Fic: Eyes Only
Title: Eyes only
Author: wynkat1313
Rating: PG
Characters: Jack, mentions of Jack/Ianto, mentions of Gray
Word Count: 1560
Beta: temporal_witch who is the best beta ever.
Spoiler Warning: spoilers for tw_itallchanges VS3 episode 10 & 11.
Author’s Note: This is connected to the tw_itallchanges VS3 AU, specifically an amazing piece of ephemera that was posted in relation to VS3 Ep 11 “All in Good Time”. There are links at the end of this story to both that bit of ephemera and one other piece that is referenced in this work.
Many thanks to everyone at tw_itallchanges both for their amazing work on the virtual season and for being so encouraging of people writing fan fic around the work they have created. You all rock!
Summary: A dizzying array of scans, coded files, and “eyes only” documents scrolled across his screen, each one meticulously identified and cataloged by Ianto. A dozen dozen files that Jack had known nothing about displayed themselves for him now, blinking a readiness to divulge their contents.
It was a security feature that someone - Tosh or Ianto, maybe - had installed way back when. Thirty days from the last date of login by any Torchwood operative, unless their file was amended by the Torchwood CO, the operative would be listed as Missing, Presumed Dead. At that point, all files on the operative and any secure files, including any “eyes only” files they had created, would be forwarded to Torchwood CO for review.
Jack had forgotten the feature existed. Until now, an hour after Jack had gotten back from visiting Ianto at the hospital. He was still in a coma. The doctors couldn’t say if he would ever wake up.
A dizzying array of scans, coded files, and “eyes only” documents scrolled across his screen, each one meticulously identified and cataloged by Ianto. A dozen dozen files that Jack had known nothing about displayed themselves for him now, blinking a readiness to divulge their contents.
Jack grinned. He’d always figured Ianto had been keeping additional records on some of the more interesting cases. Jack knew that Ianto knew that Jack read his diary, which meant that there had to be at least a few secrets that Ianto had kept to himself. And now it seemed Jack was going to get a look at some of them.
Jack tapped a key, opening a file at random. It was a scan of several pages of Ianto’s diary, with notes about one of the Weevil hunting missions - one of the real ones. He frowned. Why had Ianto locked that away?
Jack clicked on the image, increasing the size of Ianto’s neat handwriting on the screen, and leaned forward.
Jack died again. Second weevil caught us as we were loading the first into the boot. Jack stepped into its attack. Took the blow meant for me. And died. I’m glad to be alive, but damn it. It hurts so much to watch him die over and over again. Sometimes I wish I could do the same for him.
Jack sat back in his chair, feeling his world sliding out from under him. He stared at the words on the screen, seeing Ianto’s hands, feeling Ianto’s lips, hearing Ianto’s voice. He had to close his eyes. This was more than he expected, different than he had thought to see. He should stop here, leave the rest closed, leave Ianto’s thoughts…
He couldn’t.
Jack tapped another document open, an earlier file from the index code, and held his breath.
…
Rhiannon looked at me like I was a monster and I can’t even tell her but everyone here gets to put their noses into my family’s business because you don’t trust me or think that I can’t do this. You won’t even tell me which and then you want to talk about whether I’m angry and I don’t want to talk about it.
So I’m not.
So I should probably just black this all out anyway.
FUCK.
The handwriting wasn’t neat or orderly. It was vehement, like the words, all passion and rage focused at him. Reading the words, Jack remembered that day and the talk that he and Ianto had had. It must have been sometime after Ianto had written this entry. Ianto had sounded calmer, though no less angry than his words seemed to indicate in the diary. They had gotten fish and chips and walked along the Quay just to be out in the fresh air, and they had talked about the mess with Cosmetologica and Mica nearly dying.
Jack could still see Ianto in his mind’s eye, still-backed, leaning forward against the railing, tossing a chip into the air and smiling, despite himself, as the seagulls fought each other for control of the morsel. Jack had wanted to wrap himself around Ianto and promise him the world so long as he would keep smiling, keep fighting for those moments of happiness. But Jack had held back; he had given Ianto his space and room to talk.
One conversation hadn’t solved everything, but it had been a start. Jack could remember feeling something shift in Ianto and, if he were honest, something shift in himself. Something very like a new layer of trust emerged from Ianto's anger that seemed to solidify when Jack finally met Ianto’s family.
When they’d turned to walk back to the Hub, Ianto had taken Jack’s hand and kissed his knuckles. Nothing more, but to Jack it had felt like a blessing, a gift and a promise all rolled into one.
Jack had never been good at putting his feelings into words, but he had been so proud of Ianto for finding his way through his fear. Ianto had learned that he could stand on his own and handle a crisis without Jack to hold his hand. Had he ever told him that? Had he ever told Ianto how much he hated having to push him into that terrible place, having to leave him and Mica on their own? Jack couldn’t remember.
He stroked a finger across the angry words and smiled. Ianto in a temper was a beautiful thing to behold, and he let it go so rarely. Jack shook his head. At least Ianto had had the diary to vent into when he couldn’t bring himself to yell at Jack.
Jack took a deep breath and tapped the keys again, bringing another entry forward at random. This one was a sound clip only, and that puzzled him. He tapped a few other keys, running a search. This was the only sound file Ianto had locked down. Very odd.
He looked at the connected files. It was attached to an unlocked scan of Ianto’s diary and cross-linked to one of his own blogs.
Ianto’s file was classified as: Staff (temporal incident); Timelines (crossed, internal); Alien (identified: ceredere); Interdepartmental Relations. That was hardly helpful. The ceredere rang a bell; Jack just couldn’t place which one.
He pulled up the link to his blog and read the cited entry.
“Catalogued small cache of 51st century weapons,” he read aloud, trying to jog his memory. He scanned down the page to Other Security Issues and the memory roared through his mind like a freight train.
Performed routine CCTV system maintenance this week. A power surge during reboot caused limited damage to blade 33 on the SAN. We lost around twelve hours of internal Hub footage, various cameras. All other data was restored from backups.
“Shit,” he said. “Okay, Ianto. What the hell did you find when my other self was here that you couldn’t share with me?” Jack shook his head, confused. He had a really bad feeling that he was not going to like what he heard on the audio file. He really shouldn’t listen. If Ianto thought it important enough to keep from him, then he should leave it alone.
He hit play.
His heart stopped. He knew that voice. He hadn’t heard it - wouldn’t hear it - for several millennia, but he would know it anywhere.
His mother.
It was his mother talking to him and to Gray. He remembered the night she sent that message. He was home, on Boeshane. He and Gray were standing around the comm unit. Gray stood on his toes, trying to put his ear as close to the speaker box as possible, as if that would make their mother more real, more there somehow. Jack had laughed at the baby. Their father had ruffled Gray’s hair and then his as they waited for their mother to… oh!
She was singing. In his heart and on the audio file in perfect synchronicity, she sang.
He remembered.
Gold and warm and sun-filled breezes and the smell of the nefalla cooking on the hearth, its savory scent filling the house and making his stomach rumble. His mother’s eyes shining as she took his face her hands and kissed his forehead. His father’s calloused hands under his fingers as he taught him how to tie the fishing lines. Gray’s hand…
Gray’s hand…
Jack sobbed.
He remembered running up the dunes. He remembered the fear and the pain in his chest from the sand in the air. The noise in his ears. Gray’s hand in his and then…gone.
“Gray!” Jack cried.
The audio file looped and replayed. Jack’s mother’s voice spoke to her sons across time as Jack wiped his eyes and tried to listen with every part of his soul.
He had to laugh when she threatened them all, their father included, with making them cook dinner. That would have been more a threat for her. Their father had been - would be - a good cook, but neither he nor Gray had been much good in the kitchen as kids.
Jack’s world tilted once more as he finally heard the words Ianto had locked away, out of fear, out of love, and maybe out of hope.
“And remember, Gray, if you are going up on the dunes, then you need to hold your brother’s hand.”
It was absolution. Across time, his mother’s voice reminded him that Gray had held Jack’s hand, had let go of Jack’s hand as much as Jack had done the same.
It was too much, and it was everything Jack had ever needed. He let the tears fall as his mother sang to her little lystriegs.
References:
The first quote from Ianto’s Diary is original to this fic.
Ianto’s Diary http://community.livejournal.com/tw_itallchanges/27662.html
The section quoted here is the second of the two encrypted “eyes only” files attached to this entry.
Ianto’s Diary / Audio file: http://community.livejournal.com/tw_itallchanges/30583.html
The audio file is encrypted and attached at the bottom of this entry
Author: wynkat1313
Rating: PG
Characters: Jack, mentions of Jack/Ianto, mentions of Gray
Word Count: 1560
Beta: temporal_witch who is the best beta ever.
Spoiler Warning: spoilers for tw_itallchanges VS3 episode 10 & 11.
Author’s Note: This is connected to the tw_itallchanges VS3 AU, specifically an amazing piece of ephemera that was posted in relation to VS3 Ep 11 “All in Good Time”. There are links at the end of this story to both that bit of ephemera and one other piece that is referenced in this work.
Many thanks to everyone at tw_itallchanges both for their amazing work on the virtual season and for being so encouraging of people writing fan fic around the work they have created. You all rock!
Summary: A dizzying array of scans, coded files, and “eyes only” documents scrolled across his screen, each one meticulously identified and cataloged by Ianto. A dozen dozen files that Jack had known nothing about displayed themselves for him now, blinking a readiness to divulge their contents.
It was a security feature that someone - Tosh or Ianto, maybe - had installed way back when. Thirty days from the last date of login by any Torchwood operative, unless their file was amended by the Torchwood CO, the operative would be listed as Missing, Presumed Dead. At that point, all files on the operative and any secure files, including any “eyes only” files they had created, would be forwarded to Torchwood CO for review.
Jack had forgotten the feature existed. Until now, an hour after Jack had gotten back from visiting Ianto at the hospital. He was still in a coma. The doctors couldn’t say if he would ever wake up.
A dizzying array of scans, coded files, and “eyes only” documents scrolled across his screen, each one meticulously identified and cataloged by Ianto. A dozen dozen files that Jack had known nothing about displayed themselves for him now, blinking a readiness to divulge their contents.
Jack grinned. He’d always figured Ianto had been keeping additional records on some of the more interesting cases. Jack knew that Ianto knew that Jack read his diary, which meant that there had to be at least a few secrets that Ianto had kept to himself. And now it seemed Jack was going to get a look at some of them.
Jack tapped a key, opening a file at random. It was a scan of several pages of Ianto’s diary, with notes about one of the Weevil hunting missions - one of the real ones. He frowned. Why had Ianto locked that away?
Jack clicked on the image, increasing the size of Ianto’s neat handwriting on the screen, and leaned forward.
Jack died again. Second weevil caught us as we were loading the first into the boot. Jack stepped into its attack. Took the blow meant for me. And died. I’m glad to be alive, but damn it. It hurts so much to watch him die over and over again. Sometimes I wish I could do the same for him.
Jack sat back in his chair, feeling his world sliding out from under him. He stared at the words on the screen, seeing Ianto’s hands, feeling Ianto’s lips, hearing Ianto’s voice. He had to close his eyes. This was more than he expected, different than he had thought to see. He should stop here, leave the rest closed, leave Ianto’s thoughts…
He couldn’t.
Jack tapped another document open, an earlier file from the index code, and held his breath.
…
Rhiannon looked at me like I was a monster and I can’t even tell her but everyone here gets to put their noses into my family’s business because you don’t trust me or think that I can’t do this. You won’t even tell me which and then you want to talk about whether I’m angry and I don’t want to talk about it.
So I’m not.
So I should probably just black this all out anyway.
FUCK.
The handwriting wasn’t neat or orderly. It was vehement, like the words, all passion and rage focused at him. Reading the words, Jack remembered that day and the talk that he and Ianto had had. It must have been sometime after Ianto had written this entry. Ianto had sounded calmer, though no less angry than his words seemed to indicate in the diary. They had gotten fish and chips and walked along the Quay just to be out in the fresh air, and they had talked about the mess with Cosmetologica and Mica nearly dying.
Jack could still see Ianto in his mind’s eye, still-backed, leaning forward against the railing, tossing a chip into the air and smiling, despite himself, as the seagulls fought each other for control of the morsel. Jack had wanted to wrap himself around Ianto and promise him the world so long as he would keep smiling, keep fighting for those moments of happiness. But Jack had held back; he had given Ianto his space and room to talk.
One conversation hadn’t solved everything, but it had been a start. Jack could remember feeling something shift in Ianto and, if he were honest, something shift in himself. Something very like a new layer of trust emerged from Ianto's anger that seemed to solidify when Jack finally met Ianto’s family.
When they’d turned to walk back to the Hub, Ianto had taken Jack’s hand and kissed his knuckles. Nothing more, but to Jack it had felt like a blessing, a gift and a promise all rolled into one.
Jack had never been good at putting his feelings into words, but he had been so proud of Ianto for finding his way through his fear. Ianto had learned that he could stand on his own and handle a crisis without Jack to hold his hand. Had he ever told him that? Had he ever told Ianto how much he hated having to push him into that terrible place, having to leave him and Mica on their own? Jack couldn’t remember.
He stroked a finger across the angry words and smiled. Ianto in a temper was a beautiful thing to behold, and he let it go so rarely. Jack shook his head. At least Ianto had had the diary to vent into when he couldn’t bring himself to yell at Jack.
Jack took a deep breath and tapped the keys again, bringing another entry forward at random. This one was a sound clip only, and that puzzled him. He tapped a few other keys, running a search. This was the only sound file Ianto had locked down. Very odd.
He looked at the connected files. It was attached to an unlocked scan of Ianto’s diary and cross-linked to one of his own blogs.
Ianto’s file was classified as: Staff (temporal incident); Timelines (crossed, internal); Alien (identified: ceredere); Interdepartmental Relations. That was hardly helpful. The ceredere rang a bell; Jack just couldn’t place which one.
He pulled up the link to his blog and read the cited entry.
“Catalogued small cache of 51st century weapons,” he read aloud, trying to jog his memory. He scanned down the page to Other Security Issues and the memory roared through his mind like a freight train.
Performed routine CCTV system maintenance this week. A power surge during reboot caused limited damage to blade 33 on the SAN. We lost around twelve hours of internal Hub footage, various cameras. All other data was restored from backups.
“Shit,” he said. “Okay, Ianto. What the hell did you find when my other self was here that you couldn’t share with me?” Jack shook his head, confused. He had a really bad feeling that he was not going to like what he heard on the audio file. He really shouldn’t listen. If Ianto thought it important enough to keep from him, then he should leave it alone.
He hit play.
His heart stopped. He knew that voice. He hadn’t heard it - wouldn’t hear it - for several millennia, but he would know it anywhere.
His mother.
It was his mother talking to him and to Gray. He remembered the night she sent that message. He was home, on Boeshane. He and Gray were standing around the comm unit. Gray stood on his toes, trying to put his ear as close to the speaker box as possible, as if that would make their mother more real, more there somehow. Jack had laughed at the baby. Their father had ruffled Gray’s hair and then his as they waited for their mother to… oh!
She was singing. In his heart and on the audio file in perfect synchronicity, she sang.
He remembered.
Gold and warm and sun-filled breezes and the smell of the nefalla cooking on the hearth, its savory scent filling the house and making his stomach rumble. His mother’s eyes shining as she took his face her hands and kissed his forehead. His father’s calloused hands under his fingers as he taught him how to tie the fishing lines. Gray’s hand…
Gray’s hand…
Jack sobbed.
He remembered running up the dunes. He remembered the fear and the pain in his chest from the sand in the air. The noise in his ears. Gray’s hand in his and then…gone.
“Gray!” Jack cried.
The audio file looped and replayed. Jack’s mother’s voice spoke to her sons across time as Jack wiped his eyes and tried to listen with every part of his soul.
He had to laugh when she threatened them all, their father included, with making them cook dinner. That would have been more a threat for her. Their father had been - would be - a good cook, but neither he nor Gray had been much good in the kitchen as kids.
Jack’s world tilted once more as he finally heard the words Ianto had locked away, out of fear, out of love, and maybe out of hope.
“And remember, Gray, if you are going up on the dunes, then you need to hold your brother’s hand.”
It was absolution. Across time, his mother’s voice reminded him that Gray had held Jack’s hand, had let go of Jack’s hand as much as Jack had done the same.
It was too much, and it was everything Jack had ever needed. He let the tears fall as his mother sang to her little lystriegs.
References:
The first quote from Ianto’s Diary is original to this fic.
Ianto’s Diary http://community.livejournal.com/tw_itallchanges/27662.html
The section quoted here is the second of the two encrypted “eyes only” files attached to this entry.
Ianto’s Diary / Audio file: http://community.livejournal.com/tw_itallchanges/30583.html
The audio file is encrypted and attached at the bottom of this entry