was a relatively short fight, Jack grandstanding and Gwen shooting and then Jack untying Ianto and cradling him in a hug while Gwen cleaned up. Ianto nestled his head in Jack’s shoulder, and Jack stroked his back. They were mumbling to each other, and Gwen sighed as she dragged the bleeding thugs into a line. The sweat from exertion was making her dress stick to her back, and she reached for the kit in Jack’s coat pocket. Retcon, and lots of it.
“Is that a hand in my pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?” asked Jack, and Gwen knew it’d be okay. Ianto would be okay.
“Option C, all of the above,” she replied. “How’s our Ianto?”
“Grateful,” said Ianto, muffled by Jack’s coat. Gwen smiled at him.
“I gather we get to go up to A & E, then?”
“Mmm,” sighed Jack. “I hate hospitals.”
“I enjoy hospital. It’s very clean, and everyone makes a fuss of you,” said Ianto, slurring slightly. “And they fix you. It smells like disinfectant and they fix you.”
“You’re the first person I’ve ever met who actually likes going to hospital,” said Gwen, shaking her head. He was really quite concussed, she thought.
“I’d rather go to hospital than try and deal with it alone,” replied Ianto, as Gwen put on some gloves and then slipped a tablet into the mouths of each of their would-be extortionists. It was disgusting, but it would work.
“I’d rather deal with things alone than go to hospital,” said Jack, and Ianto patted his chest gently. That was part of the problem at the moment, he considered. Jack would rather suffer in silence and go wandering in nuclear waste than damn well come and talk about it.
“We’ll just have to be glad of your special talents if you get gangrene, then,” replied Ianto.
“Had gangrene once. Never doing that again.”
“Yuk; why am I cuddling up to you, then?” asked Ianto, making no motion to move. He couldn’t have moved even if he wanted to.
“Because although I hate hospitals, I’ll take you to A & E.” Jack picked Ianto up. No crumbling at the knees or staggering, no grumbling about it, just lifted Ianto in a fluid motion. Ianto knew he’d lost weight lately, and he knew that Jack was strong, but this was a little ridiculous. A grand gesture to make up for the kidnapping, he knew.
Gwen drove. Gwen got them coffee in the waiting area. Gwen filled in all of the forms, although she had to take Ianto’s wallet to fill in everything properly. Jack just held Ianto tightly, and when asked to signed as Ianto’s next-of-kin. Gwen hoped that they weren’t questioned on that one, because she had no idea if Jack was legally Ianto’s next-of-kin at all. Ianto seemed happy enough, although Jack kept waking him up as he nodded into sleep. She wished she could hear the mumbled conversations that the pair seemed to be having, but decided it didn’t matter.
They were finally called through, and Ianto drifted happily on a nice clean bed as they waited for the doctor.
“This was so much easier when Owen was alive,” said Jack, hollowly.
“I had to show my Torchwood ID to confirm that you weren’t the cause of his injuries,” Gwen replied, with a wry smile.
“Why me? Why not you?”
“You’re bigger and scarier than me, I suppose,” Gwen sighed, looking at where Ianto’s shirt was torn. “God, Ianto. Look at your bloody ribs. When did you last eat?”
“Breakfast,” mumbled Ianto. “I’m just naturally scrawny. Someone has to keep the scrawniness up, now that Owen’s not there for Jack to tease.”
“We need a new doctor,” said Jack, stroking Ianto’s hair. “I want you safe.”
“I am safe,” Ianto replied, not opening his eyes. “I’ve got you.”
Gwen gripped Jack’s arm tightly, resisting the urge to either coo at the adorableness, or simply console Jack. Jack put a hand over hers, and neither spoke for a while until the doctor came in.
“He’s fine,” she said, after a cursory examination. Ianto protested only slightly as she poked and prodded, making a little noise in his throat when she pressed bits that hurt. “Concussed and dehydrated. A few bruises here and there... someone really wanted to beat him up. I have to make a report on this to the police, you know.”
“We know,” said Gwen, gently. “We’re Torchwood.”
“Oh. Then I’ll be making the report to you, I suppose,” she said. Everyone knew that Torchwood had spearheaded the rebuilding and decontamination projects around the city, and that brought a grudging respect. “What happened to him?”
“Kidnapped,” said Jack. “Hey, Ianto. You still with us?”
Ianto didn’t stir, and the woman nodded.
“He’ll probably drift in and out all day. I want to keep him here for the next few hours. Wake him up every twenty minutes and buzz the nurse if you notice any changes... harder to wake, speech more slurred, bleeding, you know the drill.”
“I do,” said Jack, reaching out to take Ianto’s hand. Ianto stirred, opening his eyes a little.
“Am I still in hospital?”
“Few more hours,” promised Jack. “Then if you’re not having a brain hemorrhage, I’ll take you home.”
“And if I am having one?” Ianto asked. Jack twined their fingers together tightly.
“I’ll call the Doctor,” he said, and there was an understanding in that, that he didn’t mean just any doctor. Jack leant in close so that the current doctor - the medical doctor - couldn’t hear his next words. “And he’ll fix you.”
“And then you’ll stay?” asked Ianto, too fuzzy for obfuscation and dancing around the truth.
“And I’ll always stay,” replied Jack, as Gwen ushered the other woman out, and they discussed all the mundane things like medication, incident report forms, and outpatient visits. Jack kissed Ianto’s fingers, and got a smile in return before Ianto closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
________________________________________________________________________
An alternative hypothesis is that there is some reward associated with being a leader who fends off intruders.
________________________________________________________________________
Ianto lay in the bath, Jack gently stroking fingers over his scalp. Once released from hospital, Ianto had got his wish; a compliant Jack bathing him, running strong hands over his sore body. It was bliss. Now that Jack had moved to Ianto’s head, Ianto felt utterly relaxed. He was almost willing to put up with being kidnapped on a quasi-regular basis if it led to this.
“You like that, don’t you?” asked Jack, amused. He adored Ianto’s sated expressions. The ones he got after sex, or even after a really good cup of coffee. The expressions that told Jack he was, for once, doing the right thing. That no matter what he did, how much he screwed up, he could return to Ianto and be loved.
“Don’t stop,” mumbled Ianto. “I do like that.”
“I’m sorry I let you get kidnapped,” replied Jack, still stroking. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I won’t let it happen again. I won’t.”
“You say that every time,” replied Ianto, eyes closed. “You can’t protect me from everything. You can’t protect any of us from everything.”
“I want to, though.” He wanted to so badly, but he couldn’t shield his favourite from the world. He couldn’t lock Ianto away, no matter how much he felt the need to after a dramatic afternoon like this.
“I know you do,” said Ianto, opening his eyes a crack to look up at Jack. “And I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know.”
Ianto closed his eyes again, and let himself drift off into contented and slightly concussed sleep. Next thing he knew, Jack was letting the water out of the bath and helping him up, patting him dry, careful around his bruises. Ianto rested his head comfortably against Jack’s neck. He couldn’t remember a time where he’d been self-conscious about being naked around Jack. Academically, he knew one must have existed, but Jack had swept all of that away long ago.
“Bed,” said Ianto, and Jack nodded.
“Agreed.”
Jack helped Ianto to bed without bothering to dress him, covering him with the sheet instead. Ianto flopped onto his stomach, hugging the u-shaped pillow that he insisted upon and Jack put up with because it could be shared. He was warm, and clean, and Jack had changed the sheets for him. He opened his eyes, realising that Jack was stripping off to join him, and a flush of intense adoration made Ianto even warmer. Jack sat on the bed, leaning over him, warm hands on his shoulders, gently kneading out the soreness like a huge cat making himself comfortable. Ianto hummed delight.
“I like it when you touch me,” said Ianto, breathing in the scent of sun and washing powder and Jack on his clean sheets.
“I like touching you. We could come to some sort of arrangement about this,” replied Jack, kissing the nape of Ianto’s neck. “I touch you, you purr at me, and then I touch you some more.”
“I like the sound of that arrangement,” replied Ianto. “What’s in it for you?”
“I get sex,” said Jack, as if confiding yet another of the great secrets of the universe.
“Mmm,” was all Ianto managed in reply. He was back on the plains, he thought. Up on the rock, sunning himself in Jack’s boundless aura. Gwen was out somewhere hunting, doing the right thing and for once he didn’t feel like he should be out there too, or at least doing something useful here.
“What are you thinking about?” asked Jack, rolling onto the bed, moving as close as he could despite the summer heat.
“Lions,” replied Ianto, sleepily.
“Not the answer I was expecting,” chuckled Jack, as Ianto cuddled into Jack’s embrace, skin on skin.
“I love you,” said Ianto, feeling Jack wrap a hand over his arm, holding him in place. It was wonderfully comforting to know that Jack didn’t want him to go anywhere. Jack kissed his forehead.
“Get some sleep,” he said, and Ianto sighed happily.
Ianto let himself drift into the scent of Jack, as the warm air was circulated by the pathetic little fan that Jack had set up to attempt to cool the room. Jack closed his eyes and snuggled Ianto close, not caring about the stickiness and the heat.
“I love you too, you big sop,” murmured Jack, and Ianto smirked in his sleep as Jack drifted off to join him.
Author: Miss Winterhill
Challenge: Pride
Rating: PG-13 (angst and slashy situations)
Spoilers: Exit Wounds (big ones, y'all), a blink and you'll miss it for both Countrycide and the one at the end of S1 (can't remember what it's called), and a mention of some gear that shows up in the novel Another Life (but no plot spoilers for the novel).
Warnings: Angst (Oooh, a Janto fic with angst! Who'd have thought?)
Summary: Gwen and Ianto work out the collective noun for Torchwood. Jack has a bad day. Ianto has a worse day, but don't worry, he'll get comforted before the end of the fic. And the quotes at the start of each section may be found here at Wikipedia, in the article about Lions.
Notes: I know I can't be the only person in the challenge to have thought of this idea, so if you did and you are still writing it, please let me know when you post it. I'd love to see where someone else takes the concept. For those who went through school in the time of grammar-by-osmosis, a collective noun is a name for a group, like a murder of crows.
________________________________________________________________________
Both males and females defend the pride against intruders. Some individual lions consistently lead the defense against intruders, while others lag behind. These "laggards" are not punished by leaders. Possibly laggards provide other services to the group so that leaders forgive them.
________________________________________________________________________
“What d’ya reckon the collective noun for a group of weevils is?” asked Gwen, idly. She’d made a paper fan from a classified memo, and was trying to flap it at a high enough frequency to cool herself down. She didn’t remember Cardiff ever being this hot.
“Now I know you’re bored,” replied Ianto, tapping a few keys onscreen to bring up the cells onscreen and their collective group of weevils. “A waddle of weevils?”
“A slump, maybe?” asked Gwen. “I like waddle. They do sort of waddle. What about Torchwood? What’s our collective noun?”
“A troop,” said Ianto, loosening his tie.
“You just like alliteration,” Gwen replied, fanning her fan. It wasn’t working.
“An Empire, then.”
“That’s a bit creepy,” she said.
“That was the old party line,” replied Ianto, shrugging. The invisible lift rolled into life, and the stifling heat from the streets of Cardiff slipped into the relative coolness of the Hub. Jack was in his damn coat, Ianto noticed. A heatwave, and the man clung to that coat like a security blanket. He jumped impressively from the lift, and strode up past them to his office.
“We were just working out the collective noun for Torchwood,” said Gwen, companionably.
“A morgue,” said Jack, not stopping or looking, vanishing into his office and slamming the door. Gwen and Ianto didn’t dare look at each other for a second, and then their eyes met.
“Ouch,” said Gwen.
“Indeed. I’ll go,” said Ianto.
“No, you have to take him home at the end of the day. Let me give you a break,” sighed Gwen. Ianto nodded.
“Thanks, but I’ll do it,” he said. Not that he didn’t adore Jack, because he did. He adored Jack with all of his being. He just wasn’t a big fan of Jack’s black moods. “I haven’t had my daily dose of sturm and drang yet. Breakfast was incident-free.”
He slipped upstairs and tapped politely on the door.
“In.”
Ianto opened the door, and closed it again behind him, leaning against it. Jack was at his desk, head in his hands, coat still on.
“You drew the short straw?” His voice was muffled by his posture.
“I volunteered,” replied Ianto.
“Why?”
Ianto didn’t reply, just moved to Jack and gently plucked at the coat, helping him out of it. He then crouched so that he could look up into Jack’s eyes, pressing a hand to Jack’s cheek. Jack was hot. He’d stayed in that coat like a stubborn mule.
“Why?” repeated Jack.
“Because I wanted to,” replied Ianto. “You’re running a fever. What possessed you to keep your coat on? It’s got to be hotter than the Sahara out there.”
“Not quite,” replied Jack, with a bare smile. “It’s sort of a badge of office. Like a lion has his mane, and everyone knows he’s the lion because of it.”
“There is a such thing as a maneless lion,” replied Ianto. He was sure of it. He was sure he’d seen some National Geographic special on lions a few weeks ago. He spent a lot of time watching documentaries on his own nowadays, waiting for Jack to come down from his favourite brooding spot on the roof.
“Yeah, but I bet they’re pussies,” said Jack, and Ianto smiled at the tragic pun. If Jack was up to punning, he’d get through the rest of the day. All three of them making it through a day was, at the moment, the best they could manage. “I did something stupid, Ianto.”
“I know.”
He’d picked up the call from the nuclear facility. Assured them that it must be a figment of their imagination, that the contaminated area must still be contaminated, that the CCTV was wrong. Then he’d wiped the CCTV, just in case.
Jack had gone to visit Owen.
“Are you radioactive?” asked Ianto, carefully. “Is your coat radioactive? I’d really hate to poison the drycleaner.”
He’d really hate poisioning himself, too. Or nursing Jack through radiation sickness. Jack shook his head, and pulled a radiation sponge out of his pocket. Great. It’d soak up the radiation without any hassles.
“It’s horrible in there,” he said, as if confiding a great secret of the universe. Well, thought Ianto. I could have told you that. If you’d asked. But we were having a good morning, and you probably didn’t want to spoil it. So you went wandering in a contaminated nuclear site instead. Great. There wasn’t really much he could say in reply that wouldn’t be glib and disrespectful, so Ianto opted for kissing Jack’s hands instead. Jack sighed, and took Ianto’s face into his hands, his big hands. Ianto kissed his palm.
“Do you want to come down to the cafe with us for lunch?” Ianto asked. “We were going to get some icecream and watch the tourists.”
Jack nodded.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Come on,” Ianto replied.
People-watching was fun. Ianto had dealt with his fair share of insane tourists in his time running the little booth that was their front, and he could pick the types quite quickly. Gwen bought the icecream, and Jack lounged in a chair, Ianto finally getting him to shed his coat again. The coat, he decided, was a defense against the agoraphobia that Jack seemed to have picked up. The agoraphobia that Jack made relatively facile attempts to hide. Ianto had almost drawn the line when he’d found a handful of dirt in Jack’s coat pocket one night, but Jack claimed it helped calm him down. The smell was comforting.
Ianto supposed he’d spent so long in the dirt that it felt safe.
Jack took his hand, twining their fingers together.
“This is nice.”
“What’s making it so hot? I mean, is it something to do with us?” asked Gwen. She’d given up and started wearing summer dresses to work. Jack had only made a few lascivious comments, and she was wondering if she could make it a bit more permanent.
“Don’t think so,” replied Jack. “Hawaiian shirt alert!”
“Oh, lovely.” Ianto dug into his ice cream. “Such a nice floral. I’m glad it’s not us. I’m glad stupid shit happens that’s not us.”
“So am I,” replied Gwen. “Oh no, Hawaiian shirt doesn’t own that tiny dog, does he?”
“I think he does,” said Ianto, with a small smile. He licked the ice cream from the end of his spoon, and caught Jack looking, so made sure that his next spoonful was a subtle show. The large man in the Hawaiian shirt gave them all a filthy look as he picked up his tiny dog to shield its paws from the heat that radiated from the concrete.
Jack’s wrist comm started to beep, and he withdrew his hand from Ianto’s to look at it.
“Please, no Rift activity,” sighed Gwen. “I’ve just got a good happy on.”
“Rift activity,” replied Jack. “Come on.”
“I’ll pay, and follow you,” said Ianto. “Go on.”
He watched as Jack and Gwen trotted down the street, Jack pulling himself into his coat again. Ianto finished his ice cream and went in to pay for their treat, following them at a lesiurely pace. If it was urgent, Jack would have called, and hurrying in this heat was a recipe for heatstroke. He put his hands in his pockets as he wandered back, finding a hot and defeated Jack and Gwen sitting on the lounge.
“It was a computer glitch,” grumbled Gwen, laying back. “And now I’m hotter than ever.”
“You could always take a swim in our delightfully appointed indoor pool,” commented Ianto, drily.
“A.K.A the rift fountain. Ugh.”
“I’d go for a swim in it,” said Jack, raising an eyebrow.
“You’ve already been for a swim in it. You claimed you were never doing that again,” replied Ianto. “I prefer a cool shower.”
“I’d like to see you in a cool shower,” Jack replied, stretching. “That’d be just the thing.”
“You’re not that familiar with the traditional use of cool or cold showers, then?” asked Ianto, playfully. Gwen shook her head.
“You two really need to get a room sometimes.”
“I have a room,” protested Jack. “It’s at Ianto’s.”
“That would be my room? The one you’ve moved your stuff into?”
“Yeah, the one with the queen bed. I’d like to see you in bed, too,” said Jack, reflectively.
“You’ll see me in bed tonight,” replied Ianto, evenly. “So, Gwen. How about that local sporting team?”
Gwen laughed, and the Rift monitor went off again. It took several hours and four more alarms for Jack to work out that the heat was setting it off. In the meantime, Ianto busied himself looking for collective nouns. Something Jack had said earlier had sparked off a thought.
Wikipedia, font of all knowledge. Lions. He hit CTRL and highlighted a few choice phrases, and then Ianto left the window open on Gwen’s computer, an electronic post-it stuck on top of it.
Collective noun: PRIDE
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Lionesses do the hunting for their pride. Lionesses hunt as a co-ordinated group and are smaller, swifter, and more agile than males. They are not encumbered by the heavy and conspicuous mane which causes overheating during exertion.
________________________________________________________________________
Ianto moaned into the gag. He hated being kidnapped. He’d been kidnapped precisely four times, and each time had been simply miserable. They’d been tracking odd technology blips... he and Gwen... and then...
Nothing.
Shit.
Jack would be worried. Jack always worried. Ianto liked being fussed over; there was something inherently wonderful about being petted and kissed and gentled, and he hoped that he’d get the chance again for Jack to look after him. He hoped that he wouldn’t be killed this time. Not that he’d been killed before, he was just against being killed in general.
“Sit up.”
He dizzily sat up. One thing he’d learned was to do as the kidnappers said until such time as he could try and escape, or Jack came to get him. The last time Ianto had been kidnapped, Jack had even run him a bath and sat there on the edge of the tub massaging his shoulders. He wondered how badly injured he’d need to be to get that sort of treatment again without asking.
“Where’s the monster?”
“In our top secret base, probably in the cells,” sighed Ianto, and he winced as his head was yanked backwards. Stars exploded in his vision. “Unless the pterodactyl ate it.”
“You lyin’?”
“Jack’s the lion,” he said, dreamily. “He has the mane.”
“What the fuck?”
“He’s ratshit. Leave him awhile.”
Ianto slipped back, falling asleep in a haze of dreams about lions. He and Gwen were out hunting for something in the grasslands, and Jack sat on a rock, adjusting his coat. Master of his domain. Master of his mane, thought Ianto, and smirked in his sleep. Jack would come for his Ianto, he knew it. The dream-Jack was sunning himself, and Gwen was trying to point to something in the grass, but Ianto wasn’t sure what she wanted, so she swished her tail at him in anger.
Ianto was warm, for once. Usually kidnappers chose the most moronically cold environment to hide him in, and he’d come out of it shivering and hypothermic, pale flesh all covered with goosebumps. Even the Hub was cold. He liked being warm for once.
The heat in the warehouse was oppressive as Jack and Gwen made their way silently inside. Gwen was beginning to regret wearing a dress. It’s difficult to look hardcore in a pretty summer dress, she conceded. Jack was in his coat, and overly hot, but with that fierce determination that he got whenever one of his team was in trouble; that fierce determination hardened by a threat to Ianto.
For all Jack’s flirting and cooing, Gwen knew that given the choice between herself and Ianto, Ianto would win. Ianto had won, he’d won months ago but Jack had withheld his favor until Tosh and Owen had died and Jack had moved in with Ianto the week after. It made things easier, in a way. She could flirt safely with Jack, knowing that for all the mixed messages he sent, nothing would ever eventuate.
“Over there,” hissed Jack, inclining his head. Gwen held her gun tightly. If Ianto was injured... if he was worse... she’d kill them, she’d kill them all. She wasn’t losing anyone else, and she knew that if Ianto was lost, she’d lose Jack too. Some days Ianto was all that stood between Jack and the abyss.
Ianto was tied to a chair - how unoriginal - and he was being questioned, if one took the term euphemistically. He was bleeding from his lip, and Gwen felt her jaw tighten. In her peripheral vision, she saw the colour drain from Jack’s face, the terror in his expression. Right before she shot the leading thug through the shoulder, and everything cascaded from there.
It was a relatively short fight, Jack grandstanding and Gwen shooting and then Jack untying Ianto and cradling him in a hug while Gwen cleaned up. Ianto nestled his head in Jack’s shoulder, and Jack stroked his back. They were mumbling to each other, and Gwen sighed as she dragged the bleeding thugs into a line. The sweat from exertion was making her dress stick to her back, and she reached for the kit in Jack’s coat pocket. Retcon, and lots of it.
“Is that a hand in my pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?” asked Jack, and Gwen knew it’d be okay. Ianto would be okay.
“Option C, all of the above,” she replied. “How’s our Ianto?”
“Grateful,” said Ianto, muffled by Jack’s coat. Gwen smiled at him.
“I gather we get to go up to A & E, then?”
“Mmm,” sighed Jack. “I hate hospitals.”
“I enjoy hospital. It’s very clean, and everyone makes a fuss of you,” said Ianto, slurring slightly. “And they fix you. It smells like disinfectant and they fix you.”
“You’re the first person I’ve ever met who actually likes going to hospital,” said Gwen, shaking her head. He was really quite concussed, she thought.
“I’d rather go to hospital than try and deal with it alone,” replied Ianto, as Gwen put on some gloves and then slipped a tablet into the mouths of each of their would-be extortionists. It was disgusting, but it would work.
“I’d rather deal with things alone than go to hospital,” said Jack, and Ianto patted his chest gently. That was part of the problem at the moment, he considered. Jack would rather suffer in silence and go wandering in nuclear waste than damn well come and talk about it.
“We’ll just have to be glad of your special talents if you get gangrene, then,” replied Ianto.
“Had gangrene once. Never doing that again.”
“Yuk; why am I cuddling up to you, then?” asked Ianto, making no motion to move. He couldn’t have moved even if he wanted to.
“Because although I hate hospitals, I’ll take you to A & E.” Jack picked Ianto up. No crumbling at the knees or staggering, no grumbling about it, just lifted Ianto in a fluid motion. Ianto knew he’d lost weight lately, and he knew that Jack was strong, but this was a little ridiculous. A grand gesture to make up for the kidnapping, he knew.
Gwen drove. Gwen got them coffee in the waiting area. Gwen filled in all of the forms, although she had to take Ianto’s wallet to fill in everything properly. Jack just held Ianto tightly, and when asked to signed as Ianto’s next-of-kin. Gwen hoped that they weren’t questioned on that one, because she had no idea if Jack was legally Ianto’s next-of-kin at all. Ianto seemed happy enough, although Jack kept waking him up as he nodded into sleep. She wished she could hear the mumbled conversations that the pair seemed to be having, but decided it didn’t matter.
They were finally called through, and Ianto drifted happily on a nice clean bed as they waited for the doctor.
“This was so much easier when Owen was alive,” said Jack, hollowly.
“I had to show my Torchwood ID to confirm that you weren’t the cause of his injuries,” Gwen replied, with a wry smile.
“Why me? Why not you?”
“You’re bigger and scarier than me, I suppose,” Gwen sighed, looking at where Ianto’s shirt was torn. “God, Ianto. Look at your bloody ribs. When did you last eat?”
“Breakfast,” mumbled Ianto. “I’m just naturally scrawny. Someone has to keep the scrawniness up, now that Owen’s not there for Jack to tease.”
“We need a new doctor,” said Jack, stroking Ianto’s hair. “I want you safe.”
“I am safe,” Ianto replied, not opening his eyes. “I’ve got you.”
Gwen gripped Jack’s arm tightly, resisting the urge to either coo at the adorableness, or simply console Jack. Jack put a hand over hers, and neither spoke for a while until the doctor came in.
“He’s fine,” she said, after a cursory examination. Ianto protested only slightly as she poked and prodded, making a little noise in his throat when she pressed bits that hurt. “Concussed and dehydrated. A few bruises here and there... someone really wanted to beat him up. I have to make a report on this to the police, you know.”
“We know,” said Gwen, gently. “We’re Torchwood.”
“Oh. Then I’ll be making the report to you, I suppose,” she said. Everyone knew that Torchwood had spearheaded the rebuilding and decontamination projects around the city, and that brought a grudging respect. “What happened to him?”
“Kidnapped,” said Jack. “Hey, Ianto. You still with us?”
Ianto didn’t stir, and the woman nodded.
“He’ll probably drift in and out all day. I want to keep him here for the next few hours. Wake him up every twenty minutes and buzz the nurse if you notice any changes... harder to wake, speech more slurred, bleeding, you know the drill.”
“I do,” said Jack, reaching out to take Ianto’s hand. Ianto stirred, opening his eyes a little.
“Am I still in hospital?”
“Few more hours,” promised Jack. “Then if you’re not having a brain hemorrhage, I’ll take you home.”
“And if I am having one?” Ianto asked. Jack twined their fingers together tightly.
“I’ll call the Doctor,” he said, and there was an understanding in that, that he didn’t mean just any doctor. Jack leant in close so that the current doctor - the medical doctor - couldn’t hear his next words. “And he’ll fix you.”
“And then you’ll stay?” asked Ianto, too fuzzy for obfuscation and dancing around the truth.
“And I’ll always stay,” replied Jack, as Gwen ushered the other woman out, and they discussed all the mundane things like medication, incident report forms, and outpatient visits. Jack kissed Ianto’s fingers, and got a smile in return before Ianto closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
________________________________________________________________________
An alternative hypothesis is that there is some reward associated with being a leader who fends off intruders.
________________________________________________________________________
Ianto lay in the bath, Jack gently stroking fingers over his scalp. Once released from hospital, Ianto had got his wish; a compliant Jack bathing him, running strong hands over his sore body. It was bliss. Now that Jack had moved to Ianto’s head, Ianto felt utterly relaxed. He was almost willing to put up with being kidnapped on a quasi-regular basis if it led to this.
“You like that, don’t you?” asked Jack, amused. He adored Ianto’s sated expressions. The ones he got after sex, or even after a really good cup of coffee. The expressions that told Jack he was, for once, doing the right thing. That no matter what he did, how much he screwed up, he could return to Ianto and be loved.
“Don’t stop,” mumbled Ianto. “I do like that.”
“I’m sorry I let you get kidnapped,” replied Jack, still stroking. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I won’t let it happen again. I won’t.”
“You say that every time,” replied Ianto, eyes closed. “You can’t protect me from everything. You can’t protect any of us from everything.”
“I want to, though.” He wanted to so badly, but he couldn’t shield his favourite from the world. He couldn’t lock Ianto away, no matter how much he felt the need to after a dramatic afternoon like this.
“I know you do,” said Ianto, opening his eyes a crack to look up at Jack. “And I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know.”
Ianto closed his eyes again, and let himself drift off into contented and slightly concussed sleep. Next thing he knew, Jack was letting the water out of the bath and helping him up, patting him dry, careful around his bruises. Ianto rested his head comfortably against Jack’s neck. He couldn’t remember a time where he’d been self-conscious about being naked around Jack. Academically, he knew one must have existed, but Jack had swept all of that away long ago.
“Bed,” said Ianto, and Jack nodded.
“Agreed.”
Jack helped Ianto to bed without bothering to dress him, covering him with the sheet instead. Ianto flopped onto his stomach, hugging the u-shaped pillow that he insisted upon and Jack put up with because it could be shared. He was warm, and clean, and Jack had changed the sheets for him. He opened his eyes, realising that Jack was stripping off to join him, and a flush of intense adoration made Ianto even warmer. Jack sat on the bed, leaning over him, warm hands on his shoulders, gently kneading out the soreness like a huge cat making himself comfortable. Ianto hummed delight.
“I like it when you touch me,” said Ianto, breathing in the scent of sun and washing powder and Jack on his clean sheets.
“I like touching you. We could come to some sort of arrangement about this,” replied Jack, kissing the nape of Ianto’s neck. “I touch you, you purr at me, and then I touch you some more.”
“I like the sound of that arrangement,” replied Ianto. “What’s in it for you?”
“I get sex,” said Jack, as if confiding yet another of the great secrets of the universe.
“Mmm,” was all Ianto managed in reply. He was back on the plains, he thought. Up on the rock, sunning himself in Jack’s boundless aura. Gwen was out somewhere hunting, doing the right thing and for once he didn’t feel like he should be out there too, or at least doing something useful here.
“What are you thinking about?” asked Jack, rolling onto the bed, moving as close as he could despite the summer heat.
“Lions,” replied Ianto, sleepily.
“Not the answer I was expecting,” chuckled Jack, as Ianto cuddled into Jack’s embrace, skin on skin.
“I love you,” said Ianto, feeling Jack wrap a hand over his arm, holding him in place. It was wonderfully comforting to know that Jack didn’t want him to go anywhere. Jack kissed his forehead.
“Get some sleep,” he said, and Ianto sighed happily.
Ianto let himself drift into the scent of Jack, as the warm air was circulated by the pathetic little fan that Jack had set up to attempt to cool the room. Jack closed his eyes and snuggled Ianto close, not caring about the stickiness and the heat.
“I love you too, you big sop,” murmured Jack, and Ianto smirked in his sleep as Jack drifted off to join him.