Fic: Five Complaints...
Five complaints that Ianto Jones has thought about registering concerning Torchwood (and one that he did)
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: R
Words: 4400
A/N: It was brought to my attention that I'd never attempted the 'Five Ways That Such-and-Such' format and... well, this pairing just intrigues the heck out of me. Crashing around behind the scenes for a wide swath of the first season. (Spoilers for S1)
*
Sexual Harassment
The second week after his transfer to Torchwood Three, Ianto was still training himself not to flinch anytime that somebody called his name. ‘Somebody’ being either Jack or Toshiko, of course, as Suzie largely ignored him and Owen scoffed and rolled his eyes and pointed out that they’d somehow muddled along without a butler before now. Fortunately, people seemed to credit his jumpiness to residual trauma from the events that had gutted Torchwood One, if the rather unsubtle gossip was to be believed. For all their technology and experience and (in particular cases) almost supernatural charisma, nobody suspected a thing.
Nonetheless, at least a part of Ianto’s thoughts lie constantly in a certain hidden room in Sub Level Four and it was understandable if he was a little distracted. Perfectly understandable that he should round the corner without watching where he was going and nearly run right into Jack, Owen, and the large hissing chained thing that they were manhandling towards the vaults.
“Heads up, Jeeves!” Owen yelled. Ianto looked up automatically and was immediately rewarded for his efforts with a face full of something warm that tingled on contact with his skin. He yelped and tried his best to get out of their way while scrubbing at his eyes; he’d never been spat on by an alien at Torchwood One and he was probably blinded for life now and it was only his second week here…
Things only worsened when he opened his eyes and discovered that, although he hadn’t actually been blinded, Owen had dropped his end of the chain, allowing the alien to tear free of Jack’s grasp and make a break back down the hallway. And before he could even form the thought that this was the absolute worst that the situation could possibly get, Owen had launched himself at Ianto, pinning him against the wall with his body and, god help them both, grinding.
“I want you now,” Owen informed him huskily, taking full advantage of Ianto’s mouth dropping open by thrusting his tongue into it, kissing him violently while grabbing at Ianto’s belt.
The only reasonable solution was a hard knee to the crotch, which Ianto executed with panicky gusto.
“What the hell was that?” he exclaimed, and shoved Owen away from him when the man doubled over with a groan.
Jack… trusted leader, supposed voice of reason around this madhouse… was nearly doubled over himself, laughing so that he could hardly speak. He grabbed Owen (who was already feebly starting towards Ianto again) by the collar.
“Defense mechanism,” Jack explained with a wild grin. “Go wash up, you’ll be fine. Owen, with me. We have to catch it again.” He had a white-knuckled grip on the doorframe behind him… as if he were holding more than just Owen back.
“Right,” Ianto said, and fled without hesitation.
By the time that Ianto had finished attempting to scrub his skin off in the communal washroom, the creature had been returned to the vaults (now muzzled for safety’s sake) and Owen had retreated to the autopsy room, scowling at anyone foolish enough to venture near. Ianto crept past, seeking refuge at the coffee station and finding slight consolation in not being the only humiliated party here.
“So, welcome to Torchwood Three,” Jack commented, coming up the stairs to join him. His sleeves were rolled up and he somehow managed to look only stylishly mussed after a full afternoon of alien wrangling. Ianto forgave himself for noticing. It was difficult to not notice those sorts of things about Captain Jack Harkness.
“The greeting committee’s a bit enthusiastic here,” Ianto said, fussing with nothing in particular on the serving tray. “Thank you for… intervening, sir.”
“Oh, you looked like you had it under control,” Jack said, clearly fighting to stay serious. “It’s the Sushana’s last line of defense, a high concentration of pheromones in the saliva. She spits, whoever’s trying to capture it gets a little preoccupied, and off she goes.”
“As demonstrated,” Ianto agreed.
Jack nodded. “You should count yourself lucky. Some people will pay almost anything for a couple ounces of Sushana saliva. All sorts of interesting uses, as you can imagine.”
Ianto stared for a few seconds before he realized that he was being teased. “Pheromone cologne,” he decided weakly. “Wonderful. I should’ve wrung out my tie.”
Jack’s mouth twitched and then he clasped Ianto’s shoulder. “I think you’re going to do just fine here, Ianto Jones,” Jack told him, leaning in with that dizzying movie star smile of his. “Like I said: welcome to the team.”
*
Mental Anguish
Ianto lay on his back, the chill of the concrete floor cutting through his clothing. The shivering had stopped a few minutes ago and the cold was beginning to grow painful, but he refused to move. He didn’t deserve to move. This was the life that he’d sentenced Lisa to: a cold grey hell, alone in an empty room. It was only fair that he got a taste of it.
He had begun to wonder if he’d simply been torturing her, making her suffer by refusing to give up hope for so long.
“You know this is incredibly unhealthy,” Jack said from the doorway.
Ianto tried to look without moving his head. He couldn’t see Jack from this position. God, her field of vision had been so limited. He should have thought to put something on the ceiling for her, a favorite painting or even some sort of small television. Not that she’d ever been much for television, but it would’ve been something…
“Ianto.”
“I’m not doing anything wrong,” he said quietly. (The usual ‘sir’ stuck in his throat and wouldn’t come. He imagined Jack wouldn’t fault him a dropped honorific or two.)
Jack entered his line of sight, unsmiling. Ianto closed his eyes. He heard Jack crouch down next to him and wondered if he was about to be fired at last. He knew that he should probably be more concerned; this damned job was all he had left.
“I think you should go home,” Jack said.
Ianto considered the prospect without opening his eyes. “Is that an order?”
“If it was, I probably would’ve said ‘And that’s an order’,” Jack decided. “Let’s call it a strong recommendation.”
Ianto concentrated on his breathing. In and out… She’d been so excited when they’d managed to get her off the machines at last. It had been the beginning of the end, but her smile couldn’t possibly have been anything but real. Could it?
“Okay,” Jack said. “Your call.”
There was a rustle of material and the warm weight of Jack’s coat fell over Ianto’s body. Jack’s fingers ghosted over his cheek and then Ianto was alone in Lisa’s room again. He opened his eyes to make sure that Jack had really departed before letting himself cry, loathing himself for finding even an iota of comfort in Jack’s presence.
The next time he went down to her room, there was a padlock on the door and a handwritten note: Sorry.
*
Insufficient Danger Pay
The drive back into the city felt like it lasted for days. Gwen, propped up on either side by Owen and Tosh in the back seat, gasped quietly each time the SUV hit a bump in the road, but there was some sort of unwritten rule that Torchwood always took care of their own, so they were driving back together. Ianto rested his head against the side window, savoring the feeling of the cool glass against his bruises.
“Jack, keep him awake,” Owen murmured from the back. “He’s probably concussed all to hell.”
“I am awake,” Ianto said, opening his eyes. And I’m not concussed, he added silently, I’m tenderized. He was struck with the memory of his mother at the kitchen counter bringing a wooden mallet sharply down on a bloody piece of steak between two sheets of wax paper. His stomach turned and he focused his attention on Jack instead, watching him drive. His hands were too tight on the wheel and the corners of his mouth were turned down in an unconscious frown as he stared at the road ahead. One of the tires dipped into a pothole and Jack winced, even before Gwen hissed in pain.
Ianto knew that Jack hadn’t meant for it to go anything like this. It was supposed to be… how had he put it to Ianto?... a break from the grind, a nice chance to get out of the office. And underneath that, it should’ve been a way of putting the disaster with Jasmine and the faeries behind them. (“You know, you’re the only one who’ll look me in the eye today, Ianto.” “I’m… familiar with the feeling, sir.”)
Needless to say, setting them up to become entrees on a cannibal village’s menu hadn’t been part of the plan.
“Well,” Ianto said, sitting up a little straighter, “I don’t know about the rest of you, but this has been the worst team-building exercise that I’ve ever participated in.”
Owen snorted and Gwen giggled and even Tosh, still visibly trembling, managed a lopsided smile. Jack just shook his head but shot Ianto a sideways look of gratitude a moment later. The rest of the drive back was a bit less uncomfortable.
Every time that Ianto started to drift off, Jack reached over to touch his knee, gently bringing him back.
*
Unreasonable Overtime
Even at Torchwood One, Ianto had never been promised regular hours, but he’d been awake and on duty for just shy of two full days now as the others came and went in shifts. Jack had been working straight through as well, but it wasn’t as if he was going to die of exhaustion anytime soon, and (although it bordered on blasphemy to admit it) the miracles of coffee could only do so much after a certain point. But every breakthrough on this case only seemed to lead to another eternity of work.
First, there had been Gwen’s accidental discovery that the ‘invisible’ aliens which they’d been tracking weren’t actually invisible at all, but merely bore an uncanny resemblance to the common wood pigeon. And then, of course, they’d learned that there actually were a fair number of common wood pigeons inhabiting the area where the disappearances had taken place, upon which Jack’s best interrogation techniques weren’t going to do a damned thing. (Ianto tried not to think about that bit too hard. The image of Jack looming over their cooing captive and grimly promising that they had ways of making it talk was liable to send Ianto into hysterics that there’d be no coming back from at this point.)
But it was finally coming to a close now, the aliens identified and subsequently eliminated after Tosh had quickly jury-rigged a scanner for field use, all the victims accounted for, and nothing left but the clean up. Which could, if there was any sort of decency in the world, be put off until Ianto had stolen at least a few hours of sleep. He was actually dizzy with exhaustion by now and just keeping his eyes open was proving to be a Herculean task.
“Ladies and gentlemen, once again, Cardiff has been saved,” Jack announced, flipping the case file closed and tossing it with finality onto the conference room table. He was actually starting to look a bit ragged himself, a relatively rare occurrence. “Humankind thanks you. Now get the hell out of here and don’t let me see you again until Monday.”
They were heading for the door en masse almost before Jack had finished speaking, Gwen resignedly moaning that Rhys was going to raise hell and Owen swearing (with a disturbing lack of sarcasm) that any bloody pigeon to cross his path today would meet a violent end strictly on principle. Ianto stumbled over his own feet as he moved to follow them.
“Hey,” Jack called after him.
Ianto turned and plastered on a pleasant expression, silently praying that this wouldn’t take long. “Me, sir?”
“Did I mention that you’re not driving? Besides, someone has to help with me the paperwork on this mess,” Jack told him. “We’ll get it done tonight. It’ll only take a few hours.”
Ianto bit his tongue, swallowing a wail of protest. The man was a maniac. A sadistic, unreasonable, smiling maniac. “I’ll…” Ianto gestured aimlessly for a moment. “I’ll get a pen. I can take care of it, sir. You should really get some rest.”
Jack’s smile faded. He pushed himself away from the table and walked over, staring in a way that made Ianto want to squirm. “There’s a fine line between dedication and madness, Ianto.” Jack put his hands on Ianto’s shoulders solemnly. “This is the wrong side of that line.”
Ianto blinked. “Well, that was a bit cruel,” he said.
Jack chuckled and slid his arm around Ianto’s shoulders, steering him out the door. “I didn’t think you were actually going to agree to it.”
“Where are we going?” Ianto asked, half-closing his eyes and fighting the automatic urge to lean against Jack. Jack was just as exhausted as he, probably even more so. The warmth of Jack’s body certainly wasn’t helping matters.
“I was serious about not letting you behind a wheel,” Jack said, “You’re staying here until you’ve slept.”
On top of his game, Ianto would’ve figured out what was happening here at least a few minutes ago. When it finally hit him, they were already moving into Jack’s office. “We’re going to your bedroom,” Ianto blurted out stupidly.
Jack’s look was unreadable. “Is that a problem?”
For sleep, Ianto corrected himself. Just a bed, for a bit of blessed sleep. “Nope,” he said. “Just an observation.”
Jack let go of him, moving behind the desk to pull open the trapdoor that Ianto knew about but had never dared to open. “It’s more comfortable than the vaults. Quieter, too.” He stopped too abruptly and Ianto guessed what he’d been about to say before he’d censored himself.
“And better looking company?” Ianto finished for him, raising an eyebrow.
Jack grinned. “You’re the one who said it. Come on.” He turned to head down the ladder, his movements just the slightest bit clumsy.
Ianto followed him, knowing full well that he wouldn’t even have been able to manage the ladder without the sudden burst of adrenaline rushing through him. Jack was there at the bottom to steady him with a hand against his back and Ianto suddenly didn’t have the slightest clue where to look. Gaping around the place was his first instinct, but knowing how fiercely Jack guarded his privacy, that wouldn’t do at all. But when he looked at Jack… god, he could feel himself giving much too much away at such close range. So he looked at the wrinkles in Jack’s shirt and… and now he was in Jack Harkness’s bedroom thinking about fucking ironing.
He made some sound (an aborted laugh, a choked off sob) and realized that he was still clutching the ladder railing with one hand.
“Still okay?” Jack asked.
“Just tired,” Ianto said, releasing the ladder and glancing up. Jack looked so serious that it was easy to find a smile. “Although my boss isn’t making me do paperwork, so that’s a plus.”
“Wise guy,” Jack said, and reached out to take Ianto’s jacket, sliding it off his shoulders and laying it aside on a small dresser. And then Jack started on the buttons of his waistcoat and Ianto’s mouth promptly went dry.
“How undressed are we getting, approximately?” he asked.
“How wrinkled do you want to get?” Jack replied, half-smiling. “It’s up to you. We’re just sleeping here, Ianto. If you’re interested in something more than that, talk to me when I haven’t spent the last day trying to scare information out of pigeons.”
Ianto remembered how to breathe properly again and nodded a bit sheepishly, letting Jack tug off his waistcoat. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, and unknotted his tie. This was familiar ground now; he could watch Jack slip off his braces and think ‘yes, he’s extremely attractive’ and not do anything about it. He’d been doing that for some time now.
Although watching Jack shrug out of his shirt and strip off the tee-shirt beneath it was certainly something new. Ianto concentrated very hard on his own buttons.
“You realize you’re not actually supposed to know that this room is here, right?” Jack commented, sitting down on the edge of the small bed and leaning back on his hands. If Ianto didn’t know better, he’d think the man was posing for him.
“I know plenty of things,” Ianto said, unable to figure out how to get out of his shirt without feeling like he’d somehow gotten involved in a striptease and too tired to really care. He pulled it off, already shivering, and laid it with his jacket. “With all due respect, Torchwood One’s evaluation process was a bit more rigorous than yours.”
“You calling me biased?”
“Just shallow, sir,” Ianto said, and smiled when Jack laughed. Ianto toed out of his shoes, setting them neatly beside the base of the ladder and moving to the bed. It was a true testament to just how long he’d been awake that the bed itself was almost more appealing than its present occupant.
“On that note, I’m loving the stubbled look on you,” Jack murmured, still just watching him.
“Well, you’re very sleep-deprived,” Ianto said, and knelt to untie Jack’s boots, since the man obviously didn’t intend to do it himself. It was tricky work, his hands clumsy with fatigue, and his eyes started to drift shut about halfway through the second boot. His forehead touched Jack’s knee as his head dipped, and Jack inhaled sharply. Ianto paused, then brushed his cheek just lightly against Jack’s thigh, listening to Jack’s breath catch. He tugged the bootlaces loose by feel, wrapping his fingers around Jack’s ankle as he pulled the boots off and set them aside before looking up. Jack didn’t look quite so studiously casual now and Ianto was vaguely reassured that he wasn’t the only one at sea here.
“Come here,” Jack said, already pulling Ianto to his feet, and there was a sudden and shocking abundance of skin-on-skin contact. “You’re shivering. Get under the covers.”
There’s a fine line between shivering and shaking, Ianto thought. And this is the wrong side of that line. He’d had stupider ideas than getting into bed with a half-naked Jack on the promise that nothing would happen, but not many. And funny enough, it wasn’t Jack that he didn’t trust to demonstrate due restraint in this situation.
But he let Jack lay him down just the same, simply too bloody tired to think this through. He shifted over to make room for Jack, watching through half-closed eyes as Jack fussed with something next to the bed and doused the lights. The mattress dipped as Jack lay down next to him and Ianto was already reaching, hands sliding over warm bare skin, curling close, everything inevitable in the dark.
“Say the word,” Jack murmured, his voice blurry with sleep, long fingers tracing patterns over Ianto’s side. “You say the word, Ianto, and we’ll do this sometime.”
Always suspected it would come to this, Ianto thought, mostly unconscious already. I’m sleeping with the boss.
*
Flagrant Disregard for Proper Methods of Communication
Jack quirked an eyebrow at him over the autopsy table, barely noticeable, and flashed a bit of dimple.
Later? Soon?
Ianto ignored him, vaguely wondering how Jack’s brain had gotten from the translucent tentacled thing that Owen was in the process of dissecting to afternoon quickies before deciding that he was better off letting that remain an eternal mystery. They had all of two hours left before the rest of the team went home, so Jack could bloody well exercise a bit of patience. It would be good for him. He snuck a glance over to see if the hint had been taken and met narrowed blue eyes.
Are you ignoring me?
So Ianto ignored him a bit more pointedly, focusing his attention on the disturbing enthusiasm with which Owen had begun hauling slimy bits out of the alien. Of course, there was a reason that he’d been looking at Jack instead of the autopsy to start with and he soon had to avert his eyes with a grimace.
And now Jack was smiling… no, that would definitely be ‘smirking’.
You remember the last time you tried this tactic?
Oh yes, Ianto remembered. It wasn’t something you soon forgot, although now he at least had the advantage of knowing he was walking into a trap if the blinds in Jack’s office were closed upon entering. His ‘not while we’re on the clock’ line had lasted just as long as it took for Jack to saunter up to him, all wolfish smile and smoldering stare, dropping to his knees and pulling open Ianto’s trousers before swallowing him down, hot and filthy, turning Ianto’s protests into breathless curses even as he scrambled to lock the door behind him…
Ianto shifted and tried to keep from flushing by sheer power of will, shooting Jack a reproachful glance. Yes, fine, soon. Now behave yourself, will you?
Jack’s grin was pure triumph.
“You know,” Owen remarked to nobody in particular, “It’s truly a sad day when I’m the only one in the room thinking about work.”
*
Lack of Stability
Despite the unremarkable envelope, Ianto knew that the letter would be an important one simply due to the carefully neutral expression on Jack’s face when he handed it over. (Jack, always the master of extremes, had somewhere along the line taken Ianto’s suggestion that he give half a damn about his life to mean ‘Oh yes, please go through my personal mail with the alien scanner before I read it’. Ianto couldn’t bring himself to mind all that much. It was a useful early warning system, if nothing else.)
So Ianto took the letter upstairs with him, armed with a fresh mug of coffee, taking his time opening the envelope and unfolding the expensive stationary before reading it through. And then once more, slowly.
The letter was from Torchwood Two and Ianto rather wondered why it hadn’t come sooner. In polite, flattering phrases, they explained that they needed someone possessed of his particular skills and experience. They realized that he may have required a period of rehabilitation after the Unfortunate Incident at Torchwood One (understandable, oh yes, perfectly understandable) but didn’t he agree that he was being wasted on a simple monitoring station? There were hints of pay raises and promotion, an undertone of real propriety that almost made him nostalgic…
Ianto sipped his coffee and smiled. He opened a new document on the computer to draft his reply. He’d gotten no further than the opening lines when Jack wandered in. (Jack’s dramatic entrances were frequently spectacular, but his ‘just wandering in’ needed serious work.)
“Good news?” Jack asked, leaning against Ianto desk, the very picture of casual interest.
“Job offer, actually, sir,” Ianto replied, matching Jack’s even tone and trying not to think of all the ways in which he could make Jack squirm in this situation. (Although the fact that he might’ve been able to do so at all was far more flattering than anything that they’d implied in the letter.) “The Glasgow office. They seem to think I’d be of better use there.”
Jack ‘hmm’ed earnestly, as if he didn’t already know that, folding his arms.
Ianto turned back to his reply, leisurely adjusting the wording of the greeting for a few long moments. “Was there something else you needed, sir?” Oh, they could play this game for hours.
“I guess I was just wondering if this would be a good time to start talking about a pay raise,” Jack said quietly. Ianto glanced up and Jack looked back at him through his lashes and smiled in that way that always left Ianto fighting the urge to fidget.
“You’d prefer that I remained here?”
“Going to make me beg, Ianto?”
The promise in it made Ianto shiver, but he thought he covered it well. “I’m declining the offer,” he admitted, and the subtle relaxation of Jack’s posture that Ianto caught from the corner of his eye was almost worth the missed opportunity for begging. “Hardly healthy, all these transfers. And I expect Myfanwy would miss me terribly.”
Jack chuckled and pushed away from the desk, moving to lean against the back of Ianto’s chair instead, reading over his shoulder. His hand somehow found its way to the back of Ianto’s neck, his thumb gently massaging. “You know she wouldn’t be the only one.”
“That’s very flattering, sir,” Ianto murmured, “But I’m not convinced that Janet’s all that fond of me.”
Jack growled low in his throat, his fingers tightening, and Ianto had to abandon any pretense of concentrating on the letter. He twisted to look at Jack. “I’m not staying because of you,” he whispered, and tried not to look at Jack’s mouth.
“You’re not staying just because of me,” Jack corrected, and despite his usual breath-taking conceit, at this proximity Ianto could see the question hiding behind it as well.
“Well,” Ianto said, “I suppose that’s a fair assessment.”
He had to grab hold of Jack’s shoulders to keep from falling when Jack tilted his chair sharply back to kiss him.
“I suppose that raise is out of the question then?” he asked when he could speak again.
“Don’t make me drop you,” Jack said, and kissed him once more like he couldn’t help himself before setting Ianto’s chair upright again. He hovered for a moment, folding his arms and looking at Ianto sidelong. “Can I just… Are you happy here, Ianto?”
Happiness, Ianto decided with a small smile, was something rather enormous to live up to. He’d been measuring life for so long now on a scale of how much or how little it hurt that he had to stop and think about it before he answered, but it sounded like the truth when he said it:
“I’ve no complaints.”
* * * * *
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: R
Words: 4400
A/N: It was brought to my attention that I'd never attempted the 'Five Ways That Such-and-Such' format and... well, this pairing just intrigues the heck out of me. Crashing around behind the scenes for a wide swath of the first season. (Spoilers for S1)
*
Sexual Harassment
The second week after his transfer to Torchwood Three, Ianto was still training himself not to flinch anytime that somebody called his name. ‘Somebody’ being either Jack or Toshiko, of course, as Suzie largely ignored him and Owen scoffed and rolled his eyes and pointed out that they’d somehow muddled along without a butler before now. Fortunately, people seemed to credit his jumpiness to residual trauma from the events that had gutted Torchwood One, if the rather unsubtle gossip was to be believed. For all their technology and experience and (in particular cases) almost supernatural charisma, nobody suspected a thing.
Nonetheless, at least a part of Ianto’s thoughts lie constantly in a certain hidden room in Sub Level Four and it was understandable if he was a little distracted. Perfectly understandable that he should round the corner without watching where he was going and nearly run right into Jack, Owen, and the large hissing chained thing that they were manhandling towards the vaults.
“Heads up, Jeeves!” Owen yelled. Ianto looked up automatically and was immediately rewarded for his efforts with a face full of something warm that tingled on contact with his skin. He yelped and tried his best to get out of their way while scrubbing at his eyes; he’d never been spat on by an alien at Torchwood One and he was probably blinded for life now and it was only his second week here…
Things only worsened when he opened his eyes and discovered that, although he hadn’t actually been blinded, Owen had dropped his end of the chain, allowing the alien to tear free of Jack’s grasp and make a break back down the hallway. And before he could even form the thought that this was the absolute worst that the situation could possibly get, Owen had launched himself at Ianto, pinning him against the wall with his body and, god help them both, grinding.
“I want you now,” Owen informed him huskily, taking full advantage of Ianto’s mouth dropping open by thrusting his tongue into it, kissing him violently while grabbing at Ianto’s belt.
The only reasonable solution was a hard knee to the crotch, which Ianto executed with panicky gusto.
“What the hell was that?” he exclaimed, and shoved Owen away from him when the man doubled over with a groan.
Jack… trusted leader, supposed voice of reason around this madhouse… was nearly doubled over himself, laughing so that he could hardly speak. He grabbed Owen (who was already feebly starting towards Ianto again) by the collar.
“Defense mechanism,” Jack explained with a wild grin. “Go wash up, you’ll be fine. Owen, with me. We have to catch it again.” He had a white-knuckled grip on the doorframe behind him… as if he were holding more than just Owen back.
“Right,” Ianto said, and fled without hesitation.
By the time that Ianto had finished attempting to scrub his skin off in the communal washroom, the creature had been returned to the vaults (now muzzled for safety’s sake) and Owen had retreated to the autopsy room, scowling at anyone foolish enough to venture near. Ianto crept past, seeking refuge at the coffee station and finding slight consolation in not being the only humiliated party here.
“So, welcome to Torchwood Three,” Jack commented, coming up the stairs to join him. His sleeves were rolled up and he somehow managed to look only stylishly mussed after a full afternoon of alien wrangling. Ianto forgave himself for noticing. It was difficult to not notice those sorts of things about Captain Jack Harkness.
“The greeting committee’s a bit enthusiastic here,” Ianto said, fussing with nothing in particular on the serving tray. “Thank you for… intervening, sir.”
“Oh, you looked like you had it under control,” Jack said, clearly fighting to stay serious. “It’s the Sushana’s last line of defense, a high concentration of pheromones in the saliva. She spits, whoever’s trying to capture it gets a little preoccupied, and off she goes.”
“As demonstrated,” Ianto agreed.
Jack nodded. “You should count yourself lucky. Some people will pay almost anything for a couple ounces of Sushana saliva. All sorts of interesting uses, as you can imagine.”
Ianto stared for a few seconds before he realized that he was being teased. “Pheromone cologne,” he decided weakly. “Wonderful. I should’ve wrung out my tie.”
Jack’s mouth twitched and then he clasped Ianto’s shoulder. “I think you’re going to do just fine here, Ianto Jones,” Jack told him, leaning in with that dizzying movie star smile of his. “Like I said: welcome to the team.”
*
Mental Anguish
Ianto lay on his back, the chill of the concrete floor cutting through his clothing. The shivering had stopped a few minutes ago and the cold was beginning to grow painful, but he refused to move. He didn’t deserve to move. This was the life that he’d sentenced Lisa to: a cold grey hell, alone in an empty room. It was only fair that he got a taste of it.
He had begun to wonder if he’d simply been torturing her, making her suffer by refusing to give up hope for so long.
“You know this is incredibly unhealthy,” Jack said from the doorway.
Ianto tried to look without moving his head. He couldn’t see Jack from this position. God, her field of vision had been so limited. He should have thought to put something on the ceiling for her, a favorite painting or even some sort of small television. Not that she’d ever been much for television, but it would’ve been something…
“Ianto.”
“I’m not doing anything wrong,” he said quietly. (The usual ‘sir’ stuck in his throat and wouldn’t come. He imagined Jack wouldn’t fault him a dropped honorific or two.)
Jack entered his line of sight, unsmiling. Ianto closed his eyes. He heard Jack crouch down next to him and wondered if he was about to be fired at last. He knew that he should probably be more concerned; this damned job was all he had left.
“I think you should go home,” Jack said.
Ianto considered the prospect without opening his eyes. “Is that an order?”
“If it was, I probably would’ve said ‘And that’s an order’,” Jack decided. “Let’s call it a strong recommendation.”
Ianto concentrated on his breathing. In and out… She’d been so excited when they’d managed to get her off the machines at last. It had been the beginning of the end, but her smile couldn’t possibly have been anything but real. Could it?
“Okay,” Jack said. “Your call.”
There was a rustle of material and the warm weight of Jack’s coat fell over Ianto’s body. Jack’s fingers ghosted over his cheek and then Ianto was alone in Lisa’s room again. He opened his eyes to make sure that Jack had really departed before letting himself cry, loathing himself for finding even an iota of comfort in Jack’s presence.
The next time he went down to her room, there was a padlock on the door and a handwritten note: Sorry.
*
Insufficient Danger Pay
The drive back into the city felt like it lasted for days. Gwen, propped up on either side by Owen and Tosh in the back seat, gasped quietly each time the SUV hit a bump in the road, but there was some sort of unwritten rule that Torchwood always took care of their own, so they were driving back together. Ianto rested his head against the side window, savoring the feeling of the cool glass against his bruises.
“Jack, keep him awake,” Owen murmured from the back. “He’s probably concussed all to hell.”
“I am awake,” Ianto said, opening his eyes. And I’m not concussed, he added silently, I’m tenderized. He was struck with the memory of his mother at the kitchen counter bringing a wooden mallet sharply down on a bloody piece of steak between two sheets of wax paper. His stomach turned and he focused his attention on Jack instead, watching him drive. His hands were too tight on the wheel and the corners of his mouth were turned down in an unconscious frown as he stared at the road ahead. One of the tires dipped into a pothole and Jack winced, even before Gwen hissed in pain.
Ianto knew that Jack hadn’t meant for it to go anything like this. It was supposed to be… how had he put it to Ianto?... a break from the grind, a nice chance to get out of the office. And underneath that, it should’ve been a way of putting the disaster with Jasmine and the faeries behind them. (“You know, you’re the only one who’ll look me in the eye today, Ianto.” “I’m… familiar with the feeling, sir.”)
Needless to say, setting them up to become entrees on a cannibal village’s menu hadn’t been part of the plan.
“Well,” Ianto said, sitting up a little straighter, “I don’t know about the rest of you, but this has been the worst team-building exercise that I’ve ever participated in.”
Owen snorted and Gwen giggled and even Tosh, still visibly trembling, managed a lopsided smile. Jack just shook his head but shot Ianto a sideways look of gratitude a moment later. The rest of the drive back was a bit less uncomfortable.
Every time that Ianto started to drift off, Jack reached over to touch his knee, gently bringing him back.
*
Unreasonable Overtime
Even at Torchwood One, Ianto had never been promised regular hours, but he’d been awake and on duty for just shy of two full days now as the others came and went in shifts. Jack had been working straight through as well, but it wasn’t as if he was going to die of exhaustion anytime soon, and (although it bordered on blasphemy to admit it) the miracles of coffee could only do so much after a certain point. But every breakthrough on this case only seemed to lead to another eternity of work.
First, there had been Gwen’s accidental discovery that the ‘invisible’ aliens which they’d been tracking weren’t actually invisible at all, but merely bore an uncanny resemblance to the common wood pigeon. And then, of course, they’d learned that there actually were a fair number of common wood pigeons inhabiting the area where the disappearances had taken place, upon which Jack’s best interrogation techniques weren’t going to do a damned thing. (Ianto tried not to think about that bit too hard. The image of Jack looming over their cooing captive and grimly promising that they had ways of making it talk was liable to send Ianto into hysterics that there’d be no coming back from at this point.)
But it was finally coming to a close now, the aliens identified and subsequently eliminated after Tosh had quickly jury-rigged a scanner for field use, all the victims accounted for, and nothing left but the clean up. Which could, if there was any sort of decency in the world, be put off until Ianto had stolen at least a few hours of sleep. He was actually dizzy with exhaustion by now and just keeping his eyes open was proving to be a Herculean task.
“Ladies and gentlemen, once again, Cardiff has been saved,” Jack announced, flipping the case file closed and tossing it with finality onto the conference room table. He was actually starting to look a bit ragged himself, a relatively rare occurrence. “Humankind thanks you. Now get the hell out of here and don’t let me see you again until Monday.”
They were heading for the door en masse almost before Jack had finished speaking, Gwen resignedly moaning that Rhys was going to raise hell and Owen swearing (with a disturbing lack of sarcasm) that any bloody pigeon to cross his path today would meet a violent end strictly on principle. Ianto stumbled over his own feet as he moved to follow them.
“Hey,” Jack called after him.
Ianto turned and plastered on a pleasant expression, silently praying that this wouldn’t take long. “Me, sir?”
“Did I mention that you’re not driving? Besides, someone has to help with me the paperwork on this mess,” Jack told him. “We’ll get it done tonight. It’ll only take a few hours.”
Ianto bit his tongue, swallowing a wail of protest. The man was a maniac. A sadistic, unreasonable, smiling maniac. “I’ll…” Ianto gestured aimlessly for a moment. “I’ll get a pen. I can take care of it, sir. You should really get some rest.”
Jack’s smile faded. He pushed himself away from the table and walked over, staring in a way that made Ianto want to squirm. “There’s a fine line between dedication and madness, Ianto.” Jack put his hands on Ianto’s shoulders solemnly. “This is the wrong side of that line.”
Ianto blinked. “Well, that was a bit cruel,” he said.
Jack chuckled and slid his arm around Ianto’s shoulders, steering him out the door. “I didn’t think you were actually going to agree to it.”
“Where are we going?” Ianto asked, half-closing his eyes and fighting the automatic urge to lean against Jack. Jack was just as exhausted as he, probably even more so. The warmth of Jack’s body certainly wasn’t helping matters.
“I was serious about not letting you behind a wheel,” Jack said, “You’re staying here until you’ve slept.”
On top of his game, Ianto would’ve figured out what was happening here at least a few minutes ago. When it finally hit him, they were already moving into Jack’s office. “We’re going to your bedroom,” Ianto blurted out stupidly.
Jack’s look was unreadable. “Is that a problem?”
For sleep, Ianto corrected himself. Just a bed, for a bit of blessed sleep. “Nope,” he said. “Just an observation.”
Jack let go of him, moving behind the desk to pull open the trapdoor that Ianto knew about but had never dared to open. “It’s more comfortable than the vaults. Quieter, too.” He stopped too abruptly and Ianto guessed what he’d been about to say before he’d censored himself.
“And better looking company?” Ianto finished for him, raising an eyebrow.
Jack grinned. “You’re the one who said it. Come on.” He turned to head down the ladder, his movements just the slightest bit clumsy.
Ianto followed him, knowing full well that he wouldn’t even have been able to manage the ladder without the sudden burst of adrenaline rushing through him. Jack was there at the bottom to steady him with a hand against his back and Ianto suddenly didn’t have the slightest clue where to look. Gaping around the place was his first instinct, but knowing how fiercely Jack guarded his privacy, that wouldn’t do at all. But when he looked at Jack… god, he could feel himself giving much too much away at such close range. So he looked at the wrinkles in Jack’s shirt and… and now he was in Jack Harkness’s bedroom thinking about fucking ironing.
He made some sound (an aborted laugh, a choked off sob) and realized that he was still clutching the ladder railing with one hand.
“Still okay?” Jack asked.
“Just tired,” Ianto said, releasing the ladder and glancing up. Jack looked so serious that it was easy to find a smile. “Although my boss isn’t making me do paperwork, so that’s a plus.”
“Wise guy,” Jack said, and reached out to take Ianto’s jacket, sliding it off his shoulders and laying it aside on a small dresser. And then Jack started on the buttons of his waistcoat and Ianto’s mouth promptly went dry.
“How undressed are we getting, approximately?” he asked.
“How wrinkled do you want to get?” Jack replied, half-smiling. “It’s up to you. We’re just sleeping here, Ianto. If you’re interested in something more than that, talk to me when I haven’t spent the last day trying to scare information out of pigeons.”
Ianto remembered how to breathe properly again and nodded a bit sheepishly, letting Jack tug off his waistcoat. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, and unknotted his tie. This was familiar ground now; he could watch Jack slip off his braces and think ‘yes, he’s extremely attractive’ and not do anything about it. He’d been doing that for some time now.
Although watching Jack shrug out of his shirt and strip off the tee-shirt beneath it was certainly something new. Ianto concentrated very hard on his own buttons.
“You realize you’re not actually supposed to know that this room is here, right?” Jack commented, sitting down on the edge of the small bed and leaning back on his hands. If Ianto didn’t know better, he’d think the man was posing for him.
“I know plenty of things,” Ianto said, unable to figure out how to get out of his shirt without feeling like he’d somehow gotten involved in a striptease and too tired to really care. He pulled it off, already shivering, and laid it with his jacket. “With all due respect, Torchwood One’s evaluation process was a bit more rigorous than yours.”
“You calling me biased?”
“Just shallow, sir,” Ianto said, and smiled when Jack laughed. Ianto toed out of his shoes, setting them neatly beside the base of the ladder and moving to the bed. It was a true testament to just how long he’d been awake that the bed itself was almost more appealing than its present occupant.
“On that note, I’m loving the stubbled look on you,” Jack murmured, still just watching him.
“Well, you’re very sleep-deprived,” Ianto said, and knelt to untie Jack’s boots, since the man obviously didn’t intend to do it himself. It was tricky work, his hands clumsy with fatigue, and his eyes started to drift shut about halfway through the second boot. His forehead touched Jack’s knee as his head dipped, and Jack inhaled sharply. Ianto paused, then brushed his cheek just lightly against Jack’s thigh, listening to Jack’s breath catch. He tugged the bootlaces loose by feel, wrapping his fingers around Jack’s ankle as he pulled the boots off and set them aside before looking up. Jack didn’t look quite so studiously casual now and Ianto was vaguely reassured that he wasn’t the only one at sea here.
“Come here,” Jack said, already pulling Ianto to his feet, and there was a sudden and shocking abundance of skin-on-skin contact. “You’re shivering. Get under the covers.”
There’s a fine line between shivering and shaking, Ianto thought. And this is the wrong side of that line. He’d had stupider ideas than getting into bed with a half-naked Jack on the promise that nothing would happen, but not many. And funny enough, it wasn’t Jack that he didn’t trust to demonstrate due restraint in this situation.
But he let Jack lay him down just the same, simply too bloody tired to think this through. He shifted over to make room for Jack, watching through half-closed eyes as Jack fussed with something next to the bed and doused the lights. The mattress dipped as Jack lay down next to him and Ianto was already reaching, hands sliding over warm bare skin, curling close, everything inevitable in the dark.
“Say the word,” Jack murmured, his voice blurry with sleep, long fingers tracing patterns over Ianto’s side. “You say the word, Ianto, and we’ll do this sometime.”
Always suspected it would come to this, Ianto thought, mostly unconscious already. I’m sleeping with the boss.
*
Flagrant Disregard for Proper Methods of Communication
Jack quirked an eyebrow at him over the autopsy table, barely noticeable, and flashed a bit of dimple.
Later? Soon?
Ianto ignored him, vaguely wondering how Jack’s brain had gotten from the translucent tentacled thing that Owen was in the process of dissecting to afternoon quickies before deciding that he was better off letting that remain an eternal mystery. They had all of two hours left before the rest of the team went home, so Jack could bloody well exercise a bit of patience. It would be good for him. He snuck a glance over to see if the hint had been taken and met narrowed blue eyes.
Are you ignoring me?
So Ianto ignored him a bit more pointedly, focusing his attention on the disturbing enthusiasm with which Owen had begun hauling slimy bits out of the alien. Of course, there was a reason that he’d been looking at Jack instead of the autopsy to start with and he soon had to avert his eyes with a grimace.
And now Jack was smiling… no, that would definitely be ‘smirking’.
You remember the last time you tried this tactic?
Oh yes, Ianto remembered. It wasn’t something you soon forgot, although now he at least had the advantage of knowing he was walking into a trap if the blinds in Jack’s office were closed upon entering. His ‘not while we’re on the clock’ line had lasted just as long as it took for Jack to saunter up to him, all wolfish smile and smoldering stare, dropping to his knees and pulling open Ianto’s trousers before swallowing him down, hot and filthy, turning Ianto’s protests into breathless curses even as he scrambled to lock the door behind him…
Ianto shifted and tried to keep from flushing by sheer power of will, shooting Jack a reproachful glance. Yes, fine, soon. Now behave yourself, will you?
Jack’s grin was pure triumph.
“You know,” Owen remarked to nobody in particular, “It’s truly a sad day when I’m the only one in the room thinking about work.”
*
Lack of Stability
Despite the unremarkable envelope, Ianto knew that the letter would be an important one simply due to the carefully neutral expression on Jack’s face when he handed it over. (Jack, always the master of extremes, had somewhere along the line taken Ianto’s suggestion that he give half a damn about his life to mean ‘Oh yes, please go through my personal mail with the alien scanner before I read it’. Ianto couldn’t bring himself to mind all that much. It was a useful early warning system, if nothing else.)
So Ianto took the letter upstairs with him, armed with a fresh mug of coffee, taking his time opening the envelope and unfolding the expensive stationary before reading it through. And then once more, slowly.
The letter was from Torchwood Two and Ianto rather wondered why it hadn’t come sooner. In polite, flattering phrases, they explained that they needed someone possessed of his particular skills and experience. They realized that he may have required a period of rehabilitation after the Unfortunate Incident at Torchwood One (understandable, oh yes, perfectly understandable) but didn’t he agree that he was being wasted on a simple monitoring station? There were hints of pay raises and promotion, an undertone of real propriety that almost made him nostalgic…
Ianto sipped his coffee and smiled. He opened a new document on the computer to draft his reply. He’d gotten no further than the opening lines when Jack wandered in. (Jack’s dramatic entrances were frequently spectacular, but his ‘just wandering in’ needed serious work.)
“Good news?” Jack asked, leaning against Ianto desk, the very picture of casual interest.
“Job offer, actually, sir,” Ianto replied, matching Jack’s even tone and trying not to think of all the ways in which he could make Jack squirm in this situation. (Although the fact that he might’ve been able to do so at all was far more flattering than anything that they’d implied in the letter.) “The Glasgow office. They seem to think I’d be of better use there.”
Jack ‘hmm’ed earnestly, as if he didn’t already know that, folding his arms.
Ianto turned back to his reply, leisurely adjusting the wording of the greeting for a few long moments. “Was there something else you needed, sir?” Oh, they could play this game for hours.
“I guess I was just wondering if this would be a good time to start talking about a pay raise,” Jack said quietly. Ianto glanced up and Jack looked back at him through his lashes and smiled in that way that always left Ianto fighting the urge to fidget.
“You’d prefer that I remained here?”
“Going to make me beg, Ianto?”
The promise in it made Ianto shiver, but he thought he covered it well. “I’m declining the offer,” he admitted, and the subtle relaxation of Jack’s posture that Ianto caught from the corner of his eye was almost worth the missed opportunity for begging. “Hardly healthy, all these transfers. And I expect Myfanwy would miss me terribly.”
Jack chuckled and pushed away from the desk, moving to lean against the back of Ianto’s chair instead, reading over his shoulder. His hand somehow found its way to the back of Ianto’s neck, his thumb gently massaging. “You know she wouldn’t be the only one.”
“That’s very flattering, sir,” Ianto murmured, “But I’m not convinced that Janet’s all that fond of me.”
Jack growled low in his throat, his fingers tightening, and Ianto had to abandon any pretense of concentrating on the letter. He twisted to look at Jack. “I’m not staying because of you,” he whispered, and tried not to look at Jack’s mouth.
“You’re not staying just because of me,” Jack corrected, and despite his usual breath-taking conceit, at this proximity Ianto could see the question hiding behind it as well.
“Well,” Ianto said, “I suppose that’s a fair assessment.”
He had to grab hold of Jack’s shoulders to keep from falling when Jack tilted his chair sharply back to kiss him.
“I suppose that raise is out of the question then?” he asked when he could speak again.
“Don’t make me drop you,” Jack said, and kissed him once more like he couldn’t help himself before setting Ianto’s chair upright again. He hovered for a moment, folding his arms and looking at Ianto sidelong. “Can I just… Are you happy here, Ianto?”
Happiness, Ianto decided with a small smile, was something rather enormous to live up to. He’d been measuring life for so long now on a scale of how much or how little it hurt that he had to stop and think about it before he answered, but it sounded like the truth when he said it:
“I’ve no complaints.”
* * * * *