Fic: Touch of Grey (SoI 2), Jack/Ianto
Chapter Title: Touch of Grey (SoI 2)
Author: sarcasticchick
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: TW S1
Fluffers/Betas: lilithilien, fivealive
Summary: Ianto is more than just a tea-boy.
A/N: Look! I'm official. I have a fic icon. *snogs fivealive* Chapter almost didn't get posted due to TPTB's determined effort to suck me up in a tornado and blow me across Nebraska. So far, TPTB has failed. Let's hope this maintains through next week.
For Shades of Ianto series information, please see Chapter 1
Previous Chapters:
Chapter 1
Fire rained from the ceiling, missiles of molten steel blackening everything it touched, like the acid from the horn of the alien beast that had been terrorizing visitors outside St. Paul's Cathedral. This floor was the worst, where a battle had been waged and even now beams from spent energy weapons snapped electrical wires, sparking fire though the fight had moved on. The air was clouded, so thick it couldn't be breathed; he was being suffocated by a pillow of ash-inbued air.
He coughed, he cried, god he knows he cried. He didn't see anyone, there were only the two of them struggling through the hallways, dodging crumpled figures on the ground. What he saw, the images were too much, too vivid to remember and so a shadow was left on in his memory, a darkened, black imageless hollow where a life once breathed that gave testament to their existence. He couldn't say who they once were. He didn't remember. He couldn't. He couldn't remember and so they remained nameless shadows, holes in time and space.
The walls tumbled around the blackened shadows, crashing inward with the weight of the dead as panes of clear plastic melted into toxic puddles on the floor. Some still rational corner of his mind noted that the sprinkler system had never engaged; water should be streaming from the ceiling and masking his tears, but there was nothing to stop the flame, nothing to hide the shame or desperation.
He couldn't stop moving, though, couldn't stop, not until they were out. Not until they were free, and the only way they could be free was if he found the door. It was a secured exit, supposed to be secured. The frame was bent, manned by another victim of violence Ianto could not force himself to remember, the guard's screams long since quiet. Not upgradeable, apparently. Caught in the crossfire. The desk where the guard had been doing paperwork was still there, now alight in brilliant flame, black plastic inbox sagging, the paper...
...the paper's edges curled in glowing red-orange, turning black as the fuel was used and the flame crept onwards, fighting to live. Words distorted, growing strangely focused and highlighted before melting back. White turned black and then dirty grey. Ash flaked and shattered into dust as heated currents of air destroyed the fragile balance.
A photograph browned from the inside out. It curved and twisted around a metal paper clip as a hole ate through its center, then shriveled into a melted mass. The face was unrecognizable, but the clothing Ianto would remember. He would remember everything. Every fact, every detail as the file burned and the data lost, Ianto would remember...
...Lisa's screams as he dragged her through the halls. He didn't see any Torchwood member, not that Ianto was trying to see. Lisa struggled and fought his movements as much as she helped. More than once she tripped him, planting him on his arse, but it was only an accident. She was in so much pain.
He had no more than righted them the last time when he was stopped in their race for freedom, by their armed and armoured adversary. Ianto's stomach dropped to his toes in sheer panic and despair. They were so close -- the door was two corridors down and to the left. Ianto tried to wrestle Lisa behind him, to shield her from the Cyberman, but she was uncooperative. She screamed and pled for release, and Ianto wouldn't think about what she might mean. She didn't understand, didn't know what Ianto was trying to do for her. He begged for her trust as the Cyberman bore down on them.
"Duty for Queen and country." As he heard the words repeated, Ianto's stomach traveled from toes to throat to strangle his last breath even as the Cyberman turned heel and marched down the hall away from them, Sick, he braced himself against Lisa for a moment as he broke for the first time since the Dalek and Cyberman incursion, despite knowing that breaking was unbecoming to a Torchwood employee. He gagged, he cried, he knew he cried but he couldn't help himself.
Nothing would be the same. Torchwood was lost. The world may be lost as well, given time, no matter which side won the battle. There was nothing he could about it, nothing he could do but try to escape. There was nothing more he could do for Torchwood. But there was still something he could do for Lisa. The Cyberman had recognized him, no, Yvonne had recognized him. Some part of her remained. And that meant Lisa....
Sounds of weapons fire drove him onward, spitting the remnants of acidic saliva from his mouth as he encouraged Lisa and pulled her away. Away from the pink-toned battle, deeper into the smoke that curled and licked its way around his shoulders, tickled its way into his nose, slithering into his lungs and though his body until all he was spoke ash and smoke....
...ash and smoke were all that remained. Without the flickering orange-red flames dancing before him, sucking him into history, his mind was too good at remembering detail for detail -- save for the faces of the fallen which were blissfully blank. Ianto stirred, rolling his shoulders to reawaken sleeping limbs. Satisfied with his first glance, Ianto poked through the ashes with an iron fireplace poker, vintage handle twisted into a basketweave loop. It had been part of a set Lisa had loved. Now he used it to ensure all had been destroyed, and was pleased when he saw nothing from the file could be read or retrieved.
Not that he'd make a habit of it, but there was admittedly a small bit of childish glee in destroying a file that was the property of the Secretary of State for Research and Resource Acquisition. The small thrill matched the time he had dropped her favorite coffee mug on a tiled floor, watching it shatter into a thousand pieces. He had claimed it was an accident. She had forgotten Elaine's birthday. Again. Despite Ianto writing it in red on her day planner. Ianto didn't care about his own birthdays that she had forgotten, but every year he comforted Elaine when she cried in the night. Every forgotten birthday marked another year come and gone with nothing more than a formal invitation to spend the allotted two months with their mother in London. Or rather, with the nannies she hired to watch after them.
That had been no accident; neither was this.
Ianto washed his hands meticulously in the shower, washing by rote, washing by need, scrubbing beneath his nails and in the grooves of his palms. Washing away any remaining blackened soot from hands which shook with apprehension. He cleaned his teeth, shaved, ran gelled fingers though his hair and mopped dry the scattered water droplets on the counter. Nothing out of place, everything perfectly aligned. With a steady breath and nightmares yesterday's business, he dressed in charcoal grey and coal black, restoring formality pristine crease by pristine crease, The comfort of wool blend blanketed him with cool efficiency. Finally he stood before the mirror, adjusting his tie, light ash, pushing it towards his throat until it fell into place with every straight line.
"One step closer." Ianto spoke clearly to the glass, slipping into a role he knew and understood. He stopped by the night table to the right of the headboard - Lisa preferred the left side, back to the wall, while he preferred the right, a glass of water within reach in the middle of the night -- and touched the single photo affectionately, warmed by Lisa's smile. They would make more memories like this one, soon, once he'd put the situation to right.
Soon.
Glancing at the clock on the far wall, he slipped on his charcoal grey suit jacket, picked up his keys, and left his new flat. Ianto was ready for his first day back on the job.
Next Chapter
Author: sarcasticchick
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: TW S1
Fluffers/Betas: lilithilien, fivealive
Summary: Ianto is more than just a tea-boy.
A/N: Look! I'm official. I have a fic icon. *snogs fivealive* Chapter almost didn't get posted due to TPTB's determined effort to suck me up in a tornado and blow me across Nebraska. So far, TPTB has failed. Let's hope this maintains through next week.
For Shades of Ianto series information, please see Chapter 1
Previous Chapters:
Chapter 1
Fire rained from the ceiling, missiles of molten steel blackening everything it touched, like the acid from the horn of the alien beast that had been terrorizing visitors outside St. Paul's Cathedral. This floor was the worst, where a battle had been waged and even now beams from spent energy weapons snapped electrical wires, sparking fire though the fight had moved on. The air was clouded, so thick it couldn't be breathed; he was being suffocated by a pillow of ash-inbued air.
He coughed, he cried, god he knows he cried. He didn't see anyone, there were only the two of them struggling through the hallways, dodging crumpled figures on the ground. What he saw, the images were too much, too vivid to remember and so a shadow was left on in his memory, a darkened, black imageless hollow where a life once breathed that gave testament to their existence. He couldn't say who they once were. He didn't remember. He couldn't. He couldn't remember and so they remained nameless shadows, holes in time and space.
The walls tumbled around the blackened shadows, crashing inward with the weight of the dead as panes of clear plastic melted into toxic puddles on the floor. Some still rational corner of his mind noted that the sprinkler system had never engaged; water should be streaming from the ceiling and masking his tears, but there was nothing to stop the flame, nothing to hide the shame or desperation.
He couldn't stop moving, though, couldn't stop, not until they were out. Not until they were free, and the only way they could be free was if he found the door. It was a secured exit, supposed to be secured. The frame was bent, manned by another victim of violence Ianto could not force himself to remember, the guard's screams long since quiet. Not upgradeable, apparently. Caught in the crossfire. The desk where the guard had been doing paperwork was still there, now alight in brilliant flame, black plastic inbox sagging, the paper...
...the paper's edges curled in glowing red-orange, turning black as the fuel was used and the flame crept onwards, fighting to live. Words distorted, growing strangely focused and highlighted before melting back. White turned black and then dirty grey. Ash flaked and shattered into dust as heated currents of air destroyed the fragile balance.
A photograph browned from the inside out. It curved and twisted around a metal paper clip as a hole ate through its center, then shriveled into a melted mass. The face was unrecognizable, but the clothing Ianto would remember. He would remember everything. Every fact, every detail as the file burned and the data lost, Ianto would remember...
...Lisa's screams as he dragged her through the halls. He didn't see any Torchwood member, not that Ianto was trying to see. Lisa struggled and fought his movements as much as she helped. More than once she tripped him, planting him on his arse, but it was only an accident. She was in so much pain.
He had no more than righted them the last time when he was stopped in their race for freedom, by their armed and armoured adversary. Ianto's stomach dropped to his toes in sheer panic and despair. They were so close -- the door was two corridors down and to the left. Ianto tried to wrestle Lisa behind him, to shield her from the Cyberman, but she was uncooperative. She screamed and pled for release, and Ianto wouldn't think about what she might mean. She didn't understand, didn't know what Ianto was trying to do for her. He begged for her trust as the Cyberman bore down on them.
"Duty for Queen and country." As he heard the words repeated, Ianto's stomach traveled from toes to throat to strangle his last breath even as the Cyberman turned heel and marched down the hall away from them, Sick, he braced himself against Lisa for a moment as he broke for the first time since the Dalek and Cyberman incursion, despite knowing that breaking was unbecoming to a Torchwood employee. He gagged, he cried, he knew he cried but he couldn't help himself.
Nothing would be the same. Torchwood was lost. The world may be lost as well, given time, no matter which side won the battle. There was nothing he could about it, nothing he could do but try to escape. There was nothing more he could do for Torchwood. But there was still something he could do for Lisa. The Cyberman had recognized him, no, Yvonne had recognized him. Some part of her remained. And that meant Lisa....
Sounds of weapons fire drove him onward, spitting the remnants of acidic saliva from his mouth as he encouraged Lisa and pulled her away. Away from the pink-toned battle, deeper into the smoke that curled and licked its way around his shoulders, tickled its way into his nose, slithering into his lungs and though his body until all he was spoke ash and smoke....
...ash and smoke were all that remained. Without the flickering orange-red flames dancing before him, sucking him into history, his mind was too good at remembering detail for detail -- save for the faces of the fallen which were blissfully blank. Ianto stirred, rolling his shoulders to reawaken sleeping limbs. Satisfied with his first glance, Ianto poked through the ashes with an iron fireplace poker, vintage handle twisted into a basketweave loop. It had been part of a set Lisa had loved. Now he used it to ensure all had been destroyed, and was pleased when he saw nothing from the file could be read or retrieved.
Not that he'd make a habit of it, but there was admittedly a small bit of childish glee in destroying a file that was the property of the Secretary of State for Research and Resource Acquisition. The small thrill matched the time he had dropped her favorite coffee mug on a tiled floor, watching it shatter into a thousand pieces. He had claimed it was an accident. She had forgotten Elaine's birthday. Again. Despite Ianto writing it in red on her day planner. Ianto didn't care about his own birthdays that she had forgotten, but every year he comforted Elaine when she cried in the night. Every forgotten birthday marked another year come and gone with nothing more than a formal invitation to spend the allotted two months with their mother in London. Or rather, with the nannies she hired to watch after them.
That had been no accident; neither was this.
Ianto washed his hands meticulously in the shower, washing by rote, washing by need, scrubbing beneath his nails and in the grooves of his palms. Washing away any remaining blackened soot from hands which shook with apprehension. He cleaned his teeth, shaved, ran gelled fingers though his hair and mopped dry the scattered water droplets on the counter. Nothing out of place, everything perfectly aligned. With a steady breath and nightmares yesterday's business, he dressed in charcoal grey and coal black, restoring formality pristine crease by pristine crease, The comfort of wool blend blanketed him with cool efficiency. Finally he stood before the mirror, adjusting his tie, light ash, pushing it towards his throat until it fell into place with every straight line.
"One step closer." Ianto spoke clearly to the glass, slipping into a role he knew and understood. He stopped by the night table to the right of the headboard - Lisa preferred the left side, back to the wall, while he preferred the right, a glass of water within reach in the middle of the night -- and touched the single photo affectionately, warmed by Lisa's smile. They would make more memories like this one, soon, once he'd put the situation to right.
Soon.
Glancing at the clock on the far wall, he slipped on his charcoal grey suit jacket, picked up his keys, and left his new flat. Ianto was ready for his first day back on the job.
Next Chapter