These Things Happen (5/?)
Title: These Things Happen. (5/?)
Characters: Jack/Ianto, Doctor, 2 Tardi.
Rating: R-ish?
Length: 1900 or so
Warnings: ....um. make sure all seatbacks and tray tables are in their full upright and locked position.
Spoilers: ... nope.
Summary: Jack and Ianto come to an understanding.
Disclaimers: Jack owns Ianto. It even says so on the box. Both are owned by some ungrateful gits.
A/N. sorry... no gifts this time. :( and sorry this took so long! This one actually fought me.
A/N 2: If anyone out there knows how to to make cool digital things happen... I'd like a banner for this..... pleeeeeeeeease? :) I'm so rubbish at digital stuff. I miss photoshop.
These Things Happen.
“What do we do now then?”
The words echo in his mind. They rattle around in there along with everything else. The knowledge of ages… The history of an entire race, his race. GallifreyTimelordGallifreyTimelord. The words thudding in his head in time with the double heartbeat thudding in his chest. They repeat for a few minutes as Ianto adjusts to the fact that they were no more. The Doctor has retired to his TARDIS, Ianto needs time to think, to recover both his wits and his memories. It has been a long day. The TARDISs stand together in the burnt shell of the Hub. Ironic, if Ianto chooses to think about it. And he may choose to think about it, were he not thinking about 100 thousand other things. Nope… he adds it to the list. 100 thousand and one things.
“Ianto?” Jack wanders in to his bedroom. Ianto knows that the TARDIS led him there, he’d never have found it otherwise. But Ianto’s TARDIS is nothing if not empathic, and she knows what he needs. And right now, he needs Jack. Jack grounds him, makes the punctuation return to his thoughts. It was gone for a while there.
For a few minutes, they don’t talk. They look. Ianto at Jack, Jack at everything except Ianto. The Timelord is not insulted, but patient. Ianto’s always been patient.
What Jack looks at is everything around him. He’s avoiding everything at the moment. So he takes that moment to consider the room that he’s standing it. That its Ianto’s bedroom, he has no doubt, it fits him better than the suit that he’s wearing. (And how grateful is Jack that the suit is still present and accounted for.) The walls are a deep mahogany, so dark it’s nearly black, with darker swirls in elegant patterns that softly shift, and appear to be part of the wall itself. There are deep violet tapestries that remind Jack of Irish castles and nobility. And Ianto does seem nobility in this place. The furniture is built of the same “wood” as the walls; a casual dresser and several large book cases, all laden with large tomes. (Jack notes that there is also one smaller shelf that has numerous more modern looking books. He picks out Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, Lord of the Rings, someone named RA Salvatore, the full collections of both Oscar Wilde and CS Lewis to name just a few.)
Ianto watches, amused as Jack continues his survey of the bedroom. He knows that Jack will eventually turn his attention to Ianto, but right now, he needs time to collect his thoughts.
Jack’s wandering eyes turn towards the chief object of his interest most days, Ianto’s bed. It is larger than the one at his employee’s flat…. And round. He never really considered a round bed, but there it was. The coverings are a black that somehow… reminds him of black coffee (that could be the rolling satin of the sheets) with a soft, deep violet curtain that looks as though it goes all the way round, enclosing the slumbering Timelord in a cave of comfort. The thing in the room that Jack is most impressed by, however, is the ceiling. Swirling nebulae and ever changing star patterns light up the “sky.” And off in the corner, just over there… He sees it. He cranes his neck and looks as close as he can, he’s never seen this planet before in all of his wanderings… and now, he never will. Gallifrey. The Shining World of the Seven Systems…
“I can take you there, if you’d like.” Ianto intones softly…
At his words, Jack turns slowly and ceases his observation of the room, and turns that discerning eye on Ianto. “I thought I’d lost you.” Jack’s voice breaks with the weight of everything that has happened to him in the past 12 hours.
Ianto crosses the room in measured steps. One. Two. Like his heartbeat. He takes Jack’s hands and he looks into Jack’s eyes. “Jack. I’m here.”
Jack looks scared. And why wouldn’t he? He’s had seen so much, and yet… he just witnessed the impossible… Ianto pulls him in close. “I’m not leaving, Jack.” Ianto deliberately repeats Jack’s name, trying to ground him.
Ianto has blocked all thoughts from his head. If he tries to think, his mind gets bogged down with Tardis’s and Rassilon and the council of the Timelords, and every planet and war and species that has ever been fought or catalogued or annihilated. He is going to have to take some time to re-file his brain, as it must have been before he was forced into the Chameleon Arch. That was a thing that bared thinking about as well; the Doctor would have to be confronted for the details. Later. Right now, Jack is priority. The Timelord brain protests, but the Torchwood Archivist... the man who loves Jack Harkness wins out. Every time. Ianto had always been strong enough to fight his own mind.
“Are you still Ianto?” Jack’s shaking voice breaks through his musings. Ianto realizes that minutes have passed while he’s been musing and that Jack has been waiting for an answer.
Ianto focuses on Jack. He’s not really sure how to answer that question… is he still? He can feel the man in his arms trembling. Jack knows what the Chameleon Arch gives, and in turn... what it takes away. He’s drifting again. Ianto realizes that he’s going to need to reign in his brain for this conversation. “I am still Ianto. But I’m also the Archivist now. I need to realign my brain, Jack.” Ianto’s voice is less sure than he means for it to sound. “I still remember everything that happened while I was human, and I don’t think it’s supposed to work that way. Everything that I … was … as Ianto is supposed to be gone. I think you’ve anchored me as Ianto.”
As if to prove this, Ianto-the-man’s wry humor shows through, even tinged with apprehension as it is, “So, it looks like you’re stuck with me, Harkness, since it’s all your fault.” His eyebrow rises. The left one. Always the left one, Jack notices absently.
Jack briefly wonders what it is about Timelords that captures his attention… Regardless, Ianto’s response stops his trembling a bit as it cements two things in his mind. The first being that Ianto is still Ianto…he’s just a bit (quite a bit) more now. The second takes a few extra minutes, as Jack realizes that this is his chance… Ianto just handed himself over on a silver platter. Jack has just found himself in possession of his very own Timelord. There is a predatory gleam in his eye, there for only a moment before he pulls Ianto in for a kiss that blows all of their previous (all 427, Ianto notes) out of the water. There is promise and love and hope and …. need in that kiss. In all of his 868 years the Archivist has never felt this sort of thing before. Unfortunately however, though both are immortal, they still need to breathe.
“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” Continuing its exercise, the eyebrow is back up and a smirk is on the beautiful face. Ianto knows that this will take work. Both are still broken men. Both are still vulnerable and shaken by the events of this day and all of the days prior. The 456. Torchwood. The Doctor. So many things that have tried to separate them. However, both are also determined and stubborn. Ianto pulls their foreheads together, placing his slightly shaking fingers to Jack’s temples. He breathes deep and closes his eyes, after taking a long draught of Jack’s stormy irises.
Their thoughts flow back and forth like the waves on the blustery sea.
…I thought I’d lost you…
…I was dead…
…eternity alone…
…You weren’t here…
…I’m sorry…
…no one else, never anyone else…
…I never forgot you…
…could never…
…would never…
…still love you…
…need you…
….forever.
Their thoughts meld, neither man knowing where he begins or ends or who’s thinking which thoughts. In the end, it doesn’t matter really.
The breeze blows around them, warm and full of life. It rustles silver leaves on tall, ancient trees. It snakes through orange grasses, causing them to dance and sway on the hillsides of Solace and Solitude. Jack finally sees the one planet he never ever thought that he would. He stands on her rich soils, and breathes her sweet scent as the unfamiliar breeze sighs through his hair, making it sway in time with the grass. The man once called Ianto Jones has returned to his home, albeit only in his mind. He leads them towards the Citadel (capitalized always) as it looms over the land.
Jack is struggling to keep in mind that this is but a memory, one look at the silent tears streaking his (HIS!) lover’s (partner’s?) face cements that. Ianto has come home, but it is a bittersweet reunion. This place now exists only in legends and myths (and the minds and hearts of two of the most powerful beings in existence).
“It hurts, Jack. Coming here… it hurts my head and my heart(s).” Jack feels the implied ‘s’ on the word, but he knows that Ianto is still struggling. “I thought it might help me understand why he did it. But all I see is home. I know he must have had his reasons. The Doctor is not the type to commit mass genocide on his …on our own people without reason…“ His voice hitches, and Jack notices as Ianto checks his words. The Archivist is speaking slowly, more to himself than to Jack.
“What do we do now, indeed.” Ianto shakes his head with a shaky chuckle.
“Right now? I think we forget lost planets and lost memories. Please, Ianto. I want to … remember you. Only you.”
Ianto blinks grey blue eyes (eyes that have seen far more than Jack can imagine), and just like that they are back in the Tardis. Ianto releases Jack’s temples and takes his hands. He pulls him silently and slowly over to the large bed, and Jack has a brief mental image of a Jacuzzi full of strong black coffee. Words are unnecessary as they slowly reestablish their physical connection; and as their crescendo is reached, Jack fleetingly notices a supernova in the ceiling-sky above the bed, mirroring the climax of the (his)Timelord.
In each other’s arms again, finally, the eternal lovers find temporary peace as they slide into blissful sleep. The difficulties of demigods can wait until morning. For now, they shed their mantels of “immortal Time Agent” and “The Timelord Archivist”. Now, they are merely Jack and Ianto, curled up together, as they always used to. As they (hopefully) always will be.
Interlude...
Characters: Jack/Ianto, Doctor, 2 Tardi.
Rating: R-ish?
Length: 1900 or so
Warnings: ....um. make sure all seatbacks and tray tables are in their full upright and locked position.
Spoilers: ... nope.
Summary: Jack and Ianto come to an understanding.
Disclaimers: Jack owns Ianto. It even says so on the box. Both are owned by some ungrateful gits.
A/N. sorry... no gifts this time. :( and sorry this took so long! This one actually fought me.
A/N 2: If anyone out there knows how to to make cool digital things happen... I'd like a banner for this..... pleeeeeeeeease? :) I'm so rubbish at digital stuff. I miss photoshop.
These Things Happen.
“What do we do now then?”
The words echo in his mind. They rattle around in there along with everything else. The knowledge of ages… The history of an entire race, his race. GallifreyTimelordGallifreyTimelord. The words thudding in his head in time with the double heartbeat thudding in his chest. They repeat for a few minutes as Ianto adjusts to the fact that they were no more. The Doctor has retired to his TARDIS, Ianto needs time to think, to recover both his wits and his memories. It has been a long day. The TARDISs stand together in the burnt shell of the Hub. Ironic, if Ianto chooses to think about it. And he may choose to think about it, were he not thinking about 100 thousand other things. Nope… he adds it to the list. 100 thousand and one things.
“Ianto?” Jack wanders in to his bedroom. Ianto knows that the TARDIS led him there, he’d never have found it otherwise. But Ianto’s TARDIS is nothing if not empathic, and she knows what he needs. And right now, he needs Jack. Jack grounds him, makes the punctuation return to his thoughts. It was gone for a while there.
For a few minutes, they don’t talk. They look. Ianto at Jack, Jack at everything except Ianto. The Timelord is not insulted, but patient. Ianto’s always been patient.
What Jack looks at is everything around him. He’s avoiding everything at the moment. So he takes that moment to consider the room that he’s standing it. That its Ianto’s bedroom, he has no doubt, it fits him better than the suit that he’s wearing. (And how grateful is Jack that the suit is still present and accounted for.) The walls are a deep mahogany, so dark it’s nearly black, with darker swirls in elegant patterns that softly shift, and appear to be part of the wall itself. There are deep violet tapestries that remind Jack of Irish castles and nobility. And Ianto does seem nobility in this place. The furniture is built of the same “wood” as the walls; a casual dresser and several large book cases, all laden with large tomes. (Jack notes that there is also one smaller shelf that has numerous more modern looking books. He picks out Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, Lord of the Rings, someone named RA Salvatore, the full collections of both Oscar Wilde and CS Lewis to name just a few.)
Ianto watches, amused as Jack continues his survey of the bedroom. He knows that Jack will eventually turn his attention to Ianto, but right now, he needs time to collect his thoughts.
Jack’s wandering eyes turn towards the chief object of his interest most days, Ianto’s bed. It is larger than the one at his employee’s flat…. And round. He never really considered a round bed, but there it was. The coverings are a black that somehow… reminds him of black coffee (that could be the rolling satin of the sheets) with a soft, deep violet curtain that looks as though it goes all the way round, enclosing the slumbering Timelord in a cave of comfort. The thing in the room that Jack is most impressed by, however, is the ceiling. Swirling nebulae and ever changing star patterns light up the “sky.” And off in the corner, just over there… He sees it. He cranes his neck and looks as close as he can, he’s never seen this planet before in all of his wanderings… and now, he never will. Gallifrey. The Shining World of the Seven Systems…
“I can take you there, if you’d like.” Ianto intones softly…
At his words, Jack turns slowly and ceases his observation of the room, and turns that discerning eye on Ianto. “I thought I’d lost you.” Jack’s voice breaks with the weight of everything that has happened to him in the past 12 hours.
Ianto crosses the room in measured steps. One. Two. Like his heartbeat. He takes Jack’s hands and he looks into Jack’s eyes. “Jack. I’m here.”
Jack looks scared. And why wouldn’t he? He’s had seen so much, and yet… he just witnessed the impossible… Ianto pulls him in close. “I’m not leaving, Jack.” Ianto deliberately repeats Jack’s name, trying to ground him.
Ianto has blocked all thoughts from his head. If he tries to think, his mind gets bogged down with Tardis’s and Rassilon and the council of the Timelords, and every planet and war and species that has ever been fought or catalogued or annihilated. He is going to have to take some time to re-file his brain, as it must have been before he was forced into the Chameleon Arch. That was a thing that bared thinking about as well; the Doctor would have to be confronted for the details. Later. Right now, Jack is priority. The Timelord brain protests, but the Torchwood Archivist... the man who loves Jack Harkness wins out. Every time. Ianto had always been strong enough to fight his own mind.
“Are you still Ianto?” Jack’s shaking voice breaks through his musings. Ianto realizes that minutes have passed while he’s been musing and that Jack has been waiting for an answer.
Ianto focuses on Jack. He’s not really sure how to answer that question… is he still? He can feel the man in his arms trembling. Jack knows what the Chameleon Arch gives, and in turn... what it takes away. He’s drifting again. Ianto realizes that he’s going to need to reign in his brain for this conversation. “I am still Ianto. But I’m also the Archivist now. I need to realign my brain, Jack.” Ianto’s voice is less sure than he means for it to sound. “I still remember everything that happened while I was human, and I don’t think it’s supposed to work that way. Everything that I … was … as Ianto is supposed to be gone. I think you’ve anchored me as Ianto.”
As if to prove this, Ianto-the-man’s wry humor shows through, even tinged with apprehension as it is, “So, it looks like you’re stuck with me, Harkness, since it’s all your fault.” His eyebrow rises. The left one. Always the left one, Jack notices absently.
Jack briefly wonders what it is about Timelords that captures his attention… Regardless, Ianto’s response stops his trembling a bit as it cements two things in his mind. The first being that Ianto is still Ianto…he’s just a bit (quite a bit) more now. The second takes a few extra minutes, as Jack realizes that this is his chance… Ianto just handed himself over on a silver platter. Jack has just found himself in possession of his very own Timelord. There is a predatory gleam in his eye, there for only a moment before he pulls Ianto in for a kiss that blows all of their previous (all 427, Ianto notes) out of the water. There is promise and love and hope and …. need in that kiss. In all of his 868 years the Archivist has never felt this sort of thing before. Unfortunately however, though both are immortal, they still need to breathe.
“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” Continuing its exercise, the eyebrow is back up and a smirk is on the beautiful face. Ianto knows that this will take work. Both are still broken men. Both are still vulnerable and shaken by the events of this day and all of the days prior. The 456. Torchwood. The Doctor. So many things that have tried to separate them. However, both are also determined and stubborn. Ianto pulls their foreheads together, placing his slightly shaking fingers to Jack’s temples. He breathes deep and closes his eyes, after taking a long draught of Jack’s stormy irises.
Their thoughts flow back and forth like the waves on the blustery sea.
…I thought I’d lost you…
…I was dead…
…eternity alone…
…You weren’t here…
…I’m sorry…
…no one else, never anyone else…
…I never forgot you…
…could never…
…would never…
…still love you…
…need you…
….forever.
Their thoughts meld, neither man knowing where he begins or ends or who’s thinking which thoughts. In the end, it doesn’t matter really.
The breeze blows around them, warm and full of life. It rustles silver leaves on tall, ancient trees. It snakes through orange grasses, causing them to dance and sway on the hillsides of Solace and Solitude. Jack finally sees the one planet he never ever thought that he would. He stands on her rich soils, and breathes her sweet scent as the unfamiliar breeze sighs through his hair, making it sway in time with the grass. The man once called Ianto Jones has returned to his home, albeit only in his mind. He leads them towards the Citadel (capitalized always) as it looms over the land.
Jack is struggling to keep in mind that this is but a memory, one look at the silent tears streaking his (HIS!) lover’s (partner’s?) face cements that. Ianto has come home, but it is a bittersweet reunion. This place now exists only in legends and myths (and the minds and hearts of two of the most powerful beings in existence).
“It hurts, Jack. Coming here… it hurts my head and my heart(s).” Jack feels the implied ‘s’ on the word, but he knows that Ianto is still struggling. “I thought it might help me understand why he did it. But all I see is home. I know he must have had his reasons. The Doctor is not the type to commit mass genocide on his …on our own people without reason…“ His voice hitches, and Jack notices as Ianto checks his words. The Archivist is speaking slowly, more to himself than to Jack.
“What do we do now, indeed.” Ianto shakes his head with a shaky chuckle.
“Right now? I think we forget lost planets and lost memories. Please, Ianto. I want to … remember you. Only you.”
Ianto blinks grey blue eyes (eyes that have seen far more than Jack can imagine), and just like that they are back in the Tardis. Ianto releases Jack’s temples and takes his hands. He pulls him silently and slowly over to the large bed, and Jack has a brief mental image of a Jacuzzi full of strong black coffee. Words are unnecessary as they slowly reestablish their physical connection; and as their crescendo is reached, Jack fleetingly notices a supernova in the ceiling-sky above the bed, mirroring the climax of the (his)Timelord.
In each other’s arms again, finally, the eternal lovers find temporary peace as they slide into blissful sleep. The difficulties of demigods can wait until morning. For now, they shed their mantels of “immortal Time Agent” and “The Timelord Archivist”. Now, they are merely Jack and Ianto, curled up together, as they always used to. As they (hopefully) always will be.
Interlude...