Fic; Chaos
Title: Chaos
Rating: T
Word count: 977
Characters: Ianto, Jack
Timeline/spoilers: Post-Cyberwoman
Summary: Everything in his flat had been moved.
Challenge: Trust issues.
Everything in his flat had been moved.
Ianto could tell, even where someone had clearly tried to put things back as they’d been found. His books were all crooked on the shelf rather than neatly lined up; his bed was made in a different way; the mugs on the mug tree were in the wrong order.
He stood and stared at them, the striped and spotted mugs all jumbled together, and tried to gather his thoughts together, gather his wits and take control of one of the few things he could still control.
Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.
At last he found the strength, to stumble forward from the kitchen doorway. He almost fell against the counter, and he reached out to the mugs, took them from the wooden mug tree, rearranged them until they were in the correct positions.
There.
There was blood on the cuff of his shirt, and he looked at it for a while, not entirely able to process what he was seeing. At last he frowned, unbuttoned his shirt and went to the washing machine. He bent to put the soiled shirt into the machine - and stopped, his gaze caught by a small, black device, poorly-concealed behind his toaster. A red light blinked from above the small lens. It took him a moment to realise that perhaps whoever had placed it there hadn’t meant to conceal it.
Inhale, exhale, Ianto told himself. Blood-stained shirt into the washing machine, powder into the drawer, a cupful of stain-removing powder added for good measure. He went to the sink and washed his hands, one pump of the soap dispenser, hands washed with medical precision.
He dried his hands on a tea towel and went to stand just inside the living room, looking around at his displaced things. Panic rose, a fluttering in his chest, the beginnings of hyperventilation.
Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.
There was another camera underneath the television, glaringly obvious on top of the DVD player. He ignored it; there were more pressing things to think about. His books were wrong on the shelf, his films were scattered across the sofa. Order. He had to recreate his order or he would -
Inhale. Exhale. Repeat until he could grasp that calm, that elusive calm that had completely escaped him during this long, awful night.
He couldn’t think about that; instead he perched on the edge of the sofa and started organising his DVDs. A red light blinked on the camera - motion activated, he thought, so he could be followed around his flat. It should have upset him, made him angry, but all he felt was an all-encompassing panic. His flat was chaotic; his life was the same. He had to set things in order or -
A knock at the door disturbed him, and he jumped a little, glanced again at the camera underneath the television, and then he slowly stood up, went to the front door and opened it.
The Captain’s coat had a stain on it, he noticed. It looked like blood. That ought to bother him, more than just the sight of something messy, something out of order.
That bothered Ianto, the out-of-place stain on the coat that should be pristine, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He looked at Jack, just for a moment, and then he turned and went back into the living room, back to organising his films.
“Okay, here’s how it’s going to be,” Jack said, and he was crowding the room, making him feel even more out of control. “There are cameras in every room. You don’t cover them, you don’t try to disconnect them. If you go out, you send me a text with where you’re going and what time you’ll be back. If you’re delayed -” Jack cut himself off, and Ianto paused, fingers lightly grasping a DVD case. “What are you doing?”
Ianto licked his lips, tasted blood and almost wondered why.
“Sorting,” he said, and he looked up to see a frown on Jack’s face. “Whoever searched my flat left things out of order,” he enlarged. “I need to fix it.”
“Fix - Ianto, do you understand what’s happening here?”
“Yes,” said Ianto, and he resumed his sorting. “I need to - I have to put things back where they belong.”
“Ianto…” Jack fell silent, and Ianto continued sorting. “Ianto, what will happen if things don’t go back where they belong?” Ianto’s throat tightened and he gripped the DVD cases hard. “Well, that explains a lot,” Jack murmured. “Ianto, I’m not going to stop you sorting stuff out, but can we just…talk for a minute first?”
“Tell you where I’m going, leave the cameras where they are,” Ianto said, not looking up. “Are there cameras in the bathroom?”
“Yes.”
Ianto breathed, in and out, counting to keep his breathing even. There was no reason to resent this intrusion of privacy; he had earned Jack’s distrust. It wasn’t something he could control. Life was too big, too messy, and he had made an almighty mess of it.
He breathed around the panic, stood up and started taking his films back to the shelf. He couldn’t control life, but he could control his flat. Here everything could be ordered and organised - controlled.
The camera watched him; Jack watched him. At last the films were in order, and Ianto looked around to find the next thing to organise. The books had to be straightened on the bookcase, and he went to do that, stopped only when Jack stepped in front of him.
“Text me if you go anywhere,” he said. “And I’m serious about the cameras.”
“Yes, sir,” said Ianto, and he glanced again at the camera under the television.
“Get some sleep,” Jack advised then. “You look like hell.”
He left, and Ianto closed his eyes as some of the chaos left his flat with the Captain.
Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.
Rating: T
Word count: 977
Characters: Ianto, Jack
Timeline/spoilers: Post-Cyberwoman
Summary: Everything in his flat had been moved.
Challenge: Trust issues.
Everything in his flat had been moved.
Ianto could tell, even where someone had clearly tried to put things back as they’d been found. His books were all crooked on the shelf rather than neatly lined up; his bed was made in a different way; the mugs on the mug tree were in the wrong order.
He stood and stared at them, the striped and spotted mugs all jumbled together, and tried to gather his thoughts together, gather his wits and take control of one of the few things he could still control.
Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.
At last he found the strength, to stumble forward from the kitchen doorway. He almost fell against the counter, and he reached out to the mugs, took them from the wooden mug tree, rearranged them until they were in the correct positions.
There.
There was blood on the cuff of his shirt, and he looked at it for a while, not entirely able to process what he was seeing. At last he frowned, unbuttoned his shirt and went to the washing machine. He bent to put the soiled shirt into the machine - and stopped, his gaze caught by a small, black device, poorly-concealed behind his toaster. A red light blinked from above the small lens. It took him a moment to realise that perhaps whoever had placed it there hadn’t meant to conceal it.
Inhale, exhale, Ianto told himself. Blood-stained shirt into the washing machine, powder into the drawer, a cupful of stain-removing powder added for good measure. He went to the sink and washed his hands, one pump of the soap dispenser, hands washed with medical precision.
He dried his hands on a tea towel and went to stand just inside the living room, looking around at his displaced things. Panic rose, a fluttering in his chest, the beginnings of hyperventilation.
Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.
There was another camera underneath the television, glaringly obvious on top of the DVD player. He ignored it; there were more pressing things to think about. His books were wrong on the shelf, his films were scattered across the sofa. Order. He had to recreate his order or he would -
Inhale. Exhale. Repeat until he could grasp that calm, that elusive calm that had completely escaped him during this long, awful night.
He couldn’t think about that; instead he perched on the edge of the sofa and started organising his DVDs. A red light blinked on the camera - motion activated, he thought, so he could be followed around his flat. It should have upset him, made him angry, but all he felt was an all-encompassing panic. His flat was chaotic; his life was the same. He had to set things in order or -
A knock at the door disturbed him, and he jumped a little, glanced again at the camera underneath the television, and then he slowly stood up, went to the front door and opened it.
The Captain’s coat had a stain on it, he noticed. It looked like blood. That ought to bother him, more than just the sight of something messy, something out of order.
That bothered Ianto, the out-of-place stain on the coat that should be pristine, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He looked at Jack, just for a moment, and then he turned and went back into the living room, back to organising his films.
“Okay, here’s how it’s going to be,” Jack said, and he was crowding the room, making him feel even more out of control. “There are cameras in every room. You don’t cover them, you don’t try to disconnect them. If you go out, you send me a text with where you’re going and what time you’ll be back. If you’re delayed -” Jack cut himself off, and Ianto paused, fingers lightly grasping a DVD case. “What are you doing?”
Ianto licked his lips, tasted blood and almost wondered why.
“Sorting,” he said, and he looked up to see a frown on Jack’s face. “Whoever searched my flat left things out of order,” he enlarged. “I need to fix it.”
“Fix - Ianto, do you understand what’s happening here?”
“Yes,” said Ianto, and he resumed his sorting. “I need to - I have to put things back where they belong.”
“Ianto…” Jack fell silent, and Ianto continued sorting. “Ianto, what will happen if things don’t go back where they belong?” Ianto’s throat tightened and he gripped the DVD cases hard. “Well, that explains a lot,” Jack murmured. “Ianto, I’m not going to stop you sorting stuff out, but can we just…talk for a minute first?”
“Tell you where I’m going, leave the cameras where they are,” Ianto said, not looking up. “Are there cameras in the bathroom?”
“Yes.”
Ianto breathed, in and out, counting to keep his breathing even. There was no reason to resent this intrusion of privacy; he had earned Jack’s distrust. It wasn’t something he could control. Life was too big, too messy, and he had made an almighty mess of it.
He breathed around the panic, stood up and started taking his films back to the shelf. He couldn’t control life, but he could control his flat. Here everything could be ordered and organised - controlled.
The camera watched him; Jack watched him. At last the films were in order, and Ianto looked around to find the next thing to organise. The books had to be straightened on the bookcase, and he went to do that, stopped only when Jack stepped in front of him.
“Text me if you go anywhere,” he said. “And I’m serious about the cameras.”
“Yes, sir,” said Ianto, and he glanced again at the camera under the television.
“Get some sleep,” Jack advised then. “You look like hell.”
He left, and Ianto closed his eyes as some of the chaos left his flat with the Captain.
Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.