you heard it calling, a new day dawning (1/1)
title: you heard it calling, a new day dawning
rating: pg
pairing: jack/ianto
spoilers: none
disclaimer: rtd and the beeb own pretty much everyone. i'll have to check, but they might even own me.
writer's note: also for the horizonssing day eleven challenge, yeah, i'm late, i was at college orientation. feedback welcome.
summary: jack doesn't know wales very well.
the prompt
Jack can count the things he cares about in Wales on one hand, despite one hundred and fifty years in Cardiff. One, Torchwood and the Rift, which count as one unit because of their connection to the Doctor; two, the height of the Millennium Centre; three, Ianto Jones. (This is not to say he does not care about Gwen or Rhys or Martha or Mickey; but they fall under the Torchwood label in a way that Ianto does not, Ianto never can.) In fact, before Ianto took on the Tourist Office as his pet project, ordering actual brochures and directing actual customers through the area, Jack was perfectly content to let the small space rot, a perpetual CLOSED sign discouraging anyone from attempting entry. Ianto changed that, with his local knowledge and his easily-faked smile, and now the office has days almost as busy as Torchwood itself, with Ianto known in the area not for saving lives from aliens, but for sending the lost in the right directions.
Jack is aware of how seriously Ianto takes this job; nine times out of ten when Jack can’t find the young man he is helping an elderly woman find the Vale of Glamorgan and receiving profuse thanks in return. But when Ianto takes the wheel on a routine weevil hunt and just keeps driving, Jack wonders if perhaps Ianto might be taking his extra job a little too far.
“Ianto.”
Ianto, humming a cheerful not-tune, doesn’t answer.
“Ianto. Where are we going?” The question, though undoubtedly a question, has none of the usual lift to its close that defined normal patterns of speech. Instead Jack’s voice is low, expectant, and secretly quite pleased. Ianto smiles half-to himself and keeps his eyes on the road.
“I’m showing you Wales,” Ianto says, and nods a little, as if to close the conversation. Jack laughs.
“Showing me Wales. Ianto, I’ve lived here longer than you have.”
“Yes, and you still need me to tell you about local cinemas. Just because you’ve lived here longer doesn’t mean you’ve seen Wales. Perhaps the underground of Wales, or the roofs. But not Wales herself, green and rolling and incessantly old. She’s unexpected and unfair, and I love her almost more than I love you. So I’m showing you Wales. Your bag’s in the boot.” Jack smiles and settles back into the comfortable seat, pleasantly surprised.
Jack has lived here for a lifetime and a half, and can count on only one hand the things he cares about in Wales. Wales is rapidly becoming one of those things.
rating: pg
pairing: jack/ianto
spoilers: none
disclaimer: rtd and the beeb own pretty much everyone. i'll have to check, but they might even own me.
writer's note: also for the horizonssing day eleven challenge, yeah, i'm late, i was at college orientation. feedback welcome.
summary: jack doesn't know wales very well.
the prompt
Jack can count the things he cares about in Wales on one hand, despite one hundred and fifty years in Cardiff. One, Torchwood and the Rift, which count as one unit because of their connection to the Doctor; two, the height of the Millennium Centre; three, Ianto Jones. (This is not to say he does not care about Gwen or Rhys or Martha or Mickey; but they fall under the Torchwood label in a way that Ianto does not, Ianto never can.) In fact, before Ianto took on the Tourist Office as his pet project, ordering actual brochures and directing actual customers through the area, Jack was perfectly content to let the small space rot, a perpetual CLOSED sign discouraging anyone from attempting entry. Ianto changed that, with his local knowledge and his easily-faked smile, and now the office has days almost as busy as Torchwood itself, with Ianto known in the area not for saving lives from aliens, but for sending the lost in the right directions.
Jack is aware of how seriously Ianto takes this job; nine times out of ten when Jack can’t find the young man he is helping an elderly woman find the Vale of Glamorgan and receiving profuse thanks in return. But when Ianto takes the wheel on a routine weevil hunt and just keeps driving, Jack wonders if perhaps Ianto might be taking his extra job a little too far.
“Ianto.”
Ianto, humming a cheerful not-tune, doesn’t answer.
“Ianto. Where are we going?” The question, though undoubtedly a question, has none of the usual lift to its close that defined normal patterns of speech. Instead Jack’s voice is low, expectant, and secretly quite pleased. Ianto smiles half-to himself and keeps his eyes on the road.
“I’m showing you Wales,” Ianto says, and nods a little, as if to close the conversation. Jack laughs.
“Showing me Wales. Ianto, I’ve lived here longer than you have.”
“Yes, and you still need me to tell you about local cinemas. Just because you’ve lived here longer doesn’t mean you’ve seen Wales. Perhaps the underground of Wales, or the roofs. But not Wales herself, green and rolling and incessantly old. She’s unexpected and unfair, and I love her almost more than I love you. So I’m showing you Wales. Your bag’s in the boot.” Jack smiles and settles back into the comfortable seat, pleasantly surprised.
Jack has lived here for a lifetime and a half, and can count on only one hand the things he cares about in Wales. Wales is rapidly becoming one of those things.