Fanfic - Counting Stars 2/17 [Torchwood: Jack/Ianto]
Part One
He’d never slept with a man before. It wasn’t that he’d never been attracted to another man before, but this was the first time he’d been able to shut up the voices in his head (“fucking pansy, should’ve been walloped as a child”) long enough to act on it. They hadn’t really done much beyond some very satisfactory mutual groping - Jack didn’t push him into anything, as if, in the back of his mind, he was wondering when Ianto would come to his senses and run out. Ianto himself had been half-expecting to freeze up when actually confronted with a naked male body, but that hadn’t happened. His arousal had never once flagged, despite the unfamiliarity of the situation. Jack seemed rather happy about that.
They broke his stopwatch (Jack promised him a new one) and managed to shove the furniture completely out of alignment. Ianto helped Jack put things back in order, and then discovered that bending over in front of Jack wasn’t something he should have done. Before Jack let him get dressed again (another two hours later), he pressed a clean post-it on his chest, then scribbled 21) Has an amazing ass! V. impt! on it. Ianto waited until Jack turned away to add the post-it to the growing collection in his wallet.
The first time he’d had sex since Lisa’s conversion, and it had been with Jack. The irony wasn’t lost on him.
Jack was an excellent lover though. Ianto bit his lip as he walked home slowly. Now to decide if such an encounter should necessarily occur again. There was no harm in it, surely? Jack didn’t seem to equate sex with love, so there would be no fear of emotional repercussions on that end. And Ianto highly doubted he’d fall in love with Jack, not while he was still (more than) half in love with Lisa, not given what Jack had done (killed her/it, saved me, still saving me, oh dear) - no, he wouldn’t fall in love with Jack, but if a little physical relief was called for now and then, he wouldn’t be averse to the idea.
He picked up the pace a little. That was that, then.
On the twenty-first of August, he received an unassuming brown parcel in the mail. In it was an old edition of Virginia Woolf’s The Waves. He spent exactly nine minutes and thirty-six seconds staring at the book in awe before he finally opened the cover. There was a small card tucked inside that read We miss you, Ianto! Hope you have a wonderful day. Lots of love from Dora, Mum and Dad. It was dated a few days prior, and despite the lack of specifics in the card, Ianto suspected he knew what the present was for.
He just hadn’t expected it from Dora and her family.
He spent a few blissful hours curled up with the book - he’d read it before, but re-reading it was no hardship. There was something very calming about turning the old pages, feeling them parchment-soft under his fingers.
When he returned to work the next day, it was while carrying a sense of serenity. All the same, he couldn’t help simultaneously wondering how long that feeling would last.
He finished re-organising the entirety of Torchwood Three’s archives in September. Five months since joining, four months of work. Not bad, given the sheer volume. It had actually gone far quicker than he’d expected. He’d had to reprint some of the older records, which were in rather bad shape, but Torchwood Three now had physical records going all the way back to the founding of the branch.
Of course, that meant the hard part was just beginning. Everything that had been scavenged from Torchwood One was still lying in storage. Tosh had taken some of the technological toys to play with, but by and large, nothing had been touched.
At least he knew that Torchwood One would have more organised records, Ianto thought as he opened up the storage areas. The others were out investigating a Rift spike, leaving him alone in the Hub. This time, Jack hadn’t insisted he wear the tracking bracelet while unattended, like he had ever since - since. The gesture hadn’t been lost on Ianto, and while he was still riding the high of feeling trusted, he wanted to get started on sorting out the remnants of Torchwood One. He might be less likely to have a breakdown.
Rows of reinforced cabinets greeted him when the doors finally slid open. Jack’s team had carted off all the physical records they could find - they couldn’t chance any information about aliens falling into civilian hands, after all. They hadn’t, however, chosen to incorporate those records with their own. Why would they, when they’d managed to hack into Torchwood One’s computer systems long ago, and therefore had copies of just about every piece of information that had been logged? Besides, Ianto knew the state of Torchwood Three’s archives, before he’d joined up. They’d probably been too terrified to even enter.
He took a deep breath and stepped up to the cabinet closest to the door. The small card on the side was covered in grime, as was the whole cabinet, but he could still just make out the words printed on it: 1917, June-July. The next cabinet was 1998, November. Not in order then. Why had he expected them to be?
After a moment’s thought, he went back into the Hub and dragged a lightweight table and chair into the storage area. He slipped off his suit jacket, folding it neatly over the chair, then rolled up his sleeves and set to work. Some (most) of the records (entire cabinets) had been damaged, but he hadn’t spent all that time in Torchwood London’s record archives for nothing. He’d read everything available to him, and some that technically, he hadn’t been cleared for. With the fragments of legible writing he could make out, he was able to reconstruct most of the records from memory.
… subject to rigorous stress tests. A maximum capacity has not yet been identified. Capable of withstanding pressures of 1 kg of Semtex detonated within it. Further tests scheduled. Containment boxes, Ianto remembered as he filled out a fresh report to replace the tattered original, they’d been so excited when they’d set off every manner of explosive they could get their hands on and the boxes hadn’t so much as bulged outwards. Neil had been helping them with that, with the explosives. They’d recruited Neil from the police, the Bomb Squad, Neil was used to it and he’d been so delighted at the new technology. He’d talked non-stop to Ianto about how they might one day be able to release that technology to police forces around the world, the way that would make things so much safer for everyone.
bsorbs ga…… tion. Could prove potentially usef said the next file in the list. Ianto stared at it. That was helpful. He dug around for any more pieces to the file, wondering if he shouldn’t have started with the least damaged cabinets instead of the other way around. A few more shreds of paper declared sts confirm effective rad…… orts from Saskatoon, Budapest, Cernavodă, Zhejiang etc (ref. Appendix B). Absolutely incre and CR: 1976(4.20), 846, and with that the information came flooding back into his head, about what they’d dubbed a Decontamination Sponge, the tests on how the sponge absorbed all nuclear radiation in the vicinity and beyond, way beyond, how they’d eventually had to keep it in a lead box because it was affecting nuclear reactors halfway across the world, and Ianto grimaced and rubbed his forehead, because remembering everything like that hurt sometimes, it really did, especially when his emotional state was something less than calm. He’d definitely have a migraine tonight. He wondered if Torchwood Three had managed to find the Sponge in its lead prison, if it was even now somewhere in this room.
Slowly, carefully, he filled out the report as best as he remembered, adding his own personal recollections as an addendum. The next few rows of folders went a lot smoother, since the bulk of the reports were still intact and legible. He copied them out neatly anyway, using Torchwood Three’s forms. It wouldn’t hurt for everything to be standardised. The very last file in that particular cabinet detailed an unknown alien artefact, suspected to be of use in augmenting psychic abilities, and suggested CR: 2005(9.27), 1407, so that was what Ianto went in search of after finishing up.
September, September, September, Ianto repeated as he walked between the rows of cabinets in search of the correct one. There. September. A few moments’ effort got the cabinet up on the dolly he’d been using, and he transported it back to his makeshift desk. Now then. Start at the beginning, or start with Artefact 1407?
He opened a drawer at random. The first file in it was labelled 2005(9.27), Artefact 1407. It had to be a sign. He smiled and pulled out the thin file, flipping it open to read.
It was his handwriting.
It took a few seconds for him to remember how to breathe. When he felt like he was somewhat under control again, he started reading, eyes tracing the so-familiar contours of the handwriting. His name at the top (Cataloguer: Ianto Jones), his ID number. The physical description of the unknown alien artefact, suspected to be merely cosmetic in nature. Like jewellery, he’d thought to himself then, remembering the intricate engravings in the smooth metal, except obviously not for humans because the loops of metal had been entwined in a way that made them impossible to wear. Like two circular links of a chain, like two rings had gotten caught in each other, with no way of separating them, short of cutting them apart. Tests had revealed the metal to be an unknown alloy, but nothing of interest had been noted, no reactions felt by test subjects (what did that mean, he wondered now), no sign of any effect on them, and so it had been sent down to be filed away and forgotten, and he’d touched it and it had glowed.
The designs had glowed when he’d touched it, and the light faded only when he took his hand away or when someone else touched it -
When someone else -
Oh god.
“Wow. That’s a good look on you, Ianto,” Jack said, stopping abruptly in the doorway to the kitchen area.
“Pardon?” Ianto said blankly.
“No jacket, no vest, sleeves rolled up, tie loose,” Jack said, gesturing at him. “And top button - no, top two buttons undone. What’ve you been up to, Ianto Jones?”
“Some work in the archives,” Ianto replied.
“Sometimes I think you live down there,” Jack said, sidling closer. He reached out to run a hand along Ianto’s hip and across his back. “You need to relax more.”
“Is that an order, sir?” Ianto asked archly.
“It’s a suggestion,” Jack murmured. “If you want to take it up.” His hand dipped a little lower. Ianto tried not to jump. Or sigh, or lean into the touch, all of which took a great deal of self-control.
“Ianto?” Tosh asked, coming up to the kitchen. “I was wondering if I could get some coffee?”
Jack could move astoundingly quickly when he wanted to, Ianto mused. “Of course, Tosh,” he said. “I just made some, actually.”
“Thanks,” she said, opening the refrigerator and inspecting the contents. “Hey, what happened to your jacket?”
“Bit hot down in the archives,” Ianto said, pouring out a mug of coffee and adding the right amount of creamer and sugar. “I’ve been moving some things around. There are oat biscuits in the cabinet.”
“Brilliant,” Tosh exclaimed, shutting the refrigerator door in favour of finding the biscuits. “Oh, Jack, I was thinking of running the thing we found through the Hyperspectral Scanner. Might give us some idea of what it is.”
“Sure,” Jack said amiably, leaning against the counter. “It’ll at least tell us if it’s dangerous. Better than nothing.”
“What was it?” Ianto asked, offering Tosh her coffee. She took it with a grateful smile.
“Some sort of box,” Jack told him. “Definitely alien material - we did a few prelim tests at the site to ensure it was safe to move. Which it was, but we don’t know what’s inside it.”
“Hence the caution now,” Ianto filled in.
“Exactly,” Tosh said. “Want to come see it?”
“Why not,” Ianto said. “I could use a break.”
“If you’re admitting to that, then you definitely could,” Jack said with a grin. “Come on, before Owen decides to poke it with a stick to see what’ll happen.”
“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Ianto commented, and politely pretended not to notice Tosh’s badly-hidden giggles.
Owen, as it turned out, hadn’t poked the box with a stick. Not that it would have done much of anything if he had, Ianto thought as he surveyed the thing. The markings on the side of the box were clearly alien in origin, but he’d seen them before.
“Ah,” he said. “Jam Jar.”
The entire team looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “What?” Jack finally asked.
“Alien refrigerator,” Ianto explained. “Candy dubbed it the Jam Jar because what we found inside the first one looked a lot like strawberry jam.”
“Candy?” Gwen asked.
“A co - an ex-colleague,” Ianto said, and hoped that no one would comment on his stumble. Unbidden, the image of her face (always smiling, the thing about her, always with those white, slightly crooked teeth, the short, plump body, the pale skin that saw as little sunlight as he did, the sharp incisions across her head, the brain matter spilling out on the floor, the failed conversion) rose to mind.
“Was it actually jam?” Jack asked, a tad hurriedly.
“We weren’t about to eat it to find out,” Ianto told him. “Douglas suggested slipping it into Otto Schmidt’s sandwich to see what happened - he was a complete pain - but, alas, we never did follow through on that plan.”
“Wasn’t Schmidt the head of security?” Jack asked, raising an eyebrow. “Somehow I doubt you could have managed.”
“Oh, we did it once. Substituted his very mild paprika for a chilli powder that… well, it wasn’t mild,” Ianto told him. “He was spitting fire for days after.”
“Literally?” Tosh asked impishly.
“Very nearly,” Ianto deadpanned. “We did consider doing a little more, just to make the point, but we decided against having it potentially traced back to us.”
“What point?” Owen asked, turning the box over in his hands now that it was clear it wasn’t dangerous.
“They kept sending us improperly processed things,” Ianto said. “Candy and Holly both fell sick with some sort of alien flu, from an artefact that hadn’t been properly decontaminated before being sent for cataloguing. They seemed to be under the impression that robots did the filing, and precautions didn’t need to be taken for our safety.”
“So you put chilli in his food?” Tosh asked, doing an impressive imitation of Jack’s raised eyebrow.
“Oh, we had something less pleasant and decidedly less human in mind, at first,” Ianto told her.
“Beware the demons of filing,” Jack murmured, looking impressed and nervous at the same time. “You wouldn’t do anything like that to us, would you Ianto?”
“Now, sir, just because I handle the bulk of food and drink here doesn’t mean I’d stoop to such levels,” Ianto said earnestly. The team didn’t look reassured. “And on that note,” he continued. “I might get back to my work now.” He offered a smile all around, then turned and left.
Half an hour later, he came to the conclusion that perhaps he shouldn’t have been quite so hasty about getting back to the storage room. He’d managed a grand total of nothing. Focusing on the work, normally so soothing to him, was now nearly impossible. Unbidden, memories kept coming to the fore every time he read something that was personally familiar, and they triggered other memories, and more and more and more and Ianto finally gave up.
He closed the report that he’d been attempting to read and put his head down. Just for a while, he justified, just a small breather. His head hurt so badly.
“Oh, you absolute prat!” - Candy, whose real name was Candice, though she preferred her nickname.
“Well, it’s true, innit?” - Douglas, flashing that wide, little-boy grin that made everyone forgive him instantly. “Tell her, DT!”
- DT. That had been him. Deep Thought, that famous fictional computer. The running joke in the department, that he always knew everything, had the answer to all questions.
“Come on, you can’t expect me to believe that she agreed!” - Candy again.
“Would I lie?” - Douglas.
“In an instant!” - Cara, with whom he’d gotten along so well because she was the only other Welsh-speaker in the department (or that he knew in London). They’d driven their colleagues insane by speaking to each other in Welsh. The others always suspected that Ianto and Cara were gossiping about them without their knowing. In fact, they’d mostly talked about rugby and delighted in the increasingly frustrated looks on the others’ faces.
“I’d have to agree,” - Ianto, blandly.
- Douglas, clutching his heart and miming death. Laughter.
- Douglas, petrified, screaming as he was strapped into a conversion unit. Successfully converted. The mischievous nature, the jokes, the affection, all gone in a few terrifying moments. Like Lisa.
Lisa, his beautiful Lisa, so full of life and energy.
“I want to say something, but I’m really nervous about your reaction,” Lisa told him frankly. He paused, then put down his sandwich and folded his hands, giving her his undivided attention.
“Well, you can say it and if you don’t like how I react, you can either hit me or we can pretend the last five minutes never occurred,” he said with a completely straight face.
“Okay. I think we should move in together,” she said in a rush.
“Brilliant. I’ve been trying to figure out a way to ask you,” Ianto told her immediately.
“I know, it might be too soon but… wait, what?”
He couldn’t help but laugh at the pleased, yet stunned look on her face. After two weeks and some arguing over who had the nicer flat, they’d moved into Lisa’s place. She had a spare room with built-in bookcases. That sold it for Ianto.
“You do love old books, don’t you?” Lisa said affectionately.
“Any kind of book,” Ianto said. “And anything old. I like timeless things.”
“Get you a watch for your birthday then?” she asked.
“Oh, show some imagination,” Ianto said, mock-affronted.
“Really now?” she asked, brightening. Ianto thoughtfully considered the look in her eyes.
“Should I be nervous?”
“Should I be worried?”
Ianto jerked up, very nearly sending his current to-do pile of folders tumbling. An instant later, he regretted the abrupt move, as a sharp stab of pain went through the right side of his head. He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, trying to keep his breathing regular.
“About what, sir?” he asked, once he thought he had sufficient control of his voice.
“You don’t look too good,” Jack pointed out. His footsteps echoed, becoming louder as he approached. Ianto opened his eyes again, suppressing a wince as the light hit them.
“Slight headache,” he said. “It’ll pass, I’m sure.”
“I’m sure,” Jack repeated, sounding thoroughly unconvinced. “Owen’ll have painkillers.”
“I’d rather not medicate unnecessarily,” Ianto said. “I’ll take some later if it gets worse.”
Jack placed a hand on Ianto’s neck, rubbing gently at the tense muscles. “You’re all knotted up,” he murmured.
“Surprise,” Ianto said flatly.
Jack laughed quietly. “No, but the extent of it is,” he said, moving to stand behind Ianto and cupping his shoulders. With his thumbs, he pressed down hard on either side of the spine. Ianto yelped involuntarily.
“Easy, sweetheart,” Jack cooed. “It’ll get better in a minute.”
“Part-time masseuse, are you?” Ianto asked through gritted teeth.
“Nope. Once dated one, though,” Jack said offhandedly, rubbing slowly-widening circles into Ianto’s shoulders, keeping up the pressure and feeling Ianto gradually relax under his touch. “Does that count?”
“I’ll get back to you on that,” Ianto said, sighing in relief as the sharp pain began to fade slowly into something more tolerable. Jack kept up the massage for a few more minutes, then stopped and slid his hands around Ianto’s chest, pulling him back even as he leaned in.
“Tell you what,” he whispered into Ianto’s ear. “Hang around after the others go home and I’ll give you a proper massage. Oil and everything.” He nipped at a conveniently-located earlobe. “Yes or no?”
Ianto let his head fall back against Jack’s shoulder. There was absolutely no mistaking what Jack was offering. The warmth and sheer physicality of the other man was overwhelming. It felt like protection and safety.
Just a little physical relief.
He closed his eyes and said, “Yes.”
Eugene Jones. In another lifetime, Ianto thought, that could have been him. They already share(d) a surname. He remembered the awkwardness of secondary school, the never-fitting-in, the constant interest in things that no one cared about, being thought of as weird, the ostracising. He remembered barely scraping by in classes because he was never concerned with them, was always reading up on things outside of the curriculum and ignoring his actual school work. Because he’d hated the way his teachers looked through him, and if they couldn’t be fussed, why should he?
He wondered how Eugene had dealt.
“Death isn’t anything,” Jack said, his voice hard and insistent. “No pearly gates, no light at the end of the tunnel. That was just an echo of him.”
“He pushed Gwen out of the way of the car,” Ianto said, not agreeing or disagreeing, simply pointing out a fact.
“So there was enough energy there to manifest,” Jack replied dismissively. “And that used up all the remaining energy, didn’t it?”
“I suppose so,” Ianto agreed vaguely.
“Because what death is,” Jack said, “Is black. Just darkness, and a whole immensity pressing down on you. That’s what death is.”
“Do you think it’s different for you?” Ianto asked. “Since you can’t stay dead?”
“No,” Jack replied immediately. “I don’t think it’s any different for anyone else.” He stood up abruptly. “Yan, there’s something I want to show you.”
Ianto rose as well, picking up Jack’s greatcoat. Jack automatically moved into position and Ianto slipped the coat on for him, smoothing the lapels down. “You know I’ll go with you, sir,” he said mildly. “But are you certain you’re in quite the right frame of mind at the moment?”
Jack froze at that, staring at nothing as Ianto waited patiently beside him. Then, all at once, he seemed to sag, giving Ianto a tired smile as he did.
“No,” he acknowledged. “We should probably leave this till tomorrow.”
Ianto nodded. “As you wish.” He ran an appreciative hand over the greatcoat, feeling Jack shudder and tense under him. “In the meantime, though -”
Jack gave him a blinding grin, tugging his hands away and holding them tight. “C’mere - I don’t feel like going back to your place tonight.”
“Why, is it too messy for you?” Ianto asked, perfectly deadpan. They both knew his flat was clean and ordered, almost obsessively so. Jack had commented on that very fact multiple times before, and heaven knew he’d had opportunity to take it in - all their liaisons save the first had taken place at Ianto’s. It saved them the bother of erasing the security footage, and helped keep knowledge of the affair from their co-workers.
“Too far away,” Jack replied, letting go of Ianto’s hand just long enough to kick away a rug on his floor. Another moment’s effort got the newly-exposed manhole cover lifted, and Jack dropped down through it lightly. Ianto peered in cautiously and saw that the attached ladder led into a bedroom.
“You sleep under your office,” he said flatly as he climbed down.
“You can’t say you lot didn’t think I did anyway,” Jack said.
“We suspected you at least stayed close to base,” Ianto replied. “And we might have jokingly commented on how you have to be sleeping at the Hub. The key word there is ‘jokingly.’”
Jack rolled his eyes. “It’s more convenient this way, if the Rift goes off in the middle of the night,” he said. “Now - where were we?” He didn’t wait for a response before framing Ianto’s face in his hands and pulling him into a deep kiss. Evidently, the time for talking had ended.
Ianto returned the kiss aggressively, feeling somewhat relieved when Jack immediately went for his clothes, stripping him as quickly as possible. Despite the different location, nothing else had changed in their relationship. That was a good thing, he thought as Jack pushed him onto the narrow bed and climbed atop him. That meant he didn’t have to revise his views, that meant things were still safe.
Physical relief. That was all.
It was enough to keep the darkness, the cold, away.
“Welcome to Flat Holm,” Jack announced. He looked at Ianto as they trudged up the path. “I’ve told you what to expect. You sure you want to do this?”
Ianto met his gaze squarely, never faltering in his steps. “I’m not going to run screaming, Jack,” he said.
“Just so you know, I won’t think any less of you if you do,” Jack told him. “Ah, Angela - anything new to report?”
“Not this month, Captain,” Angela replied, looking Ianto over curiously. Her greying hair was pulled back in a low, professional bun, and she was dressed in practical slacks and a blouse.
“This is Ianto Jones,” Jack said. “He works with me. Ianto, Angela Corner, who more or less runs this place.”
“Pleasure, ma’am,” he said, offering his hand.
“All mine, I’m sure,” she said. Her handshake was surprisingly firm. “I presume you’ll be wanting the tour then, Mr Jones?”
Ianto glanced at Jack, who nodded.
“I believe so, yes,” he said.
The ‘tour’ didn’t take all that long. Ianto watched as the slightly better-off patients sat together in the recreation room, interacting somewhat absently with each other. Those who hadn’t been as lucky were alone in their rooms, in case they hurt someone else (themselves). Ianto stopped outside a Fischer, Naomi’s room.
“Want to go in?” Jack asked, deceptively mildly.
“Please,” Ianto said.
“She’s tried to kill herself before,” Angela cautioned. “We had to remove anything she could’ve used from the room.” She opened the door for him and he stepped through into a thoroughly uninteresting, sterile room.
Ianto’s eyes were fixed on the slight young girl on the bed. She couldn’t have been more than thirteen. She turned at their entry, but her eyes didn’t seem to register anything. Angela bustled over to a monitor by the side of the bed, checking on something that made no sense to Ianto. He slipped into a seat beside Naomi and placed his hand on the bed next to hers.
Long, long minutes passed. Ianto didn’t notice as Angela shared a few whispered words with Jack, then left the room. He paid no attention to the way Jack leaned against the door, taking himself out of Naomi’s view while still watching over Ianto.
“All teeth,” Naomi said suddenly. Her voice was hoarse, like she’d been screaming a long time. “Always teeth.”
“But not here,” Ianto murmured, his voice quiet and soothing, with a heavier Welsh lilt to it than Jack was used to.
“Could,” she insisted, and then put her hand over Ianto’s. Her eyes drifted shut in apparent contentment. “Mm. Warm.”
Ianto slowly turned his hand over so that he could hold hers properly, palm to palm. Her skin was cool and dry against his. Her mind felt very far away. “Do you get cold?” he asked.
“Inside,” she confided in a whisper. “All squirmy and icky.” She opened her eyes and smiled; for a brief moment, there was lucidity in her face. “I like you.”
Ianto smiled faintly. “And I you,” he said, and watched as the clarity faded from her and she grew still and unseeing once more.
“I have to go now, I’m afraid,” Ianto told her, as if she hadn’t completely frozen. He gave her hand the barest of squeezes. “I’ll see if I can’t come by and visit again some time soon.”
Jack waited until they’d left the island entirely before wrapping himself around Ianto in a hug. Ianto slipped his own arms around Jack’s waist, holding him there securely, letting Jack press tiny, appreciative kisses all down the line of his jaw.
“You’re perfect, you know that?” Jack breathed, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that familiar smile. Ianto smiled back, a tad shyly, but didn’t respond.
When they finally got back to the Hub, Jack brought Ianto down to his room and made love to him slowly, intently, as if memorising each moment, each expression that crossed Ianto’s face. It was a complete contrast to the hurried, desperate sex they’d had the night before, and despite his best efforts, Ianto clung to the feeling of being treasured. Even then, Jack’s arms weren’t enough to drive away the lingering memories.
He hid the tears in Jack’s shoulder. The next morning, he woke to an empty bed and a bright yellow post-it on his suit jacket. 26) Holds my secrets.
The SUV raced along the roads in its usual death-defying manner. Ianto held on grimly and chanted He hasn’t killed us yet, he hasn’t killed us yet to himself as Jack broke speed limits, screeched around corners, took a few decades off Ianto’s life, and finally skidded to a halt near the location of the Rift activity.
“There’s bloody nothing out here,” Owen grumbled as he jumped out of the car. Ianto followed a little less steadily, already plotting the remedial driving lessons he was going to sign Jack up for.
“Has to be something,” Jack pointed out as he locked the SUV. “Tosh?”
“About ten metres ahead of you,” Tosh reported over the comms.
“Like I said,” Owen said, waving his hand at the stretch of fields that lay before them. “Bloody nothing.”
“Could be something small,” Jack said pragmatically. “Ianto, got the scanner?”
Ianto dutifully held it up. Jack grinned and gestured for him to lead the way. Shoving his misgivings down, Ianto obediently took the lead, letting the scanner track the presence of alien life in the field. He half-expected to encounter crop circles.
“You’re right on top of it now,” Tosh said, and Ianto halted.
“That’s exactly what the scanner says,” he told Jack, who peered over his shoulder at the read-out. “So… where is it?”
“Could be a glitch in the system,” Owen suggested.
“No, it’s not,” Tosh countered immediately.
Jack frowned, crouching to peer at the ground. “Tosh, run the scan again. You sure it’s here? I don’t see anything.”
“Half a mo,” she said. They used the time to look around a little, but turned up nothing more interesting than insects. “Right where you are, guys, that’s what it says. Residual Rift energy’s fading fast though.”
Jack mumbled an oath as he got to his feet. “Okay. Alien, whatever you are - you came through the Rift and you’re in Cardiff, Wales, Earth, 21st Century. There’s no known way of returning where you came from. If you understand this, we can help house you here - we’re Torchwood, and we’ve got facilities set up for situations like this.” He paused expectantly. Ianto threw a questioning look at Owen.
“SOP,” Owen explained grudgingly. “Could be something hiding from us, so hopefully they hear that and come look us up for help later. If, you know, they’re not going to eat us all first.”
“You should know that the majority of humans are not aware of alien life,” Jack continued explaining to the field. “Would you like to return with us? We’ll work with you to find a way to let you live here comfortably.”
The field didn’t reply.
“Whole lot of nothing,” Owen complained as they drove back.
“So you’ve mentioned, Owen,” Jack said. “You wanted a horde of Weevils or something?”
Something cool touched Ianto’s ear and he instinctively brushed at it. There was nothing there. He stared at his hand for a moment, then at the window. Must have been the wind, he thought uneasily, and tried not to a) count the number of horror novels he’d read which used that rationalisation, and b) pay attention to the fact that the windows were closed.
Ianto spent the rest of the day in the archives, continuing on his one-man mission to reorganise all the Torchwood One records. His eventual goal (which he hadn’t shared with anyone yet - he didn’t want to hear the laughter and snide comments about when he’d give up) was to merge One and Three’s records completely, and enter everything into two separate databases. One would simply be an extension of the digital records they already kept; the second would be a search database to enable quick cross-referencing, and organising by different search parameters.
The problem with the physical records was that so many of the artefacts they had were of unknown provenance and use. Filing alphabetically was useless in that situation, hence the chronological method they used. But it wasn’t an effective way of finding specific information, which was something that had always frustrated Ianto. A dedicated search database would make things a lot easier to find - though of course, he personally thought that physical records still needed to be maintained instead of relying overmuch on computers. The best course of action was for them to use both together instead of relying solely on one. But just try and suggest to Tosh that computers weren’t the only solution to life! And of course, none of the team really had the same appreciation for words that Ianto did. He could just imagine Owen’s snide comments, Gwen’s bewilderment and unsubtle attempts to get out of the conversation, Jack’s outright (patronising) amusement.
He sighed and slid yet another folder into his ‘completed’ pile, and took a moment to rub at his tired eyes. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered.
There was a cold touch on his cheek, the barest hint of an emotion that wasn’t his, curiosity. Suddenly, he wasn’t tired any more.
“Hello?” he said cautiously, feeling an absolute fool for talking to empty air.
Something shimmered in front of him, and then abruptly resolved into being. It was a cloud. A bright orange cloud. A bright orange cloud the size of his head.
“Um,” Ianto said.
The cloud bobbed in the air.
“Can you… understand me?” he asked. The cloud bobbed again.
“Ah. Well, we might have a problem,” Ianto said. “I’m afraid I can’t understand you.”
The cloud sank a little and turned a purplish-grey. Ianto watched it in fascination. “You’re… upset?” he hazarded, and the cloud bobbed again, somewhat dejectedly. Or, Ianto thought, as dejected as a cloud could seem. He had to admit, the new colour suited its mood - oh.
“Wait… does the colour you are - reflect what you’re feeling?” Ianto asked slowly.
The front (he was assuming it was the front because it was facing him) of the cloud lifted up towards him, and the entire cloud gave a pleased little wiggle before bobbing again. Ianto tried very hard not to laugh.
“That’s something to go on,” he said. “We’ll figure it out. I suppose that was you in the field? You hitched a ride with us?”
Bob, bob.
“And,” Ianto said, getting up and pushing his chair in. “When I felt that emotion just then - was that you?”
Bob. The cloud floated up to Ianto’s face and bumped his cheek. Again, the cold touch, and a flash of interest-safety-protectiveness-worry-nervousness-affection.
“Ah,” Ianto said, watching as the cloud changed colours with every emotion he felt (orange-green-aqua-purplegrey-dullyellow-pink). “Well then. Let’s get up to Jack, shall we? He might have an idea on how to communicate better with you. In the meantime,” he continued. “Mind if I give you a name? Something I can call you by?”
An assenting bob.
“I don’t suppose you’d like… ah, Bob, would you?” Ianto asked.
The cloud turned a sickly yellow-green.
“No? All right then,” Ianto said, straight-faced. “How about… Andy? Paul? Charles?”
The cloud determinedly remained yellow-green.
“You’re a girl, aren’t you,” Ianto said resignedly. The cloud gave an enthusiastic bob.
“Right,” Ianto said. He opened the door to the Hub main and gestured for the cloud to go ahead of him. It bobbed in front of him happily, then paused and rotated slowly to look around. The rest of the team were congregated in front of Tosh’s workstation, laughing at something on the screen, and Ianto once again felt a stab of loneliness. “Kara?” he suggested. “Shania? Isolde? Clair? Misty?”
The cloud flared a bright orange, then hastily dissolved into nothing as Jack turned around.
“What’s that, Ianto?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “List of exes?”
“Just suggesting a few names,” Ianto said blandly, feeling a little touch of cool air on his neck and apprehension-worry-attachment-worry. “And Misty wins, it appears.”
“Names for who?” Gwen asked quizzically.
“Our newest resident,” Ianto said, and turned towards the coldness. “Oh come on, they’re going to think I’m talking to nothing.”
Indignation.
“Well, we can’t see you at the moment, can we?” Ianto said, very reasonably.
“Okay, mate,” Owen said slowly. “Why don’t you come down with me to the medical bay, eh?”
Ianto turned a severe look on the air next to him, and was suitably gratified to see Misty coalesce into existence, a very embarrassed shade of dull greyish-pink. She bobbed next to him uncertainly as the team exclaimed in surprise.
“Her name, as of now,” Ianto said, “Is Misty. She can understand us, but… well, is there a way to understand her, Jack?”
Jack exhaled heavily. “Translator only works with audible sounds within human hearing range,” he said. “Which, seeing as she’s pretty quiet…”
Misty turned purplish-grey and sank onto Ianto’s shoulder despondently.
“I’m guessing here - are you a Vixmextis?” Jack asked. Misty bobbed sadly.
“Vixmextis?” Ianto asked.
“I’ve only heard about the species,” Jack said. “Never met one before. Totally peaceful - not quite sentient, but fairly intelligent. The colours signal their emotional state, kind of like mood rings, and apparently if you’re a strong enough empath or telepath, you can feel the emotion they project. They’re from - well, quite a few planets away, and they’re not going to exist for about five hundred years yet.”
“She’s the only one of her kind now?” Ianto asked quietly.
“Looks it,” Jack sighed. Misty turned an even duller grey and nuzzled against Ianto sadly.
“She’s kind of cute,” Tosh ventured, smiling.
“For a floating ball of gas,” Owen snorted. Misty turned a dark red (indignation-anger) and rose from Ianto’s shoulder, zooming to hover over Owen. An instant later, something hard smacked him in the head, eliciting a pained yelp, and then Misty turned pale yellow and zipped back to snuggle into Ianto’s neck (satisfaction). Ianto watched as swirls of cheery pink (affection) appeared within the yellow and the two colours eddied without mixing.
“That was a bloody hunk of ice!” Owen howled. “Whaddaya mean, ‘peaceful’?!”
“She threw hail at you,” Gwen said in disbelief.
“Well, you did insult her,” Ianto pointed out pragmatically. Misty bobbed in enthusiastic agreement.
“Okay,” Jack said, clapping his hands together. Misty shrunk back a little, creeping behind Ianto and peering out over his shoulder. “Misty, seeing as you can understand us - you heard what I said in the field, right?”
A tiny bob.
“The Rift isn’t something we can control,” Jack said. “What we can do is make life easier for those who are accidentally drawn through it. You’ve got two options now. You’re capable of disappearing, so you could easily vanish into the world, so long as you stay under the radar and check back with us every so often. Or you could stay at one of our safe-houses - we can calibrate a room to be your favourite kind of environment.”
Misty slowly turned a lighter grey, and then swirls of light blue began to creep in.
“Option three,” Ianto said suddenly. “You could stay with me at my house.”
Misty immediately turned a vivid yellow.
“She seems to like that idea,” Jack said, raising an eyebrow.
“I like her,” Ianto said, shrugging. “I don’t suppose you know if she’ll need any special care, sir? Given our atmosphere, for instance?”
“Not as far as I know,” Jack said. “Our atmosphere’s actually better for them than their home world’s. More nitrogen, they like that.”
Misty bobbed happily.
“Plus, nitrogen’s what they feed off, and oxygen’s the waste product,” Jack continued. “You know, Vixmextis are usually kept as pets on their home world - congrats, you just got yourself the world’s easiest pet to keep.”
Misty turned a satisfied pale yellow.
Misty proved to be the ideal housemate. She didn’t seem to mind that Ianto had to spend long hours at the Hub each day, but always greeted him enthusiastically when he did get back. He’d told her that as long as she remained invisible, she could go out to explore, which she did while he was out. She was always home in time to welcome him back though, and the feeling of having someone (even an alien cloud) waiting for him was… pleasant. It had been a sickeningly long time since anyone had wanted to be around him like that. When he came back from his weekly solo trips to Flat Holm (he didn’t tell Jack about them), she was especially nice to be around.
Ianto’s only rules were that she wasn’t to enter the bathroom (ever), and that she had to have his permission before entering his bedroom. He needed some form of privacy in his house after all, especially given that she was intelligent. Fortunately, she had no problems with the rules, taking to tossing little pieces of ice at his door in a kind of knock when she wanted his attention.
With practice, Ianto became much better at sensing her, even without her touching him. He’d also memorised each colour she could turn, and the corresponding emotion, which meant that he got pretty good at guessing what she wanted to do at any given time. She was absolutely fascinated by his collection of old movies, and liked snuggling up with him to watch them (as well as a cloud could snuggle - he got used to the cool, dry touch on his skin). She was also an excellent listener, not least because he knew she wouldn’t be talking to anyone else, and he’d found himself telling her a little of how alone he always felt. She seemed to sympathise.
He learned through practical experience that ice wasn’t the only thing she was capable of generating. She took to showering what seemed suspiciously like flower petals on him when she thought he needed a bit of cheering up. It didn’t take her long to realise two things - one, that the flower stunt just meant Ianto had to sweep up and two, that Ianto was very fond of dark chocolate.
He kept finding little pieces of dark chocolate on his table thereafter. He wondered where they came from, but after finding a piece of wrapped Godiva chocolate on his bed-side table, decided he might be better off not asking.
By mid-November, she’d even learned to manipulate her shape. The first Ianto had known of her attempts was when she’d knocked on his bedroom door early one Sunday. He’d opened it to find a distinctly dog-shaped orange cloud hovering in front of him, radiating a definite sense of pride. She’d progressed quickly after that, and they added a strange sort of charades to their means of communication. She took well to the new method, using it to bully him into taking better care of himself.
“If I see another vegetable-shaped cloud,” he muttered as he poured coffee at the Hub. He couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips, though. Misty was a rather uncomplicated creature - she liked him, and therefore wanted him to be healthy and happy. He glanced over at the far corner of the room. “And yes, that means you.”
She resolved into being, shimmering a sheepish grey-pink.
“Whoa, brought your pet to work today?” Jack asked, raising an eyebrow as he entered.
“She seems to have followed me in,” Ianto replied. “I was just about to come up and ask if it was all right for her to stay.” He held up Jack’s mug in offering.
“Yeah, it’s okay,” Jack said with a shrug, accepting the coffee. He glanced at where the others were working, checking that no one was looking, then leaned in for a quick kiss. “She’s not the sort to get in the way, right?”
“Not at all,” Ianto replied. “Thank you, sir.”
Misty looked between Jack and Ianto, then quickly twisted into a question mark. It was a shape they’d figured out early on, for her to use when she was confused.
“Later,” Ianto promised, as Jack gaped at her.
“Been teaching her tricks?” he asked, impressed.
“She learned it on her own,” Ianto corrected him. Jack raised an eyebrow.
“Heard they were smart,” he said. “Didn’t think they were that smart.” He grinned at the cloud. “Well, stick around. Maybe you can take over from one of us eventually.”
Misty glowed with pleased embarrassment as she resumed her original form, and positively skipped over to Ianto.
“You’re going to get a big head,” he said reprovingly. In response, she swelled a little, then promptly collapsed back in on herself, quivering with what he’d figured out was laughter.
“Oh, you laugh now,” he said, shaking his head, but didn’t bother hiding the smile as he set the remaining mugs on a tray. “Just wait till you can’t get through a door, you’ll have swelled up that much.”
“Ianto,” Jack said, an odd note in his voice. Ianto turned around and then Jack’s mouth was on his, hot and demanding, and Ianto instinctively pulled him closer and tried to climb down his throat. Misty gave a little jump, bob and skip, then fled under the table.
They pulled apart only when air became an imperative. Ianto gasped, staring at Jack in bewilderment. “Not complaining,” he panted. “But what brought that on?”
“You look happy,” Jack explained, his eyes soft, and dipped his head for another kiss. This time it was gentle and sweet, and Ianto let himself melt into Jack’s hold. “You are, aren’t you?” he murmured when they finally separated again.
Ianto thought about it as Jack kissed a line down his throat. “I think I am,” he said, surprised at the realisation.
In retrospect, he should have known that saying it out loud was just asking for Murphy’s Law to kick into effect. A group of time-travellers came through the Rift from the past, and Ianto found himself having to create more new identities for them. He’d normally be the one to acclimatise them to the society they found themselves in, but for whatever reason, Gwen, Owen and Jack each took one of the time-travellers under their wings. With little else to do, he watched as Owen fell in love with Diane (what happened to the thing with Gwen?), Gwen became positively maternal over a somewhat-confused Emma, and Jack bonded with John. Oh, he still had to do the dirty work, of course (making him take them shopping near Christmas, honestly), but this time he wasn’t responsible for their well-being.
Diane left to try and find the Rift. Emma moved to London. John killed himself - in Ianto’s car.
Ianto wondered why it was that the others had chosen this one ill-fated group to take an interest in. Why not any of the aliens that came through the Rift? - though perhaps that was his answer there. These were humans, not aliens, and as open as Torchwood claimed to be, it was always easier for humans to relate to humans. He had his doubts about Jack’s reasons for wanting to look after John though… but then he didn’t pretend to be able to understand Jack’s motivations at the best of times.
Jack brought his car back, offered to buy him a new one, and left without waiting for a response. Ianto didn’t ask what he’d done with the body. Instead, he used the cleaning agents he usually reserved for the SUV and cleaned out the entirety of the car. Misty hovered by in attendance, alternately moving from grey to purplish-grey to aqua. Sadness-worry-protectiveness.
To finish off, Ianto drove to a car-wash and got them to clean it out again. There wasn’t any point in selling a perfectly serviceable car, he decided, and so he turned down Jack’s offer of a new car, much to Jack’s surprise. He could theoretically understand it; most people would be queasy about driving a car someone had died in, but it was hardly the first time Ianto had seen people die, had seen aliens and humans fail to adapt, and end up taking their own lives. This, tragic as it seemed to the others, wasn’t anything new. Wasn’t anything that wasn’t constantly happening in their safe-houses, in the little havens they’d set up for those aliens that were too obviously alien and could never be allowed into the human world. Didn’t anyone else realise that?
Of course not. That would require that they read the reports he filed. That would require them to take an interest. The cold from Lisa’s death, the cold that had begun to thaw, started taking over him again.
Misty was leaving him little presents of chocolate practically every day now. Once, he came home to a bouquet of chrysanthemums, rather than just petals. He put them in a vase and, just for a while, felt a little better.
His - thing - with Jack kept him feeling somewhat sane, but then Owen got caught up with the underground Weevil-fighting group and things got insane enough that sex was the last thing on Jack’s mind (for once). But it had been the only thing that kept Ianto from feeling like he was unravelling, and he was fast nearing a breakdown when Jack and Tosh were pulled through the Rift into 1941.
He froze inside. Everything he did, he did on autopilot. Get him back, get him back, his internal mantra, and the only time something broke him was when Owen’s words sliced to the core of him, deep into the ice, like the burn of frostbite.
In your sad, wet dreams, where you’re his part-time shag, maybe.
Is there any way I can earn your trust?
Show you how much you mean to me.
My something new. It could be you.
It’s the falling apart that hurts the most. But everything falls apart eventually.
(Make a threat like that, be prepared to follow through.)
Ianto didn’t regret the bullet as it tore through Owen’s shoulder.
Afterwards, once Owen had left in an ill temper (“Who do you think he fucked there?” he’d asked, not bothering to hide his delight at Ianto’s flinch.) and Gwen had gone home and Jack was brooding in his office, Ianto watched silently as Tosh packed up to leave.
“We met Captain Jack Harkness there,” she told him suddenly. He blinked.
“The real one,” she clarified. “Jack - our Jack - he told me that Jack Harkness isn’t his real name. He took it from the name of a soldier who’d died in the war. When we saw him… he was going to die the next day.”
Ianto made a sound he hoped resembled encouragement.
“They talked a lot,” Tosh said with a sad smile. “He seemed like a wonderful man - terrified of the opinions of the time, but brave enough to listen to Jack and go against them, you know?”
There were angels dancing at the Ritz.
Who do you think he fucked there?
Funny, Ianto thought dimly. He’d never before understood the phrase ‘to be seized by terror.’
“He actually asked Jack to dance, in front of all those people. I really - I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jack that happy,” Tosh confessed. “Especially when he kissed him, but by then the Rift was open and we had to leave.” She sighed despondently, turning a little to glance at Jack’s closed door. “I just wish there was something I could do for him. He was so in love… he’s really torn about it.”
Ianto took a deep breath. “Jack’s strong,” he said, his voice perfectly normal. “It’s hard, but he’ll be able to get through this.” He smiled slightly. “The real Jack Harkness - he sounds like a good man. At least Jack - and you - had the chance to meet him, if only for a brief time.”
Tosh smiled tremulously. “Yes, I suppose,” she whispered. “Thanks, Ianto.” She shouldered her bag and turned. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“Good night,” Ianto said, and started his usual nightly checks on the equipment, powering everything down and ensuring that only the most important monitors remained on standby. That done, he looked over at Jack’s office. The lights in it had gone out; Jack had gone to bed without a word.
Ianto left, locking up behind him. When he got home, he went straight to bed, letting Misty curl on the pillow next to him. He didn’t cry.
“Lisa a ddoi di i’m danfon i,” Ianto sang quietly. “I roi fy nghorff mewn daear ddu?”
He finished off the last of the bottle and shakily opened another. “Love,” he told Misty. “Is utterly over-rated.” He looked at his fresh bottle contemplatively. “All it does is hurt you.”
Misty radiated nervousness and worry at him.
“It was just supposed to be physical,” Ianto complained petulantly. “Not -” he gestured grandly, and accidentally knocked over a couple of empty bottles. They fell to the carpeted floor, but thankfully didn’t break. The clock ticked on quietly, proclaiming the time to be half past two that morning. “Not like this.”
He knocked back half the bottle.
“Stupid,” Ianto said. “Me. Stupid me. My fault, always is. Can’t be loved, it goes wrong.” He paused, then downed the rest of the beer in a few long swallows. Misty sank to partially hide behind the table as he set down the empty bottle and picked up another.
“Always breaks,” he whispered, and put the bottle back and curled up on his couch and tried not to cry.
Lisa, I miss you so much.
It was her that he saw, and yet not.
Because it wasn’t her, of course, it wasn’t, it couldn’t be, his Lisa was - his Lisa was - (say it, say it) dead. And so it couldn’t be her, but it looked like her and the tears stung his eyes as he remembered.
Want to get a drink together? - It’s been so long since I’ve let someone in like this. - I think it was your eyes that caught me. - Is there anything you don’t know? - How you feel about me. - I love you. - I think we should move in together - Come home with me for Christmas, I want you to meet my family. - That ring, please. - You taught me to smile again. - I love you. - Don’t leave me. - I need you, please god, whatever it takes, I’ll do anything - love you, love you, love you, come back to me -
Owen left to open the Rift. Open the Rift, Lisa whispered, and Ianto ran to help him. Because if there was a chance, the slightest chance, that he’d get someone back in his life who understood him, who cared about him, who didn’t dismiss him out of hand even when fucking him, then he was going to take it.
Jack knows what he’s doing. What if he’s right? What if this won’t work?
Jack, with holes in his head and chest and Ianto knew, knew that Jack wouldn’t stay dead, but he couldn’t get rid of the paralysing fear, what if, what if -
They opened the Rift. Jack was right.
(Ianto didn’t want to think about it.)
He slept under Jack’s coat, never longer than an hour or two before he woke drenched in sweat, a scream trapped in his throat. Because somehow, somewhere along the way, he’d gone and fallen in love with Jack, and even the promise of getting Lisa back didn’t matter when he thought about the betrayed (again) look in Jack’s eyes. Jack would wake up, he had to believe that, but when he did, what would he do? This was the second time Ianto had let him down so very terribly, and this time Ianto didn’t think he could forgive himself - so why should he expect Jack to?
When he looked up and saw Jack standing in the Hub, hugging Tosh, his mind blanked. What to say, what to do, he’ll never need me, never want me again, Owen was so right -
Jack ignored his hesitantly outstretched hand and pulled him into a tight hug. Ianto could feel the hard line of his body pressed against his, achingly, comfortingly solid against him as he curled his fists in Jack’s shirt like a small child seeking reassurance, not wanting to let go as Jack pulled back a little and then - oh.
He tasted the forgiveness in the kiss and was actually glad when Jack let go of him to go to Owen. He needed the time to pull himself together, and so he offered to run to the shops to get some drinks for everyone. Tosh and Owen joined him, which wasn’t at all a surprise. None of them were inclined to talk so he mulled over the idea of telling Jack - of begging him for forgiveness and a chance to make things right because now he knew, he knew what Jack meant to him, and even if Jack would outlive him, he still wanted to give Jack everything he had left. Whatever it took, whatever Jack needed, everything that was within his capabilities, he wanted to give to him. He would tell him, Ianto decided, when the others had gone home, and then he’d let Jack decide what he wanted to do, and he’d abide by Jack’s wishes, whatever they were.
They returned to the Hub and Ianto’s world came crashing down around him again.
Part Three