Forgivent - 2/?
It would have been poetic if the next morning had dawned bright and cheerful. It didn’t, though. Jack stepped out onto the Plass, wrapped tightly in his long greatcoat, wishing that he had remembered gloves. And a hat. And possibly a scarf. The sun was out, but, as this was Cardiff, it was more a joke, a temptation to lure unwary travelers and tourists outside and then, bam!, frostbite. The sun, somehow still bright amid the hazy, cloudy sky, cast its reflection over the water. Jack watched as ships left and returned, watched as Millenium Center employees hunted for their midmorning coffee. He watched, waiting for Ianto, hoping the young man hadn’t forgotten or, god forbid, gotten cold feet and changed his mind.
Before Jack could worry enough to ring Ianto’s mobile, he saw a familiar car appear out of the mist. He stepped off the paving stone, his favorite hiding place, and walked slowly over as Ianto exited, locked, and double-checked the locks, of his car.
“Ready for breakfast then?” Jack smiled.
“Actually, Sir, I believe you Americans call this brunch,” Ianto smirked.
“You people and your silly labels. A meal is a meal, Ianto, don’t discriminate based on time.”
Ianto cocked an eyebrow, tilted his head and said, “You weren’t drunk when I left, Sir. Have you been imbibing this morning?”
Jack snorted. As if liquor could get him drunk anymore. He shook his head and pointed to a café on the pier. “That one look ok?” Ianto nodded his assent and the two walked off.
As they sat at their table, Jack ordered a full English and Ianto asked for a croissant. Jack ordered coffee and Ianto, tea. When Jack looked questioningly at Ianto, Ianto simply smiled and said, “Coffee is not for midmorning, Jack. Tea is a proper Englishman’s drink.”
The silence between the two was uncomfortable, to say the least. Ianto was still embarrassed by needing Jack after the cannibals and had no idea how to behave around a boss who had not only cleaned up his sick and gave him a bath, but had slept with him (next to him, mind, Jack was completely behaved). Jack, meanwhile, was trying to figure out how to broach the subject of Ianto coming on more team missions. He knew the young man had considered his role in the Beacons as a distinct failure, both personally and professional, and, even though he had had hours, Jack had yet to come up with a way of convincing Ianto to join them that wouldn’t sound like either (a) Jack was pandering or (b) Jack was being deliberately cruel.
When the silence became too oppressive, Jack was surprised that Ianto broke it first.
“Can I assume that I will be justifying this meal as a business-related expense to the Torchwood Institute accountants next month, Sir?” he asked.
“Oh no, Ianto. This is coming right from my private accounts. I’ve even upgraded! The bank sent me an ATM card last week.”
“Yes, Sir, I know. I was the one that requested it,” Ianto replied.
“What do you mean, you requested it? How can you request it? It’s my account? ”Jack asked, confused.
“I requested it because I was the one who set up your account, Sir.”
“Wait, what? I’ve had this account for years!”
“No Sir, you haven’t. If you’ll check the bank records, your old account was stationed at RBS. This new account is stationed at RBC, Royal Bank of Cardiff. It’s a minor change, barely noticeable on the ATM card.”
Jack pulled the card from his pocket. There, clear as day had he ever checked, were the letters RBC. Shocked and appalled that Ianto had moved his account without his permission, Jack cried, “How the hell did this happen?”
Ianto looked down at the table, wringing his hands. “I made an executive decision, Sir.”
Jack softened when he saw Ianto’s discomfort. Today was meant to have Ianto open up, to feel a respected part of Jack’s team. It was not meant to make him nervous or afraid. “It’s ok, Ianto. Tell me. I’m not mad, just surprised.”
“Well, Sir,” Ianto began. “A few months back a young bank executive was injured by a weevil. His family had owned RBC for a hundred years. But the bank was in trouble; it just couldn’t compete with the larger chain and international banks. His injuries and medical bills broke the family. His wife was pregnant, heavily pregnant, and they were about to lose the bank. 6 employees, Sir. 3 full-time attendants, living here in Cardiff, the owners are the Greenstones, they live in Newport, and two part-time Uni students who work as financial advisors. They would all have lost their jobs. So I took the liberty of moving your account.”
Ianto finally looked up at Jack. “Receiving an account as large as yours spurred interest in RBC. It showed investors that someone important had faith in its sustainability. Others flocked to it, desposits soared. But the stress still made Mrs. Greenstone go into premature labour. Both she and the baby survived, a little girl, Hannah. Hannah was in the hospital for a month, Sir. Torchwood, under a foundation name, foot the bill. You also sent a personal gift, Sir. A basket full of crib toys.”
Jack looked at Ianto in astonishment. “I did all that, huh?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“What colour?”
“Colour, Sir?”
“The toys, Ianto, what colour?” Jack smiled.
“Oh. Green.”
Jack frowned. “Green? For a girl?”
“Green is the new pink, Sir. And she was born on St. Patrick’s Day. It seemed appropriate.”
Jack nodded sagely. “Indeed. Well it was nice that I was so thoughtful.” Ianto nodded back.
As their food had arrived, the two men sat in silence for a few more moments. Jack noticed that Ianto picked at the croissant more than eating it. Damn, he still looked nervous. Putting his fork and knife down on the plate, and trying to look as unimposing as possible, Jack asked, “Ianto? Is everything ok?”
Ianto swallowed audibly; Jack watched his Adam’s Apple bob up and down, and noticed the thin line of sweat at the top of his brow.
“I was wondering, Sir….I was wondering if I could ask a favour.”
Trying to put Ianto at ease, Jack attempted levity. “Well, as long as it doesn’t involve a plan to take over the world, it should be fine!”
He wasn’t prepared for Ianto’s blanched face or his wild eyes. Ianto looked at him, his eyes pleading. “Please, Sir….I didn’t mean….I mean….I would never…..Even then, I didn’t….”
Confused for a moment, Jack finally realized how his joke must have been misunderstood by Ianto. Quickly placing one hand on Ianto’s shoulder, he said, “Ianto, it’s ok. It was just a joke, honest. I know you would never do such a thing. Now what did you want to ask me?”
Ianto swallowed again and Jack watched as he visibly composed himself, hiding once again behind a veneer of professionalism. “There are certain Japanese customs, Sir. Burial customs. I know we don’t have Mary’s body, but-“
“Ianto, you know I didn’t enjoy what I had to do! I never meant to hurt Tosh!”
“I know, Sir. I know you would do anything to keep her safe. And I understand what you did, really I do. I may not agree with it, but I do understand it,” Ianto replied, softly.
Jack was pleased, but didn’t show it. He didn’t want to make Ianto any more nervous than he obviously was. Understanding was good. Understanding he could work with, build from. It was a baby step, yes, but at least it was a step.
“It’s just that Tosh may have one or two things, memories I mean, and I was wondering if you’d mind some sort of memorial. Nothing fancy, but just following the customs of her family.”
Jack was surprised. He had never considered that Ianto knew anything about Japanese customs. He had also never considered doing such a thing for Tosh. He nodded his assent. Ianto smiled.
“Then, if you don’t mind Sir, I’ll head back to the Hub. I’d like to take the rest of the day off, after I feed Janet and Myfanwy of course, and spend some time with Tosh. She won’t feel much like coming in, but she shouldn’t be alone.”
“Are you sure she’ll want one of us there? Are you sure that’s the best thing? Maybe she wants to be alone.”
“The woman she loved betrayed her and was killed by the one man she trusted above everyone. Now is the last time she should be alone,” Ianto replied.
“Love? She only knew her a few days, Ianto!”
“And how long did it take you to fall in love with Rose Tyler?!” Ianto asked harshly.
Jack’s breath stopped, surprised by the venom in Ianto’s voice. “How do you know about Rose Tyler?” he asked coldly.
“Torchwood was founded to discover and trap Lord Doctor of the TARDIS and Dame Rose of the Powell Estate. Obviously London had files on all of the Doctor’s reincarnations and Companions.”
“All of them,” Jack asked nervously.
“Even a certain Captain Harkness, though the files relating to him may have been misplaced.”
Jack rasied an eyebrow. “And as a researcher you would have had access to those files.” Ianto remained silent. Jack let out a puff of air and said, “Fine. Take the rest of the day. Go see Tosh. Tell her….tell her….just…”
Ianto looked softly at the Captain. “I know Sir.” He stood up, placing enough for his half of the bill on the table, and Jack watched as he disappeared into the Tourist office.
When Ianto reached Tosh’s flat, he was carrying a large Tesco bag. He knocked on her door, not surprised that she didn’t answer, He called her name to no avail, but knew she was in there somewhere. Her car was in the lot and the doorman hadn’t seen her leave. Using the lockpick that had come in handy quite a few times during his ‘drifting’ months, he silently let himself into the flat.
He was surprised by how warm and homey the place was. He’d expected cold modernity, sleek likes and metal furniture, the highest bit of technology cluttering every surface. Instead, the furniture was old and soft, deep woods and soothing creams. He placed the Tesco carrier on the floor next to the door, hung his heavy woolen jacket on the coat rack and toed off his shoes. He called for Tosh, not wanting to frighten her, but she didn’t answer. He stepped further into the sitting room, looking around. He walked into the kitchen, and, noticing the old coffee machine, added the beans and flicked it on.
He stepped back out into the sitting room and called for Tosh again. Again, nothing. Then he heard the sniffling. Turning around, he noticed a corridor at the end of the room. Standing there, comforter wrapped around her shoulders like a protective cape, was Tosh. Her hair was stringy and lank, her face red and splotchy with dried tear tracks making black trails down her cheeks. She said nothing, didn’t move. Ianto took another step, then another, until he was only a few feet from her. He reached out his arms, trying to touch her shoulder to see if this was really the sweet, smart Tosh he knew from the Hub, or a violent apparition. At his touch, she flew into his arms, fisting her hands beneath his suit jacket and hiding her face in the crook of his shoulder.
He held her as tightly as he could, never letting the pressure ease for a moment. He moved one hand to the small of her back and the other to just below her bottom, and, lifting her with ease, carried her over to the old sofa and cradled her on his lab and against his chest.
He felt, rather than saw, her let go. He felt her chest shake with shuddering breath, felt the tears pour from her eyes. He heard the cries, sometimes loud, though soft more than not. He said nothing, just holding her tightly, stroking her back with one hand. He said nothing as she pulled herself even closer, aggravating the remains of the still-livid bruises that the cannibals had decided to leave on his chest. He said nothing as her nails bit through his jacket and waistcoat and shirt, scratching marks into his back. He said nothing, just held her and stroked her, as she cried herself to sleep.
Once sure she was fully asleep, he wrapped her tightly in the comforter, laid her body on the couch and placed a pillow under her head. He turned off the coffee pot, cleaned out the month-old rotting vegetables (at he now knew he wasn’t the only one who didn’t eat at home), and placed a quiet phone order to Tesco’s for delivery. Making sure she still slept, he moved to her bedroom, picked up her dirty clothes (leaving the ones he assumed were Mary’s), and started a load of wash. He never left her side for more than a moment or two, assuring himself than when she woke, or cried out, or moaned, he would be there to soothe away as much of the pain as he could. When Tesco’s arrived, he put the food away and proceeded to make homemade chicken noodle soup. He then placed another call to a friend in the British embassy in Tokyo, arranging for Tosh’s mother to come to Cardiff in two days time. A daughter needed her mother at a time like this, Jack and demands on Tosh be damned.