Light shining through water (Jack/Ianto; PG)
Title: Light shining through water
Author: etharei
Rating: PG
Timeline: directly after "Small Worlds" (105)
Spoilers: "Cyberwoman" (104) and "Small Worlds" (105)
Summary: Ianto hates not knowing what to do, being uncertain of his place, and thus quite loathes his life these days. But he has enough dignity left to want to do his job, as best as he can, if that is all he can have.
Disclaimer: Torchwood and all the characters and situations featured therein are the property of Russell T. Davies, the BBC and their affiliates. I’m only borrowing them for purely non-profit, recreational purposes.
Author's Notes: This was meant to be a short piece, but kept getting longer and longer AND WOULDN'T END.
Written for: horizonssing, Day #2
light shining through water
by etharei
Calling one’s boss a monster is one thing. Adding to that a solemn promise to watch said boss suffer and die more or less guarantees the cessation of future good relations, if not future employment in Torchwood and retention of Torchwood memories.
But Ianto is very definitely still in the Hub. Serving hot beverages to an eerily silent team; back to being invisible, not a thank-you even from Tosh. The most recent mission was completed just as it’s getting dark outside, and this would normally lead to a rushed debriefing and eager exit by everyone before the Rift coughs up something new.
Except nobody is looking at each other, much less talking. Jack had stormed straight into his office upon arrival; unlike yesterday, Gwen doesn’t follow him. In fact, she’s the one casting angry glances toward the closed door, in between gulps of coffee fortified with rum. (Ianto has gotten good at reading surface emotions from the voices on the comms, and matching mood to beverage.) There are some tip-taps from keyboards, slow and reluctant.
He retreats to the kitchenette. Washes dishes. Eventually he hears the siren of the cog door opening, two sets of footsteps leaving; when he comes out, only Gwen’s desk still has her bag on it.
Ianto hates not knowing what to do, being uncertain of his place, and thus quite loathes his life these days. But he has enough dignity left to want to do his job, as best as he can, if that is all he can have. He quietly makes his way to Jack’s office, to check if Jack wanted a cup of something.
Knowing by instinct to look first through the glass, Ianto sees Jack sitting behind his desk. Just sitting, staring ahead of him, not moving a muscle. Staring... at the gun on his desk. The Webley that never leaves Jack’s side.
Ianto remembers, clearly, Jack’s hand on his back as they looked at strange weather patterns, warmth reaching through the layers of fabric. Jack, looking almost naked in a simple white t-shirt. Jack, who he knows can heal faster than any normal human, who can survive enough blood loss to empty out two men; who, Ianto is beginning to suspect, is incapable of giving up on anyone. The first two may be inevitable and highly beneficial effects of living with so much alien technology, on top of a Rift in time and space, but the third and last is a curious characteristic, at odds with Jack’s capacity for ruthlessness and military efficiency.
Ianto retreats before Jack notices him, despite the sense that Jack is not really in the Hub anymore. He grabs a computer terminal and checks the preliminary reports begun by Gwen and Owen, and acquires enough information about the events of the day to fill in the gaps himself. A slight noise causes him to look up, but it’s only Gwen leaving the boardroom. Her expression is… strange, but slightly mollified from earlier, and she doesn’t seem to notice Ianto at all on her way out.
So, Jack had shown himself a monster to the rest of the team. Ianto thinks he’s owed a sort of satisfaction from this, but he only feels tired, strung out; a small misplaced cog in a great machine that’s trying to find a place to fit in again. Not because he wants to, but because there’s not other choice.
Jack doesn’t give up on people. Except, of course, when he does, because decisions have to be made. Whatever the team’s objections, Ianto decides he is in no position to judge on the matter of Jasmine. In any case, Jack’s frightening silence speaks enough about his thoughts. Last night, there’d been tears and alcohol and conversations with Gwen. Now Ianto lingers for as long as he dares, not knowing what good he’d be able to do but reluctant to leave. The midnight hour and finished paperwork force him to; at his apartment he falls into an uneasy sleep, and dreams of water and fire and metal like blood.
The next day, he receives a message from Jack that they’ve got the day off. It pulls him out of bed; shower, shave, suit. He arrives at the Hub earlier than his usual time, waves a greeting at a swooping Myfanwy. He’s pleased to find that Jack has already fed her, taken in the mail, fed the Weevils, set up Tosh’s Rift monitoring program. Clearly, Jack really had meant a day off for the team. But a feeling of unease trails Ianto, until he realizes: there is no sign of Jack.
He checks the internal CCTV. No Jack inside the Hub. There are plenty of blind spots, of course, but a glance inside the office reveals no coat or belt, strongly suggesting that Jack had stepped out. Which is fine, Jack is perfectly within his rights to lose his sorrows in drink or intimate companionship, but Ianto remembers the gun, the face like a statue, his own ignorance of the limits of Jack’s semi-secret healing capabilities. He brings up the video logs, follows Jack through the morning rounds, sees him taking the lift up to the Plass. Switch to the external CCTV. A silent communion with wheeling seagulls, an aimless stroll around, then long legs striding towards the Bay-
Ianto tries not to think too much, these days, because thinking often leads to remembering; so he just acts, racing up the stairs and out of the tourist center and down towards the water. Spots the CCTV camera he’d been looking through last, estimates where Jack had been standing, thinks he can see a patch of a different color in the water.
No thought, just instinct - he pulls off his suit, he dives.
The cold and sudden submersion are a shock to his system. Ianto can’t even remember the last time he’d had more than a perfunctory shower in the mornings or after messy cleanups. But the water is warmer than he’d braced for, though far from pleasant; before surfacing for a breath, he looks up and sees the sun blazing like a great jewel.
Up and a full lungful, then back down again, eyes ignoring the sting of saltwater and trying to see through the greenish gloom. He swims a little, scanning below, and practically collides with the dark blue coat. He grabs it, pulls the floating body close, the three-dimensional movements giving Ianto an odd feeling of being in outer space. Then there are Jack’s eyes, startled and blue and alive, and they gaze at each other for several heartbeats before legs kick and the surface crashes down.
Ianto gasps, coughing out water. Jack retches hard, bringing up enough water to fill lungs and stomach and coughing like he’s intent on getting the organs out as well; Ianto thinks, distantly, that he might injure himself.
Warmth on his face, and Ianto remembers the sun. He looks up to clear blue skies, fluffy clouds, a beautiful summer day. He doesn’t remember the last time he’d appreciated one. Feels more than a bit surreal, like a painting. But then, they must make a more absurd picture, two grown men in formalwear floating in the inner Bay.
Jack subsides to clearing his throat and wiping his nose. His eyes don’t leave Ianto, face drifting startlingly close, and Ianto belatedly realizes that his hands are still clenched around Jack’s coat. He abruptly lets go, but Jack doesn’t move away, gazing at him with confusion and surprise. Then he can practically hear Jack rummaging for something to say, and Jack’s bewilderment makes it easier for him to maintain a cool and unaffected face. Even if he is in the water, in his work clothes, having chased after Jack bloody Harkness.
“So…” Jack begins, bravado and big smile billowing out like the bottom of his coat under the water. “You come here often?”
Ianto can’t help it - he laughs, clear and loud. “First time, actually.”
Jack grins, but then frowns and looks away, and Ianto belatedly remembers that he’s said the words before. In the gloom of the Hub at midnight, in the pervading underground chill, in tiredness of treating everyone he knew as a potential enemy. Jack had seen, and saved him, and a part of Ianto wishes Jack had not confused the cause with lingering post-traumatic symptoms.
“This water is filthy, sir,” he says, lamely, turning around and heading for dry land.
They don’t speak as they return to the Hub. Ianto bags their sodden clothing for cleaning and puts the kettle on, before going down to the showers. Jack has already finished and gone to his quarters, much to Ianto’s relief. A quick soaping down, shampoo for his hair. It’s only when he wraps a towel around himself and opens the cupboard where the team keep their spare sets of clothing that he remembers - he’s used the set he keeps in here, and hasn’t yet put in a new one. Owen’s won’t fit him, and Jack... ah.
If he remembers correctly, there are two shirts and a pair of previously worn but relatively clean trousers in Jack’s wardrobe; clothing Ianto had left behind and kept forgetting to take out, until Lisa had been revealed and Ianto figured he’d lost any rights he might have had to go into Jack’s private space.
Ianto pokes his head out into the main Hub just as the electric kettle starts to beep. He’s forced to go to the kitchen and turn it off while wearing only a towel. There’s nobody else there, and he can easily doctor the CCTV footage later, but walking around Torchwood so... so exposed makes him feel more uneasy than handling corpses ever had. The memory of violence and death and fear of the unknown; not to mention a great big pterodactyl. A calming breath, and he concentrates on preparing pot of tea for himself and Jack. Marshalling every once of dignity and calm left in him, Ianto marches into Jack’s office.
He knocks on the manhole cover with his foot, calling out, “Tea, sir.” The tray is set on the desk, and Ianto stands on the other side of the office.
The cover pops open. “Ah, nothing better than some solid Earl Grey after a dip in the- whoa.” Jack’s expression when his eyes properly fall on Ianto, while his body is still only halfway through the opening, is one that Ianto wants immortalizes in stone. He bites his lip to keep from laughing, even as he feels an unwarranted rush of heat when Jack’s eyes do the inevitable slide down to places other than his face.
He clears his throat. “I was wondering if you could hand me the shirt and trousers I, er, left in your room?” For once he is grateful for Jack’s lasciviousness, because otherwise the request would be far more awkward than it already is.
Clear blue eyes snap back up to meet his, and why, it is as awkward as Ianto had dreaded. Plus, there is something in Jack’s eyes, an old pained resignation, like a scar reopened many times; Ianto thinks of the old lady, the young girl, and Lisa somewhere in between.
For the first time, Ianto allows the thought, he would have saved her, if he could.
“I wasn’t… I only wanted some peace and quiet, just for a little while,” says Jack quietly, pulling himself the rest of the way out and standing; the explanation is one that Ianto had neither expected nor felt he had any right to ask for. Jack gestures toward his quarters. “You can change in there. My clothes from yesterday are still down there, if you want to save me a trip.” The older man goes to the desk and the steaming cups, wearing only a shirt and trousers himself. “I promise not to peek,” he adds, an odd bitter note in his voice. Ianto only nods, climbs down the ladder with as much grace as the big towel would allow.
He returns to the office a few minutes later, towel slung neatly over one arm and several pieces of Jack’s clothing tucked under the other. Just like that, he knows he has permission to go into Jack’s sleeping area whenever he wants, almost like before, and he feels the removal of a regret he hadn’t known he felt. Jack is sitting behind his desk, sipping tea, looking at Ianto with an unreadable expression. Ianto sits on the other side, piles the garments on his lap, takes his own cup.
So many things have gone wrong, Ianto thinks, for him and for Jack and for him and Jack. But now they’re sitting down over a pot of tea. He half expects Jack to make light conversation, as usual; but there is only silence, honest silence, a mark of respect Ianto doesn’t feel he deserves.
“What are you thinking?” asks Jack, over the tinkling of pouring tea as Ianto refills their cups.
Ianto sits back. So much wrong between them, so many ways this story can go, and he’s a little terrified of it. “That you’re a complicated man, Captain,” is all he says. For now.
Author: etharei
Rating: PG
Timeline: directly after "Small Worlds" (105)
Spoilers: "Cyberwoman" (104) and "Small Worlds" (105)
Summary: Ianto hates not knowing what to do, being uncertain of his place, and thus quite loathes his life these days. But he has enough dignity left to want to do his job, as best as he can, if that is all he can have.
Disclaimer: Torchwood and all the characters and situations featured therein are the property of Russell T. Davies, the BBC and their affiliates. I’m only borrowing them for purely non-profit, recreational purposes.
Author's Notes: This was meant to be a short piece, but kept getting longer and longer AND WOULDN'T END.
Written for: horizonssing, Day #2
light shining through water
by etharei
Calling one’s boss a monster is one thing. Adding to that a solemn promise to watch said boss suffer and die more or less guarantees the cessation of future good relations, if not future employment in Torchwood and retention of Torchwood memories.
But Ianto is very definitely still in the Hub. Serving hot beverages to an eerily silent team; back to being invisible, not a thank-you even from Tosh. The most recent mission was completed just as it’s getting dark outside, and this would normally lead to a rushed debriefing and eager exit by everyone before the Rift coughs up something new.
Except nobody is looking at each other, much less talking. Jack had stormed straight into his office upon arrival; unlike yesterday, Gwen doesn’t follow him. In fact, she’s the one casting angry glances toward the closed door, in between gulps of coffee fortified with rum. (Ianto has gotten good at reading surface emotions from the voices on the comms, and matching mood to beverage.) There are some tip-taps from keyboards, slow and reluctant.
He retreats to the kitchenette. Washes dishes. Eventually he hears the siren of the cog door opening, two sets of footsteps leaving; when he comes out, only Gwen’s desk still has her bag on it.
Ianto hates not knowing what to do, being uncertain of his place, and thus quite loathes his life these days. But he has enough dignity left to want to do his job, as best as he can, if that is all he can have. He quietly makes his way to Jack’s office, to check if Jack wanted a cup of something.
Knowing by instinct to look first through the glass, Ianto sees Jack sitting behind his desk. Just sitting, staring ahead of him, not moving a muscle. Staring... at the gun on his desk. The Webley that never leaves Jack’s side.
Ianto remembers, clearly, Jack’s hand on his back as they looked at strange weather patterns, warmth reaching through the layers of fabric. Jack, looking almost naked in a simple white t-shirt. Jack, who he knows can heal faster than any normal human, who can survive enough blood loss to empty out two men; who, Ianto is beginning to suspect, is incapable of giving up on anyone. The first two may be inevitable and highly beneficial effects of living with so much alien technology, on top of a Rift in time and space, but the third and last is a curious characteristic, at odds with Jack’s capacity for ruthlessness and military efficiency.
Ianto retreats before Jack notices him, despite the sense that Jack is not really in the Hub anymore. He grabs a computer terminal and checks the preliminary reports begun by Gwen and Owen, and acquires enough information about the events of the day to fill in the gaps himself. A slight noise causes him to look up, but it’s only Gwen leaving the boardroom. Her expression is… strange, but slightly mollified from earlier, and she doesn’t seem to notice Ianto at all on her way out.
So, Jack had shown himself a monster to the rest of the team. Ianto thinks he’s owed a sort of satisfaction from this, but he only feels tired, strung out; a small misplaced cog in a great machine that’s trying to find a place to fit in again. Not because he wants to, but because there’s not other choice.
Jack doesn’t give up on people. Except, of course, when he does, because decisions have to be made. Whatever the team’s objections, Ianto decides he is in no position to judge on the matter of Jasmine. In any case, Jack’s frightening silence speaks enough about his thoughts. Last night, there’d been tears and alcohol and conversations with Gwen. Now Ianto lingers for as long as he dares, not knowing what good he’d be able to do but reluctant to leave. The midnight hour and finished paperwork force him to; at his apartment he falls into an uneasy sleep, and dreams of water and fire and metal like blood.
The next day, he receives a message from Jack that they’ve got the day off. It pulls him out of bed; shower, shave, suit. He arrives at the Hub earlier than his usual time, waves a greeting at a swooping Myfanwy. He’s pleased to find that Jack has already fed her, taken in the mail, fed the Weevils, set up Tosh’s Rift monitoring program. Clearly, Jack really had meant a day off for the team. But a feeling of unease trails Ianto, until he realizes: there is no sign of Jack.
He checks the internal CCTV. No Jack inside the Hub. There are plenty of blind spots, of course, but a glance inside the office reveals no coat or belt, strongly suggesting that Jack had stepped out. Which is fine, Jack is perfectly within his rights to lose his sorrows in drink or intimate companionship, but Ianto remembers the gun, the face like a statue, his own ignorance of the limits of Jack’s semi-secret healing capabilities. He brings up the video logs, follows Jack through the morning rounds, sees him taking the lift up to the Plass. Switch to the external CCTV. A silent communion with wheeling seagulls, an aimless stroll around, then long legs striding towards the Bay-
Ianto tries not to think too much, these days, because thinking often leads to remembering; so he just acts, racing up the stairs and out of the tourist center and down towards the water. Spots the CCTV camera he’d been looking through last, estimates where Jack had been standing, thinks he can see a patch of a different color in the water.
No thought, just instinct - he pulls off his suit, he dives.
The cold and sudden submersion are a shock to his system. Ianto can’t even remember the last time he’d had more than a perfunctory shower in the mornings or after messy cleanups. But the water is warmer than he’d braced for, though far from pleasant; before surfacing for a breath, he looks up and sees the sun blazing like a great jewel.
Up and a full lungful, then back down again, eyes ignoring the sting of saltwater and trying to see through the greenish gloom. He swims a little, scanning below, and practically collides with the dark blue coat. He grabs it, pulls the floating body close, the three-dimensional movements giving Ianto an odd feeling of being in outer space. Then there are Jack’s eyes, startled and blue and alive, and they gaze at each other for several heartbeats before legs kick and the surface crashes down.
Ianto gasps, coughing out water. Jack retches hard, bringing up enough water to fill lungs and stomach and coughing like he’s intent on getting the organs out as well; Ianto thinks, distantly, that he might injure himself.
Warmth on his face, and Ianto remembers the sun. He looks up to clear blue skies, fluffy clouds, a beautiful summer day. He doesn’t remember the last time he’d appreciated one. Feels more than a bit surreal, like a painting. But then, they must make a more absurd picture, two grown men in formalwear floating in the inner Bay.
Jack subsides to clearing his throat and wiping his nose. His eyes don’t leave Ianto, face drifting startlingly close, and Ianto belatedly realizes that his hands are still clenched around Jack’s coat. He abruptly lets go, but Jack doesn’t move away, gazing at him with confusion and surprise. Then he can practically hear Jack rummaging for something to say, and Jack’s bewilderment makes it easier for him to maintain a cool and unaffected face. Even if he is in the water, in his work clothes, having chased after Jack bloody Harkness.
“So…” Jack begins, bravado and big smile billowing out like the bottom of his coat under the water. “You come here often?”
Ianto can’t help it - he laughs, clear and loud. “First time, actually.”
Jack grins, but then frowns and looks away, and Ianto belatedly remembers that he’s said the words before. In the gloom of the Hub at midnight, in the pervading underground chill, in tiredness of treating everyone he knew as a potential enemy. Jack had seen, and saved him, and a part of Ianto wishes Jack had not confused the cause with lingering post-traumatic symptoms.
“This water is filthy, sir,” he says, lamely, turning around and heading for dry land.
They don’t speak as they return to the Hub. Ianto bags their sodden clothing for cleaning and puts the kettle on, before going down to the showers. Jack has already finished and gone to his quarters, much to Ianto’s relief. A quick soaping down, shampoo for his hair. It’s only when he wraps a towel around himself and opens the cupboard where the team keep their spare sets of clothing that he remembers - he’s used the set he keeps in here, and hasn’t yet put in a new one. Owen’s won’t fit him, and Jack... ah.
If he remembers correctly, there are two shirts and a pair of previously worn but relatively clean trousers in Jack’s wardrobe; clothing Ianto had left behind and kept forgetting to take out, until Lisa had been revealed and Ianto figured he’d lost any rights he might have had to go into Jack’s private space.
Ianto pokes his head out into the main Hub just as the electric kettle starts to beep. He’s forced to go to the kitchen and turn it off while wearing only a towel. There’s nobody else there, and he can easily doctor the CCTV footage later, but walking around Torchwood so... so exposed makes him feel more uneasy than handling corpses ever had. The memory of violence and death and fear of the unknown; not to mention a great big pterodactyl. A calming breath, and he concentrates on preparing pot of tea for himself and Jack. Marshalling every once of dignity and calm left in him, Ianto marches into Jack’s office.
He knocks on the manhole cover with his foot, calling out, “Tea, sir.” The tray is set on the desk, and Ianto stands on the other side of the office.
The cover pops open. “Ah, nothing better than some solid Earl Grey after a dip in the- whoa.” Jack’s expression when his eyes properly fall on Ianto, while his body is still only halfway through the opening, is one that Ianto wants immortalizes in stone. He bites his lip to keep from laughing, even as he feels an unwarranted rush of heat when Jack’s eyes do the inevitable slide down to places other than his face.
He clears his throat. “I was wondering if you could hand me the shirt and trousers I, er, left in your room?” For once he is grateful for Jack’s lasciviousness, because otherwise the request would be far more awkward than it already is.
Clear blue eyes snap back up to meet his, and why, it is as awkward as Ianto had dreaded. Plus, there is something in Jack’s eyes, an old pained resignation, like a scar reopened many times; Ianto thinks of the old lady, the young girl, and Lisa somewhere in between.
For the first time, Ianto allows the thought, he would have saved her, if he could.
“I wasn’t… I only wanted some peace and quiet, just for a little while,” says Jack quietly, pulling himself the rest of the way out and standing; the explanation is one that Ianto had neither expected nor felt he had any right to ask for. Jack gestures toward his quarters. “You can change in there. My clothes from yesterday are still down there, if you want to save me a trip.” The older man goes to the desk and the steaming cups, wearing only a shirt and trousers himself. “I promise not to peek,” he adds, an odd bitter note in his voice. Ianto only nods, climbs down the ladder with as much grace as the big towel would allow.
He returns to the office a few minutes later, towel slung neatly over one arm and several pieces of Jack’s clothing tucked under the other. Just like that, he knows he has permission to go into Jack’s sleeping area whenever he wants, almost like before, and he feels the removal of a regret he hadn’t known he felt. Jack is sitting behind his desk, sipping tea, looking at Ianto with an unreadable expression. Ianto sits on the other side, piles the garments on his lap, takes his own cup.
So many things have gone wrong, Ianto thinks, for him and for Jack and for him and Jack. But now they’re sitting down over a pot of tea. He half expects Jack to make light conversation, as usual; but there is only silence, honest silence, a mark of respect Ianto doesn’t feel he deserves.
“What are you thinking?” asks Jack, over the tinkling of pouring tea as Ianto refills their cups.
Ianto sits back. So much wrong between them, so many ways this story can go, and he’s a little terrified of it. “That you’re a complicated man, Captain,” is all he says. For now.