Handyman (Ianto, Jack/Ianto, team; PG-13)
Title: Handyman
Author: etharei
Rating: PG-13
Timeline: from the end of S1 to after "Something Borrowed" (209)
Spoilers: "The End of Days" (113), "Something Borrowed" (209), Doctor Who S4 finale "The Stolen Earth" (412)/"Journey's End" (413)
Summary: If there was one thing Ianto was good at, it was being what others needed.
Author's Notes: Have given up trying to keep these things short. CLEARLY A LOSING BATTLE. And when I try, the fic comes out weird (see previous entries).
Disclaimer: Torchwood and all the characters and situations featured therein are the property of Russell T. Davies, the BBC and their affiliates. I’m only borrowing them for purely non-profit, recreational purposes.
Written for: horizonssing, Day #24.
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
Excerpt from, "The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock"
T. S. Eliot
Handyman
by Etharei
If there was one thing Ianto was good at, it was being what others needed. He did not fully realize this until his world had ended three times - well, two and a half, since Jack eventually got up again - but the self-knowledge greatly eased him, closing as it did the small but niggling suspicion from his drifter days that he was really not good for anything at all.
The furry green alien with four arms and many, many teeth rumbled fearfully when they cornered it inside an abandoned warehouse. Despite the fur, there was no visible evidence of its recent meal - two unsuspecting civilians enjoying a fag by the pier. It made Ianto a bit ill, the thought that they had arrived too late for those people, again; but they were working as hard as they can, trying to compensate for the loss of Jack. Not just their leader, but the Hub’s constant caretaker.
‘Overtime’ kind of lost its meaning when there was never a waking moment in which they weren’t working.
Gwen had been magnificent. She’d kept them together, kept them focused, sometimes via the necessity of protecting her. Even Owen, who’d never been the same since Jack died under Abaddon. This meant occasionally sending her home to her boyfriend and dealing with aspects of Torchwood that were... below the official radar.
They all had their own special projects.
Ianto had made the attempt to know her better, though, and found himself growing genuinely fond. He understood why Jack thought it important to have someone like her in the team.
And so, seeing her pointing her gun at the homicidal furry alien, he knew without a doubt that she would not be able to shoot it. The alien was giving her wide, frightened eyes, whimpering against the wall. With its mouth closed, the teeth were hidden from view, and the luxurious fur hid the full length of its curved talons. Shooting at an attacking alien was one thing, but a fearful creature hunched down into a tight ball would feel too much like cold blood.
Damn you, Jack.
Ianto heard Gwen pull in a breath, probably to ask if there was any way to contain the creature and bring it back to the Hub alive. The alien saw the slight wavering in resolve, brought its head up-
Yellow blood, viscous and pungent, splattered thickly over the warehouse wall behind the suddenly headless body. Gwen stared uncomprehendingly at it for a moment, then rounded on Ianto. “That alien was afraid of us.”
On her other side, Tosh and Owen exchange a look, and signaled to Ianto that they there were heading back to the SUV to get the clean-up kit. Ianto put the safety back on his gun, and holstered it. “It was. Because it knew we had no choice but to kill it.”
“There’s always a choice, Ianto.”
“Do you know what that thing was?” asked Ianto, nodding calmly at the still-spurting body. “The name in the database is Kejna More. Semi-sentient, A land creature from a planet where most of the life forms live in the ocean.” He decided not to add that Jack had told him the last bit. “It is one of the few creatures where Torchwood’s original policy towards aliens has been retained. Eliminate on sight. Because the Kejna More cannot survive long without feeding, and once they’ve tasted human blood they get addicted.”
“You could have told me that earlier! We could have stopped it before it killed those poor blokes.” But Gwen’s face was doubtful, even as the words rushed out of her.
“Gwen,” said Ianto gently. “Tosh suggested that it must have gotten here in the Rift spike last weekend, and she’s usually right. That means it’s already fed before today.” He waited until she met his gaze fully. “It would have kept on killing. And it would have just starved to death in a cell, unless we want to start bringing in live humans.”
She sighed, shoulders slumped in defeat. “The killings and the deaths... they’re the parts I hate most about this job.”
“We’ve gotten too used to Jack being the ruthless one.”
“Yeah.” Gwen looked away. “But this... I don’t need you killing for me, Ianto.”
Yes, you do. But what he said instead was, “I’ll carry a stun gun, then. Let me help, Gwen.”
Tosh and Owen arrived with the kit, and Ianto was getting out the garbage disposal bags when he felt his mobile vibrating. He made an excuse about getting something from the SUV, and exited the warehouse.
The number was one he recognized. “Hello?”
“Ianto? It’s Helen. Do you think you can come out to the island this week? We’ve got a new one in, and a terrible case...”
“Is that the analysis for the transmission we picked up earlier?”
“No,” answered Tosh, clearly preoccupied. “Finished that hours ago. Does Jack want it now?”
“He hasn’t asked for it.” Ianto exchanged the empty mug on her desk for a freshly filled one. Strong and black, for the last stretch of the day. Gwen and Owen had already left. “Do you need anything?”
“Thank you, I’m all right.” He inclined his head and backed away. But there was a tilt to her head that he recognized as a sign of hesitation, a potential addendum, so he lingered by the railing. Eventually she said, “Actually, Ianto...”
He returned to her side. She tapped on a few keys, and several windows popped up on the screen. “What is it?”
“A new experimental program I’ve started working on,” she replied, and he smiles at the underlying smugness in her voice. She’s brilliant, their Tosh; deserves to have her genius admired by more than four people in an underground base.
“Is that the Hub?” he asked, pointing at one of the windows.
“The upper infrastructure, yes. But after five levels down my data’s a bit unreliable.” Another key was tapped, and a bubble appeared around the main Hub, just within the cog door entrance. “It’s a time-lock. I plan on integrating it into the Hub’s automated defenses, as a last resort if we’re ever invaded. It’ll put the Hub and everything inside it in an isolated pocket of time that is out of synch with the outside world for the smallest instant.”
“You can do that?” Ianto didn’t bother to tamp down the admiration in his voice. The knowledge of mathematical theory and quantum physics such a project would require...
She gave him an ‘are you kidding, of course I can’ look, but it dissolved into her more usual slightly self-deprecating smile. “It helps to be sitting right on top of the Rift. And after I finished translating the texts in that data disc we recovered from the trash dump last week,” Ianto nodded, remembering it well because he’d archived both the disc and shriveled alien limb attached to it. “Jack recommended some of the texts for me to read.”
Ianto was not sure if the recommendation would be the same as giving Tosh permission to muck about with the Hub’s defense systems. On the other hand, Jack did have rare moments of wiliness in between great garish bouts of obvious. “Why haven’t you taken over the world already?”
Tosh laughed, the uncertainty in her face slipping away. “Because then I’d be stuck with feeding and looking after six billion people. Plus, I’m scared you’ll withhold my coffee.”
He grinned at her. “I’ll get you the structural plans for the lower levels.”
It was rare for Ianto to witness Owen teetering on the edge of panic. In fact, the thought marched across some distant part of his mind, away from the cold rain and his own numb skin, this may be the furthest he’s gone. At least to Ianto’s knowledge.
But the good doctor’s hands were steady and efficient as they worked on Tosh, despite the gory mess around them and the slick of heavy rain. Ianto bent down over them both, trying to use his body as a shield against the worst of the torrent. Jack and Gwen were still shouting, over the communications system, still on the chase.
“Shit, shit, shit,” uttered Owen in a weird strangled wail, his hands clenched into fists.
No, no, not Tosh. “Owen?”
“She’s stopped breathing,” he replied. “I can’t...”
Ianto smoothly eased himself down over Tosh’s head, uncaring of the water soaking through his trousers. “Let me.” Gently, gently, he tipped her head back, opened her mouth. He gasped, bent down, pushed breath into her, while Owen pumped down on her chest. Strange, her skin felt warmer than his. Poor Tosh, being brought back to life by two human icicles.
He would remember it, later, as a moment of perfect synchrony in the history of Ianto and Owen.
By the time Jack and Gwen reappeared, a small humanoid body slung limply over Jack’s shoulder, Tosh waved weakly at them. She was sitting up, her head resting on Owen’s shoulder, and they all made a point of not seeing how tenderly he checked and retied her makeshift bandages.
“Jack!” Ianto’s voice cut in between gunshots. “That’s enough.”
Silence. Muscles worked in Jack’s jaw, but he lowered his gun. Ianto felt a small trill of surprise, though whether it was at Jack listening to him or him stepping in to stop Jack, he couldn’t be sure. Perhaps more for the latter, since he never intervened when Jack was in a trigger-happy mood.
Well. Almost never. And none of the others were there to see, so this didn’t count.
Unfortunately, the situation was one where having Gwen around would have been useful. Trust the woman to be on her bloody honeymoon.
Jack blinked, brows furrowing. He appeared to realize it was Ianto who’d spoken up, and landed a surprised and somewhat fond look on the younger man.
Which was, of course, when the whimpering alien on the ground turned out to not be as overcome as they’d both thought.
It was quite appropriate, since he’d taken up some of Jack’s functions for Gwen during Jack’s absence, that Ianto would end up shouldering some of Gwen’s for Jack.
He could have done without the being taken hostage bit, though.
A mad scramble, before he even realized that the alien had moved, the gritty concrete of the parking lot scratching his palms. He tried to escape the alien’s strong and persistent clutches, the twisting and tightening limbs. Jack called his name, but didn’t risk firing.
Unfortunately, in sheer number of limbs Ianto was outnumbered two to one, and he found himself pulled up, facing Jack. One arm around his middle, another holding his arms behind him, and a third locked around his neck. The alien held him out like a shield.
“Let him go!” yelled Jack, brandishing his gun for emphasis.
The alien responded with a series of deep, throat woop-wirps. But his meaning was clear: three long meaty digits wrapped around the front of Ianto’s neck when Jack took a step closer.
“Jack,” Ianto gasped, fingers scrabbling at the alien’s thick hide. “Take... shot.”
His captor hissed threateningly at him, the hot stink of its breath enough to make Ianto almost gag. It spotted Jack attempting to move closer, and twisted Ianto’s head sharply to one side. Ianto yelped in pain before he could stop himself. The alien delivered another throaty rumble, using its one free hand to communicate that it would happily snap Ianto’s neck if Jack tried to stop it.
The pressure on Ianto’s throat grew, probably because of the alien’s agitation. He coughed, which only made the alien grip tighter. Less and less air with every breath, and the world began to swim. Jack was a great blue blur, strangely bright, his voice traveling as if from far away, “Stop, you’re choking him! He can’t breathe!”
It’s okay, Jack.
The stars glittered in his vision, then winked out.
When Ianto came back around, he found himself looking up at a bright pink ceiling. So not the Hub, then, unless Owen finally went too far with his revenge for him and Jack using his water sprayer- Jack
He sat up. Switches labeled in a non-terrestrial script dotted the smooth blue walls on both sides. He was on the floor, in a small... ship? There was a strange weight on his belly. Looking down, he saw that his hands had been cuffed. But his feet were free, so he stood up.
As he did so, the alien who’d taken him got up from his own chair at the other end of the relatively small space. Controls, window, pilot’s chair, bridge. The alien wooped something at him, sounding pleased with itself. One of its gestures involved his suit, and realizes that his gun was missing from its holster.
Of course, it could have fallen out when the alien dragged him back to its ship. But taking in its smug disposition, Ianto wondered… did it kill Jack? Of course, it wasn’t as if it would be permanent, but it was... the principle of the thing. Besides, as far as the alien was concerned, it had just killed Ianto’s surest hope of rescue.
It did not seem too disappointed to not get a reaction from him, and bent down over the controls of the cockpit. Around them, the ship hummed to life.
Ianto was an old-fashioned soul. Which meant, among many other things, being prepared to improvise and make do when left with limited resources.
Now, let’s see… he was in a ship full of equipment and technology he wasn’t familiar with. The alien didn’t appear inclined to release him, probably in case some sort of rescue appeared at the last minute, and would likely have no use for him once it’d left the Earth’s atmosphere. He knew one way Jack might have dealt with this - just start kicking and pressing everything in sight - but he would rather not risk electrocution, and in any case he’d seen how fast the alien could move.
There were scorch marks and dented panels around the interior of the ship, however. Mostly at the back. Scars of pursuit rather than battle, than.
He examined his cuffs. The alien had encircled his wrists with a heavy metallic… rectangle, really, with holes in it for his wrists. Heavy, solid, thick metal, at the end of his arms.
In short, the alien had given him a hammer.
Twenty minutes later, Jack rushed into spacecraft, coat flapping and gun in his hand. Very dashing, definitely, but Ianto took care to look away before Jack properly saw him. The heavy boots stopped dead, facing Ianto in the swiveling pilot’s chair. The younger man was examining the opened cuffs in his hand, resting his feet up on the unconscious body of the alien on the floor.
“Ianto?”
“Jack,” acknowledged Ianto, looking up and giving Jack a nod. “Took your time.”
“The bastard shot me twice in the head, and then our scanners couldn’t locate the ship…” Jack shook his head, stepped forward. “Are you all right?”
“A little sore around the neck, but otherwise fine." Ianto stood, leaving the cuffs on the chair. “But I recommend we vacate the ship. A transmission from the Judoon came in ten minutes ago, I think this ship and the individual we encountered are of great interest to them. Shu gu mal seemed to be the phrase of choice.”
“Petty thief,” said Jack, and gave the body on the floor a contemptuous glance. “And let me guess… you’ve turned on the ship’s locator?”
“I endeavored to press a likely-looking button, sir, yes.”
Jack looked at him, in a darkly promising way that sent an anticipatory shiver down Ianto’s spine. “I was about to tell you how really, really hot you are right now, but then I realized...”
Ianto found himself being pulled forward. His foot caught on one of the alien’s arms, causing him to stumble, right into Jack’s arms, like a clichéd Harlequin novel. Quicker than breath, Jack’s mouth was on his, impatient and searching. Ianto opened his mouth with a pleased hum, sucked Jack’s tongue inside, drinking him in. Gentle but thorough hands ran up and down Ianto’s back, softly touching the raw skin around his throat, slipping under his suit, and, oh yes, he can definitely feel how hot Jack found him.
He’s not surprised when one of Jack’s fingers stopped on a spot above his navel, exactly where an overenthusiastic Jack-mouth had left a brilliant mark on his skin the night before, and he winced when Jack pushed down. “Still not an alien imposter,” he murmured, nipping at Jack’s lower lip. “And Owen hasn’t stolen your pen, I found it in Myfanwy’s nest.”
Jack pulled back a little. A warm hand came up to cup Ianto’s cheek, carefully staying away from the abused skin of his neck. “Are you all right?”
The look in Jack’s eyes made his breath hitch, his throat ache anew.
“Still here, Jack,” he replied, simply; another old honest reply that had become part of their code. Both an affirmation and a reminder.
Jack leaned forward, touching their foreheads together. The quiet moment stretched, settled, and suddenly the incident was just another anecdote for Jack to tell the future.
Wandering hands and lips returned to their work. “I don’t know, I think we still need to do a more thorough examination,” rumbled Jack before kissing Ianto again; his body lost more of its tension. Ianto would have rolled his eyes at the old line, but was satisfied to be distracted by Jack’s tongue teasing his and Jack’s hand wandering lower down his back.
He did insist, though, that they continue the rest of it in the SUV.
Author: etharei
Rating: PG-13
Timeline: from the end of S1 to after "Something Borrowed" (209)
Spoilers: "The End of Days" (113), "Something Borrowed" (209), Doctor Who S4 finale "The Stolen Earth" (412)/"Journey's End" (413)
Summary: If there was one thing Ianto was good at, it was being what others needed.
Author's Notes: Have given up trying to keep these things short. CLEARLY A LOSING BATTLE. And when I try, the fic comes out weird (see previous entries).
Disclaimer: Torchwood and all the characters and situations featured therein are the property of Russell T. Davies, the BBC and their affiliates. I’m only borrowing them for purely non-profit, recreational purposes.
Written for: horizonssing, Day #24.
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
Excerpt from, "The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock"
T. S. Eliot
Handyman
by Etharei
If there was one thing Ianto was good at, it was being what others needed. He did not fully realize this until his world had ended three times - well, two and a half, since Jack eventually got up again - but the self-knowledge greatly eased him, closing as it did the small but niggling suspicion from his drifter days that he was really not good for anything at all.
The furry green alien with four arms and many, many teeth rumbled fearfully when they cornered it inside an abandoned warehouse. Despite the fur, there was no visible evidence of its recent meal - two unsuspecting civilians enjoying a fag by the pier. It made Ianto a bit ill, the thought that they had arrived too late for those people, again; but they were working as hard as they can, trying to compensate for the loss of Jack. Not just their leader, but the Hub’s constant caretaker.
‘Overtime’ kind of lost its meaning when there was never a waking moment in which they weren’t working.
Gwen had been magnificent. She’d kept them together, kept them focused, sometimes via the necessity of protecting her. Even Owen, who’d never been the same since Jack died under Abaddon. This meant occasionally sending her home to her boyfriend and dealing with aspects of Torchwood that were... below the official radar.
They all had their own special projects.
Ianto had made the attempt to know her better, though, and found himself growing genuinely fond. He understood why Jack thought it important to have someone like her in the team.
And so, seeing her pointing her gun at the homicidal furry alien, he knew without a doubt that she would not be able to shoot it. The alien was giving her wide, frightened eyes, whimpering against the wall. With its mouth closed, the teeth were hidden from view, and the luxurious fur hid the full length of its curved talons. Shooting at an attacking alien was one thing, but a fearful creature hunched down into a tight ball would feel too much like cold blood.
Damn you, Jack.
Ianto heard Gwen pull in a breath, probably to ask if there was any way to contain the creature and bring it back to the Hub alive. The alien saw the slight wavering in resolve, brought its head up-
Yellow blood, viscous and pungent, splattered thickly over the warehouse wall behind the suddenly headless body. Gwen stared uncomprehendingly at it for a moment, then rounded on Ianto. “That alien was afraid of us.”
On her other side, Tosh and Owen exchange a look, and signaled to Ianto that they there were heading back to the SUV to get the clean-up kit. Ianto put the safety back on his gun, and holstered it. “It was. Because it knew we had no choice but to kill it.”
“There’s always a choice, Ianto.”
“Do you know what that thing was?” asked Ianto, nodding calmly at the still-spurting body. “The name in the database is Kejna More. Semi-sentient, A land creature from a planet where most of the life forms live in the ocean.” He decided not to add that Jack had told him the last bit. “It is one of the few creatures where Torchwood’s original policy towards aliens has been retained. Eliminate on sight. Because the Kejna More cannot survive long without feeding, and once they’ve tasted human blood they get addicted.”
“You could have told me that earlier! We could have stopped it before it killed those poor blokes.” But Gwen’s face was doubtful, even as the words rushed out of her.
“Gwen,” said Ianto gently. “Tosh suggested that it must have gotten here in the Rift spike last weekend, and she’s usually right. That means it’s already fed before today.” He waited until she met his gaze fully. “It would have kept on killing. And it would have just starved to death in a cell, unless we want to start bringing in live humans.”
She sighed, shoulders slumped in defeat. “The killings and the deaths... they’re the parts I hate most about this job.”
“We’ve gotten too used to Jack being the ruthless one.”
“Yeah.” Gwen looked away. “But this... I don’t need you killing for me, Ianto.”
Yes, you do. But what he said instead was, “I’ll carry a stun gun, then. Let me help, Gwen.”
Tosh and Owen arrived with the kit, and Ianto was getting out the garbage disposal bags when he felt his mobile vibrating. He made an excuse about getting something from the SUV, and exited the warehouse.
The number was one he recognized. “Hello?”
“Ianto? It’s Helen. Do you think you can come out to the island this week? We’ve got a new one in, and a terrible case...”
“Is that the analysis for the transmission we picked up earlier?”
“No,” answered Tosh, clearly preoccupied. “Finished that hours ago. Does Jack want it now?”
“He hasn’t asked for it.” Ianto exchanged the empty mug on her desk for a freshly filled one. Strong and black, for the last stretch of the day. Gwen and Owen had already left. “Do you need anything?”
“Thank you, I’m all right.” He inclined his head and backed away. But there was a tilt to her head that he recognized as a sign of hesitation, a potential addendum, so he lingered by the railing. Eventually she said, “Actually, Ianto...”
He returned to her side. She tapped on a few keys, and several windows popped up on the screen. “What is it?”
“A new experimental program I’ve started working on,” she replied, and he smiles at the underlying smugness in her voice. She’s brilliant, their Tosh; deserves to have her genius admired by more than four people in an underground base.
“Is that the Hub?” he asked, pointing at one of the windows.
“The upper infrastructure, yes. But after five levels down my data’s a bit unreliable.” Another key was tapped, and a bubble appeared around the main Hub, just within the cog door entrance. “It’s a time-lock. I plan on integrating it into the Hub’s automated defenses, as a last resort if we’re ever invaded. It’ll put the Hub and everything inside it in an isolated pocket of time that is out of synch with the outside world for the smallest instant.”
“You can do that?” Ianto didn’t bother to tamp down the admiration in his voice. The knowledge of mathematical theory and quantum physics such a project would require...
She gave him an ‘are you kidding, of course I can’ look, but it dissolved into her more usual slightly self-deprecating smile. “It helps to be sitting right on top of the Rift. And after I finished translating the texts in that data disc we recovered from the trash dump last week,” Ianto nodded, remembering it well because he’d archived both the disc and shriveled alien limb attached to it. “Jack recommended some of the texts for me to read.”
Ianto was not sure if the recommendation would be the same as giving Tosh permission to muck about with the Hub’s defense systems. On the other hand, Jack did have rare moments of wiliness in between great garish bouts of obvious. “Why haven’t you taken over the world already?”
Tosh laughed, the uncertainty in her face slipping away. “Because then I’d be stuck with feeding and looking after six billion people. Plus, I’m scared you’ll withhold my coffee.”
He grinned at her. “I’ll get you the structural plans for the lower levels.”
It was rare for Ianto to witness Owen teetering on the edge of panic. In fact, the thought marched across some distant part of his mind, away from the cold rain and his own numb skin, this may be the furthest he’s gone. At least to Ianto’s knowledge.
But the good doctor’s hands were steady and efficient as they worked on Tosh, despite the gory mess around them and the slick of heavy rain. Ianto bent down over them both, trying to use his body as a shield against the worst of the torrent. Jack and Gwen were still shouting, over the communications system, still on the chase.
“Shit, shit, shit,” uttered Owen in a weird strangled wail, his hands clenched into fists.
No, no, not Tosh. “Owen?”
“She’s stopped breathing,” he replied. “I can’t...”
Ianto smoothly eased himself down over Tosh’s head, uncaring of the water soaking through his trousers. “Let me.” Gently, gently, he tipped her head back, opened her mouth. He gasped, bent down, pushed breath into her, while Owen pumped down on her chest. Strange, her skin felt warmer than his. Poor Tosh, being brought back to life by two human icicles.
He would remember it, later, as a moment of perfect synchrony in the history of Ianto and Owen.
By the time Jack and Gwen reappeared, a small humanoid body slung limply over Jack’s shoulder, Tosh waved weakly at them. She was sitting up, her head resting on Owen’s shoulder, and they all made a point of not seeing how tenderly he checked and retied her makeshift bandages.
“Jack!” Ianto’s voice cut in between gunshots. “That’s enough.”
Silence. Muscles worked in Jack’s jaw, but he lowered his gun. Ianto felt a small trill of surprise, though whether it was at Jack listening to him or him stepping in to stop Jack, he couldn’t be sure. Perhaps more for the latter, since he never intervened when Jack was in a trigger-happy mood.
Well. Almost never. And none of the others were there to see, so this didn’t count.
Unfortunately, the situation was one where having Gwen around would have been useful. Trust the woman to be on her bloody honeymoon.
Jack blinked, brows furrowing. He appeared to realize it was Ianto who’d spoken up, and landed a surprised and somewhat fond look on the younger man.
Which was, of course, when the whimpering alien on the ground turned out to not be as overcome as they’d both thought.
It was quite appropriate, since he’d taken up some of Jack’s functions for Gwen during Jack’s absence, that Ianto would end up shouldering some of Gwen’s for Jack.
He could have done without the being taken hostage bit, though.
A mad scramble, before he even realized that the alien had moved, the gritty concrete of the parking lot scratching his palms. He tried to escape the alien’s strong and persistent clutches, the twisting and tightening limbs. Jack called his name, but didn’t risk firing.
Unfortunately, in sheer number of limbs Ianto was outnumbered two to one, and he found himself pulled up, facing Jack. One arm around his middle, another holding his arms behind him, and a third locked around his neck. The alien held him out like a shield.
“Let him go!” yelled Jack, brandishing his gun for emphasis.
The alien responded with a series of deep, throat woop-wirps. But his meaning was clear: three long meaty digits wrapped around the front of Ianto’s neck when Jack took a step closer.
“Jack,” Ianto gasped, fingers scrabbling at the alien’s thick hide. “Take... shot.”
His captor hissed threateningly at him, the hot stink of its breath enough to make Ianto almost gag. It spotted Jack attempting to move closer, and twisted Ianto’s head sharply to one side. Ianto yelped in pain before he could stop himself. The alien delivered another throaty rumble, using its one free hand to communicate that it would happily snap Ianto’s neck if Jack tried to stop it.
The pressure on Ianto’s throat grew, probably because of the alien’s agitation. He coughed, which only made the alien grip tighter. Less and less air with every breath, and the world began to swim. Jack was a great blue blur, strangely bright, his voice traveling as if from far away, “Stop, you’re choking him! He can’t breathe!”
It’s okay, Jack.
The stars glittered in his vision, then winked out.
When Ianto came back around, he found himself looking up at a bright pink ceiling. So not the Hub, then, unless Owen finally went too far with his revenge for him and Jack using his water sprayer- Jack
He sat up. Switches labeled in a non-terrestrial script dotted the smooth blue walls on both sides. He was on the floor, in a small... ship? There was a strange weight on his belly. Looking down, he saw that his hands had been cuffed. But his feet were free, so he stood up.
As he did so, the alien who’d taken him got up from his own chair at the other end of the relatively small space. Controls, window, pilot’s chair, bridge. The alien wooped something at him, sounding pleased with itself. One of its gestures involved his suit, and realizes that his gun was missing from its holster.
Of course, it could have fallen out when the alien dragged him back to its ship. But taking in its smug disposition, Ianto wondered… did it kill Jack? Of course, it wasn’t as if it would be permanent, but it was... the principle of the thing. Besides, as far as the alien was concerned, it had just killed Ianto’s surest hope of rescue.
It did not seem too disappointed to not get a reaction from him, and bent down over the controls of the cockpit. Around them, the ship hummed to life.
Ianto was an old-fashioned soul. Which meant, among many other things, being prepared to improvise and make do when left with limited resources.
Now, let’s see… he was in a ship full of equipment and technology he wasn’t familiar with. The alien didn’t appear inclined to release him, probably in case some sort of rescue appeared at the last minute, and would likely have no use for him once it’d left the Earth’s atmosphere. He knew one way Jack might have dealt with this - just start kicking and pressing everything in sight - but he would rather not risk electrocution, and in any case he’d seen how fast the alien could move.
There were scorch marks and dented panels around the interior of the ship, however. Mostly at the back. Scars of pursuit rather than battle, than.
He examined his cuffs. The alien had encircled his wrists with a heavy metallic… rectangle, really, with holes in it for his wrists. Heavy, solid, thick metal, at the end of his arms.
In short, the alien had given him a hammer.
Twenty minutes later, Jack rushed into spacecraft, coat flapping and gun in his hand. Very dashing, definitely, but Ianto took care to look away before Jack properly saw him. The heavy boots stopped dead, facing Ianto in the swiveling pilot’s chair. The younger man was examining the opened cuffs in his hand, resting his feet up on the unconscious body of the alien on the floor.
“Ianto?”
“Jack,” acknowledged Ianto, looking up and giving Jack a nod. “Took your time.”
“The bastard shot me twice in the head, and then our scanners couldn’t locate the ship…” Jack shook his head, stepped forward. “Are you all right?”
“A little sore around the neck, but otherwise fine." Ianto stood, leaving the cuffs on the chair. “But I recommend we vacate the ship. A transmission from the Judoon came in ten minutes ago, I think this ship and the individual we encountered are of great interest to them. Shu gu mal seemed to be the phrase of choice.”
“Petty thief,” said Jack, and gave the body on the floor a contemptuous glance. “And let me guess… you’ve turned on the ship’s locator?”
“I endeavored to press a likely-looking button, sir, yes.”
Jack looked at him, in a darkly promising way that sent an anticipatory shiver down Ianto’s spine. “I was about to tell you how really, really hot you are right now, but then I realized...”
Ianto found himself being pulled forward. His foot caught on one of the alien’s arms, causing him to stumble, right into Jack’s arms, like a clichéd Harlequin novel. Quicker than breath, Jack’s mouth was on his, impatient and searching. Ianto opened his mouth with a pleased hum, sucked Jack’s tongue inside, drinking him in. Gentle but thorough hands ran up and down Ianto’s back, softly touching the raw skin around his throat, slipping under his suit, and, oh yes, he can definitely feel how hot Jack found him.
He’s not surprised when one of Jack’s fingers stopped on a spot above his navel, exactly where an overenthusiastic Jack-mouth had left a brilliant mark on his skin the night before, and he winced when Jack pushed down. “Still not an alien imposter,” he murmured, nipping at Jack’s lower lip. “And Owen hasn’t stolen your pen, I found it in Myfanwy’s nest.”
Jack pulled back a little. A warm hand came up to cup Ianto’s cheek, carefully staying away from the abused skin of his neck. “Are you all right?”
The look in Jack’s eyes made his breath hitch, his throat ache anew.
“Still here, Jack,” he replied, simply; another old honest reply that had become part of their code. Both an affirmation and a reminder.
Jack leaned forward, touching their foreheads together. The quiet moment stretched, settled, and suddenly the incident was just another anecdote for Jack to tell the future.
Wandering hands and lips returned to their work. “I don’t know, I think we still need to do a more thorough examination,” rumbled Jack before kissing Ianto again; his body lost more of its tension. Ianto would have rolled his eyes at the old line, but was satisfied to be distracted by Jack’s tongue teasing his and Jack’s hand wandering lower down his back.
He did insist, though, that they continue the rest of it in the SUV.