sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-18 01:40 pm
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-18 01:40 pm
Entry tags:
Bits and Pieces; Torchwood/Doctor Who
This is a collection of story-starts and scenes that never went anywhere; they're coherent enough to stand on their own, if not as stories then at least as interesting slices, so I thought I'd turn them out to sparkle. These are all in the PG to PG-13 range; bit of swearing, bit of ass-grabbery, some guns, no porn.
Warnings: Canonical character death (Toshiko).
First Posted 4.15.2010
Title: For A Good Time, Call A Human
Summary: Rose and the Doctor require a lot of thought.
Sex took a lot of thinking about.
Contrary to popular (read: the Doctor's) belief, Jack was not interested in fucking anything that moved. He definitely wasn't interested in fucking anything that didn't move; no more lazy lays for sunny Jack. Just because his horizons were broad didn't mean they were blindingly so.
By the fifty-first century aliens were very much a fact of life. The human race, having conquered its own sexual insecurities, was well on its way to making the reputation the Doctor had once alluded to (apparently as an in-joke with Rose) that humanity had touched every star in the sky. Jack had once seen graffiti on a loo wall that read "For a good time, call a Human". While it might be Xenist, it was also more or less true. Humanity seemed proud of the fact. It was probably a human who'd written it.
If an alien had an erogenous zone and a reasonably functional method of stimulating a human erogenous zone, there was a human out there who was willing to give it the old college try. And clearly that was all the Doctor had on his mind when Jack admitted he was from the fifty-first century and the Doctor got that look on his face. That Oh, you're from that century look. The century of flexuality.
Jack was up for a grope or a kiss or dinner and dancing with any willing soul that pinged him as sexually attractive, and plenty who weren't but seemed like they'd be good in bed or interesting to talk to. That was just fun. But he didn't wreck homes, he didn't push, and he didn't do serious relationships without a whole bucketload of thought first.
You'd have to fill the entire TARDIS with thought before you fully identified all the issues and ramifications of seducing the last of the Time Lords. Besides, there was Rose to think about.
"Do you ever think about Rose?" he asked the Doctor, around a bite of apple, propping his feet up on one of the railings at the edge of the TARDIS control room. The Doctor, tinkering affectionately with some below-the-floorboards gutpiece of the TARDIS, tossed a greasy rag up through a nearby hatch.
"Course I do. All the time. Mostly to wonder where she buggered off to after I told her to stay put," he replied.
"I don't mean in a general sense."
"How else am I supposed to think of Rose?"
Jack shrugged. "Oh, in the carnal sense, I guess I meant."
There was a thud and a clank and a curseword. The Doctor's head and shoulders appeared in the hatch-hole. He rubbed the top of his head.
"Why would I be thinking about Rose in a carnal sense?" he demanded.
"I didn't say you were, I asked if you did," Jack said. He took a knife out of his pocket and sliced off a portion of apple. "Want some?"
"No, thank you. Why are you thinking about me thinking about Rose in the carnal sense?"
"Listen, we have all of eternity before us and the universe at our feet. Someone has to make small talk."
"I promised Jackie I'd keep her safe," the Doctor said darkly, disappearing again into the depths of the TARDIS.
"You're not an alien chastity belt, Doctor."
There was a grunt from the floorboards. "Tell her mum that. Wait till I'm there, I want to see someone else get slapped."
"You got slapped by Rose's mom? I'm sorry I missed that."
"It was nothing to do with carnal relations, thanks," the Doctor replied, aggrieved.
"I don't know about her mom, but Rose can slap me carnally any day."
"She will, if you keep on like that."
Jack burst out laughing and the Doctor backpedalled.
"I didn't mean carnally!"
Jack let his boots slam down on the floor, still laughing. He choked on a piece of apple, and that made him laugh harder, until tears were streaming down his cheeks and the Doctor popped out of the floor again, like a groundhog, to see what was going on. Which only made him laugh more.
"What's going on in here?" Rose asked, appearing in the doorway. Jack looked up at her, inhaled, snorted, and kept laughing.
"He's having a seizure," the Doctor said.
"I -- Rose -- phowar," Jack wheezed. "Sorry. Apple down the wrong pipe."
"And that's...funny?" Rose asked. Jack, incapable of any more speech, thumped his chest and tried to get his breathing under control.
"I once knew a bloke who laughed until he passed out," Rose continued, stopping at the console to study the computer screen. "He couldn't get enough air and he just went down. We had been drinking," she added, grudgingly. Jack, clutching his ribs, breathed deeply.
"Rose, I adore you," he managed.
"You adore anything with tits. And lots of things without," she replied.
"Above and beyond the basic standard."
"It's nice to be adored above the standard," she said, stepping over the Doctor. "Where are we off to next, then?"
"Nowhere, till I get the zagwat bolt tightened," the Doctor replied. "S'not safe."
Both of them looked at him. Safe was not a word that generally existed aboard the TARDIS, except in a sarcastic sense.
"It'll only take an hour or two. If it slips off midflight there's no telling where we'd end up."
"Come and have tea first, then," Rose said. "I put a kettle on."
The Doctor put his hands on the floorboards and hefted himself up effortlessly.
"Tea," he said, and offered Rose his elbow. She took it, Jack following behind, still wiping his eyes.
At the little table in the TARDIS kitchen, Rose tended the ancient and possibly alien-manufactured kettle while Jack pried open the tin of biscuits and the Doctor cleaned his hands using the disinfect setting on the screwdriver. It was the only thing Jack had ever seen that got grease out from under fingernails. And the Doctor did have delightful, nimble long fingers.
Seriously, something had to be done about this, between the Doctor's fingers and the way Rose's ass moved when she was fidgeting and waiting for the water to boil. He wouldn't mind being between the Doctor's fingers and Rose's ass, if it came to that...
"What kind d'you want?" Rose asked.
"Both," Jack answered absently.
"We've got three million kinds of tea," Rose said, annoyed. "Just pick one."
The Doctor, without moving his head from where it was bent over his hands, looked up at Jack and raised an eyebrow. Rose might be oblivious to his slip, but the Doctor was not.
"Umm-mm, Tarcax Rosehips," he said.
"Same for me," the Doctor called.
"You always have the same as we're having," Rose said, wrinkling her nose. "I'm having Irish Breakfast."
Jack got up to help her carry the tea and sugar to the table, reaching around her for one of the cups and giving her a sidelong smile. She grinned back, a little nervously in fact, and slipped away with her cup of tea and the Doctor's.
This was going to take so much thought.
Title: A Handshake Would Have Sufficed
Summary: A new Torchwood agent meets its most famous freelancer.
Ben had been with Torchwood Three for about a month when Jack the Bulldog showed up for the first time. Just walked right in, bold as you please, some stranger acting like he owned the place, and Ben (who hadn't survived his first month in Torchwood by being slow on the draw) had a bead on him before he was three feet through the door.
His hands shot up, fingers spread, and he grinned sheepishly. "Don't shoot. Or, well, yeah, shoot if you wanna."
"Stay right there," Ben said.
"Wanna see a trick?" the man continued, turning towards Alex's office. Ben didn't hesitate; one bullet, straight through the head.
"What the -- aw, Jesus," Erica said, appearing on the upper gantry. "ALEX!"
"WHAT?" Alex's voice, drifting out of the boardroom.
"JACK'S BEEN SHOT."
"Who?" Ben asked. Alex came into view next to Erica.
"What, again?" he said. "Ben, honestly."
"He was an intruder!" Ben protested. "He was going for your office! I -- "
He stopped then, because the man on the floor had gasped and flailed, probably in some kind of death throes...
And then he sat up, then stood up. Ben blinked at his whole, unharmed head, and let his gun fall to the ground.
"Jack?" Alex called.
"Just making friends!" Jack called back.
"Showoff," Alex muttered, but he clanked down the stairs and offered Jack his hand, clapping him on the arm in greeting. Erica followed, and this strange American scooped her into his arms and twirled her around, laughing and kissing her -- once, twice, three times. Then he set her on her feet and turned to Ben, smiling.
"Captain Jack Harkness," he said, offering his hand. Ben looked at it warily. "It's okay, I don't bite unless you say please."
"He's fine, he's one of us," Alex said. "Go on, shake the man's hand."
"I wouldn't blame you if you didn't, though. That was really mean, Jack," Erica said.
"What? Isn't that the done thing? Hazing the new kid? I'm sure I've done this before," Jack replied. "No hard feelings, huh Ben? Besides, he's a hell of a shot."
Ben sighed and hesitantly shook the man's hand. Jack's thumb rubbed across the back of his own before he let go.
"He's Darlene's replacement?" Jack asked, turning to Alex.
"That's right," Alex said, and Jack bowed his head.
"Sorry I couldn't make the funeral," he muttered.
"You were on assignment. Darlene would have smacked you around for breaking cover," Alex told him. Jack got a nostalgic look on his face, as if being smacked around by Ben's predecessor was his fondest memory.
"Doesn't matter," Alex continued, in a voice that said it did matter but they were going to pretend otherwise. "Come into my office, I'll debrief you."
"Love it when he says that," Jack said over his shoulder to Ben and Erica, following Alex into the office. Alex shut the door firmly.
"Who the hell is he?" Ben asked, staring after them.
"That's Alex's bulldog," Erica said. "He's a freelancer."
"A freelancer for Torchwood?"
"Yeah."
"Who can't die."
"Pretty much," Erica replied. "Sorry, should have warned you about him, but he's been gone for nearly three months. I didn't think about it. Jack had some kind of accident, he won't talk about it. How old do you think he is?"
"Dunno, thirty-four, thirty-five?"
"He's been with Torchwood since 1879."
Title: Something Beautiful
Summary: There's a coded meaning in Ianto's diary that Jack can't quite parse at first.
Ianto's diary was not half so interesting as first-look had tantalisingly implied. Jack reckoned most peoples' weren't, to be honest. And part of it was that Ianto's neat handwriting and messy sketches composed an undocumented hardcopy chronicle of his life at Torchwood -- aliens, monsters, and cannibals included -- which was a security risk.
Jack tipped his head back. Ianto's opinion was that the cannibals hadn't actually been so bad, in the end, because there hadn't had to be a cover story and no cleanup afterwards. They just had to downplay their role, never hard when the local police wanted their cut of the fame, and go home and lick their wounds.
He flicked back a dozen pages. The cannibals were about a quarter of the way in; the account started with their first case after his return from suspension. For all he knew Ianto hadn't even kept a diary at all until after Lisa's death, but he doubted it. The way the text was organised, fitted to its author's mind (all events in chronological order, diagrams labeled, but the text haphazardly strewn around pasted-in clippings) said that this was someone who was experienced at taking his life down in a book in a way that would make sense to the only logical reader -- himself.
Most surprising, really, was how much Jack there was in the diary. Well before Jack had even kissed him, well before they were anything to each other --
Actually, well before Ianto even liked him much, to all outward appearances. A handful of weeks after Jack shot his girlfriend Ianto was recording Jack's opinion on an alien microwave that tumbled through the rift into a local man's back garden. Two days later, a drily witty account of a heated debate between Jack and Owen. A week after that the entries became more regular, rarely less than one a day, recording Torchwood's investigations. Sometimes food receipts or newspaper articles or photos were pasted in.
It was mostly cases. Ianto's inner thoughts on the team, if he had any, weren't sketched out in any detail. Once in a while there was a slightly sarcastic comment about Gwen (usually in conjunction with "not a stray cat" or "v. tired of being called cold fish") or a notation about having lunch out with Tosh, but that was about the size of it. There wasn't even much about his personal life: where he went outside of Torchwood, who he talked to, all the minutiae of daily living that most diaries were composed of. Either he was an open book with a lot less writing in than Jack supposed, or he simply found the cases more interesting than his own personal thoughts.
Except...past the cannibals and Tosh's psycho girlfriend (lots of exclamation points during that account), Jack got the sense that there was something coded into the diary that he was missing. For one thing, the DVD-Commentary-By-Jack faded away, gradually, and was replaced by a more dispassionate analysis of the cases. Made sense, really, once Ianto was out of the hub and on fieldwork more of the time.
Instead, the DVD-Commentary was about Jack.
He was startled to find that some days he "seemed off" and other days he was "a trial to all but Gwen" though mostly he was "usual charming self" with never a hint of sarcasm, and often a sort of contextual tone of affectionate tolerance.
"Evening shift," was another phrase that increased in frequency, until Jack realised this was Ianto's subtle way of marking the nights he spent with Jack. And that the status reports from those nights weren't about the Hub.
All quiet (ordinary evening in, Jack supposed). Bit of a disturbance tonight (he couldn't fathom that). Hub security check (Naked tag games). Spent some time in the greenhouse (humidity was good for the skin). Easy few hours (slow sex at Ianto's flat, streetlights picking out planes and shadows on bare skin). Ordered in (dinner date). Weevil hunting (Well...probably weevil hunting. Unless Ianto was being very imaginative with his euphemisms). Art appreciation (baffling; most baffling of all was a postcard of a Jackson Pollock painting clipped to that page, labeled "Avant Garde").
There was one page -- a pretty recent case, a sentient creature alive and being butchered by a pair of greedy brothers and a whole crew of quasi-sociopathic meatpackers. Warehouse measurements, a rough sketch of the alien's location, a few calculations Jack recognised as the logistical workings-out of how to cremate a creature of that size.
And a tiny printout of Gwen and Rhys sitting outside -- CCTV footage of them eating ice cream, Rhys's arm in a sling. Next to it, Ianto's tidy handwriting.
Jack didn't make Gwen retcon Rhys today, it said. Jack braced himself for the inevitable jealousy he suspected the other members of the team had felt; he couldn't help treat Gwen differently sometimes. He glanced back at the text.
Believe there may be hope yet for Torchwood.
Ianto, feeding Myfanwy, glanced sidelong at Jack as he joined him on the fountain walkway. Ianto heaved the steak up into the air, watching as Myfanwy swept down and caught it, the wind from her wings disordering his hair. Jack slid an arm around him from behind and pressed his face into Ianto's newly-messy hair, then kissed his ear.
"What's all this?" Ianto asked, twisting to face him. "You weren't licking something that fell through the Rift again, were you?"
"You are so human," Jack mumbled into the side of his throat.
"What on Earth, Jack...?"
"You see so much horror, but you're always grasping after something beautiful," Jack said.
Ianto gave him a rare smile, the affectionate kind he didn't often bestow -- the kind without a dry, sarcastic tilt to it.
"Got something beautiful," he replied. "Can I ask..."
"Anything," Jack said, tightening his grip.
"Jack, are you certain you didn't activate some kind of alien mood enhancer?"
Title: Chips Down The Pub
Summary: Ianto and Gwen discuss Jack's dating habits.
"Stakeout. Just fucking great."
Gwen could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she'd heard Ianto swear. And, if they were going to get into details, most of those had been during the long, hellish night that Lisa had been discovered, so Ianto wasn't really responsible for those.
(True: she had spoken to Owen about it afterwards and it had been his considered medical opinion that Ianto Jones was not in his right mind that night. "I'm dead serious," he'd said. "Delusions, overt aggressive behaviour, irrational behaviour, violent mood swings. Why not? A psychotic break, brought on by emotional strain and post-traumatic stress." Owen went so far as to claim Ianto may not have been in his right mind since Canary Wharf, all things considered. It was the first time Gwen really understood that Owen was capable not only of objectivity in his practice, but of mercy.)
"Well, we have to work to the job," she said reasonably, as Ianto sulked viciously in the driver's seat. "Bit of a shame though, I had a dinner date tonight."
"Yes, well, as it happens, so did I," Ianto replied. "Somehow I think Sunset House may have misplaced our dinner reservations for eight, by the time we arrive tomorrow night."
"Sunset House? Special occasion?" Gwen asked.
"Jack likes their steaks." Ianto glanced at her. Gwen lifted her eyebrows. She and Rhys had gone to Sunset House once, to celebrate his promotion, and dined on noodles and tinned meat for a week after. "He pays."
She grinned at him.
"What? I couldn't afford it, could I? If he wants me to pay he'll be happy with chips down the pub, or give me a raise."
Gwen laughed. Ianto looked annoyed.
"Sorry," she said. "It's just, once in a while I wonder just how the two of you work, and then you say something like that and I don't even need to ask."
"What? That he pays for everything?" Ianto asked.
"No! Ianto. Come on," she said. "I meant, Jack likes to think he's master of the situation, but you're the one who calls the shots."
"Oh." He looked slightly mollified.
Title: The Obvious Perk
Summary: Jack knows what makes a marriage, and what makes a survivor.
Once I was capable of it. I was, I really was, but then I found what inevitably followed. And, while I'm no stranger to heartbreak, I tried for a while not to court it anymore.
Once I was capable of building a life with someone, before I lived alone in a hole in the ground.
Back then I knew that anyone I loved would die before I betrayed them, because I had a hundred years to wait. I was still Jack -- I was miserable a lot of the time, but I was essentially a stupid kid with forty years and a half-forgotten war under my belt. I knew how it was to lose: my brother, my best friend, my memory, my partner, my Doctor. I didn't know how it was to marry, buy a home, pretend that it was all normal, and then lose everything that mattered. Because when your wife dies you still have a house full of things you bought and made and did together. You still think about what your children would have looked like.
I burned our house after she died, with everything still in it. The grief was wrenching and there would be no end to it and even if I loved again there would be that terrible overwhelming wave-crash of memories that I'd never be able to run away from even if I retconned myself back to infancy. Because sooner or later I'd just do it again. The fire helped for a little while.
I didn't mourn her for a hundred and two years, but I clung to the fire for a hundred and two years and I never got that close again. It was practically part of the training manual: Fuck Jack if you want, but don't get too attached. He won't.
I almost did with Sascha, but Alex shot her on New Year's Eve. At least that time I didn't have to burn a house down.
Every ten years or so I look back on my life and find new reasons to think I was an idiot in the previous ten years. Apparently I've got all the time in the world to one day figure out how not to be an idiot, but it hasn't happened yet.
"Jack?"
Ianto's such a boy sometimes. Gods love him, occasionally I feel like I'm committing some kind of illegal act.
"Yeah?" I ask, looking up. He has coffee and a sandwich.
Sharing food is one of the most primal bonding experiences of human culture. For two weeks after he nearly ended the world (let nobody say Ianto Jones isn't a go-getter) he wouldn't eat food I brought him unless I ate some too. At first I thought it was natural paranoia that I'd put retcon or poison in it, but I think after a while it was a ritual. If he was allowed to eat from my plate, it meant he still belonged to someone.
I take the coffee, help myself to half the sandwich and offer him the other half. No tomatoes, because I don't like them; mustard, because he likes it.
Marriages are all about compromise. And, also, sharing food.
"Are you staying tonight?" I ask, around a mouthful.
He leans on the desk, looks down. "Can do, if you like. I had a favour to ask, actually."
I raise an eyebrow.
"Nothing like that."
"Oh?" I ask.
"I need some time off. On call, of course."
"Weekend in Tahiti? Please say you're taking Gwen and a videocamera."
"She's married, Jack."
"Rhys can come along."
"I hope daily that the difference between your fantasies and reality is not an indication of your grip on sanity."
I love it when he talks smart.
"Can I ask why?"
"Got to find a new flat. Lease is up. You've seen it."
I have seen Ianto's flat. He'd be better off living in the tourist office. For one thing, the tourist office has regularly functional heating.
"Take what you need. You should look around here."
He pulls a face. "I can't afford around here."
"You want time off and a raise?"
A year ago he would have protested, then looked relieved that it was a joke. Now he leans in close and thumbs a smear of mustard off the corner of my mouth.
"Well, there ought to be some perks of sleeping with the boss. Aside from the obvious perk of sleeping with the boss."
"I'll have you know there have been times when the attentions of your boss were highly sought after."
"Are you saying people have paid to have sex with you?" he asks, and then kisses the corner he just wiped clean. "You are a little bit of a whore, Jack."
Smart, dirty, not much difference when you get down to it.
"No raise for you."
"No bayside penthouse, then. I wonder what alley hovels are going for these days?"
Title: Composition
Summary: John Hart is a master composer, and frankly he's running rings around the Harkness boys.
When John finally realises the scope and breadth of Gray's insanity, of this insane plan, he shuts his eyes for a brief moment, feels the bond of the detonator on his skin, and then he smiles.
"Leave it to me," he says, and begins building bombs.
John's not an utter sociopath. Yes, okay, he does kill people, but only when he has to or they've done something to deserve it or when he doesn't feel that it will be a waste of life. He has no qualms about being judge and jury. But he doesn't want to blow up Cardiff, or kill all of Jack's...people, and the word grates against him because Jack's having at least two of them, he must be, probably Eyecandy and the gutsy copper. Still, it's not enough to make him want them dead, and Eyecandy's pretty gorgeous and Gwen packs a nice punch, she'd be fun to play with.
So he convinces Gray to let him do it his way, which is less Gray's way than Gray thinks, and he orchestrates it like the master conductor he is.
A pleasant overture: Gray insisted on at least trying to take out Jack's people, but he doesn't seem to notice that John's building big redlighted timers into them or placing them where they'll do minimum possible damage, behind walls and up against tempered-steel columns. The brunt of the explosion will hit Jack, who can take it. He had factored at least two deaths into the plan, and that's acceptable, though of course Jack wouldn't see it that way. Better some than all, is the thing. And everyone survives, which is not only a testament to John's skills and abilities but a way to stick it to the fucking bastard who bonded a detonator into his skin. John doesn't like being muzzled (except by Jack, who can make any restraint, physical or spiritual, seem like everything you always wanted).
The Rift spikes are next, which Gray thinks are fun when John suggests them. He has no way of knowing what'll burst out, but hopefully they won't be too nasty, nothing that can't be handled. Gray thinks it'll knock the surviving members of the team off their feet, but he isn't looking at where John's planting the spikes any more than where John planted the bombs. This will pull Jack's people to where they'll be needed most: central police command, the hospital, and the server building. Really they should be thanking him for giving them tip-offs that way. He knows Jack will come to the Hub, is counting on it.
Then there's the bombs in Cardiff. They're placed in factories and warehouses and outside of the residential areas, where they'll kill the fewest people. Outgoing roads have to be shut down, of course, but it's after rush hour. The deaths from the bombings are regrettable, but they're also acceptable in the grand scheme, and it's not like John knows any of them personally. John would burn worlds for Jack, just like Jack would for him (still; that kiss wasn't any kind of fake, and neither was the fight). He's willing to drop a few minivan mums off the face of the earth for a good cause.
John watches from the balcony of the castle as the bombs go up and he feels the hard thud of Jack's heart as Jack watches it all go to hell, or what he thinks is hell.
Planting the idea in Gray's head of releasing the Weevils was, he thinks, pure genius; it will keep assholes off the streets and in their houses, and minimise the rioting. John is after all a Time Agent, he's dealt with the logistics of mob violence before. They're nothing more than jumped-up cops when it comes down to it, but cops know what to worry about in a multiple-bomb situation. The important thing is that Gray thinks that Cardiff is falling to pieces, when in fact there will be no riots, no looting, minimal death, and very little panic.
Really, the Harkness brothers are just not that bright. Taken serially and individually, John can run circles round them if he wants. It's just that Jack has these...people, and Grey caught John off-guard.
Won't happen again.
And in the end, well. Jack suffered, but Jack was born to suffer, he gets off on his own suffering. Owen died, but he was already mostly dead. It's a shame about Toshiko, though. John liked what little he saw of her.
Title: Ghosting
Summary: Tosh has left more of herself behind than she intended. (Warning for character death.)
Tosh started ghosting a week after she died. That was what Jack called it, said it was a term people would invent one day.
Tosh had put a handful of macros into the computer that would open up password-protected files, run a goodbye video, and transfer administration of the mainframe to Ianto (actually it was prioritised; Ianto, Jack, Gwen, Owen, just in case Ianto died and Jack disappeared again). what she hadn't thought to do was turn off another handful of automated email macros. On Monday, all three of them received an email from Tosh updating them on rift activity (simple mail merge program input the proper codes) and reminding Gwen that they were going to meet for coffee. On Friday it was a "have a good weekend!" message to Ianto and Gwen, who had been scheduled to have the weekend off, and a "Don't misbehave!" message to Owen's empty mailbox, because he'd been scheduled for duty.
After three weeks of cheery reminder emails and "Give my love to Rhys!" and "Ianto, don't forget to pick up the organic sugar Jack uses!" Gwen couldn't cope anymore.
"It's creepy and weird," she said, sitting at the conference table on Jack's left, Ianto on his right. "Can't we shut it off?"
"Not without hacking Tosh's email, which considering her security measures would probably bring down the mainframe," Jack said.
"It can't go on forever," Gwen protested. "It's going to make me nuts."
"I wondered what she was doing, always coming in on New Year's Day," Jack mused.
"Programming the year's emails?" Ianto asked.
"Some of them, anyway. I'm sure she made adjustments all the time. Point is, she was good about setting expirations. After New Year's they should stop," Jack said.
"You can put a filter on your inbox," Ianto said to Gwen. "Show you how if you like."
"I'll still know they're there," Gwen insisted. "You mean we can't stop it?"
"Not without endangering the Hub." Jack glanced at Ianto. "You feel like Gwen does?"
Ianto didn't quite meet either set of eyes. "I don't really think I need to have an opinion on this."
"Ianto!" Gwen said.
"Well, it's not as though we can do anything about it, Jack says, and it'll stop after the first of the year," Ianto replied, shrugging. "If we can't stop it we just have to treat it like a code glitch that'll go away when the year turns."
"She's not a code glitch! She was a person!"
"Was," Jack said, without the hard edge she'd been expecting.
"I'll put a filter on," Ianto repeated.
Gwen gave up. At least with the filter she didn't get them directly.
A month later, Jack caught Ianto laughing aloud at the computer, and leaned over his shoulder shamelessly.
"It's my birthday letter," Ianto said, delight on his face. "From Tosh."
"And that's...funny?" Jack asked.
"It's brilliant, Jack. Look, she made me a to-do list for the year." Ianto pointed. "You're number four."
"Four?" Jack looked insulted.
"She's right though, I should work on Myfanwy's table manners," Ianto said, pointing to number one. "And you can't blame her for complaining that I should stop mucking about on the server without more compsci training."
"Three: get out more and wear more jeans," Jack read. "I'm listed after fashion advice."
"But before 'Practice restraint in passive-aggressive taunting of Owen'," Ianto argued. "Also in before 'start checking for grey hairs'. And number ten."
"Don't let Jack read your personal emails over your shoulder," Jack read aloud. Ianto gave him a pointed look.
Title: Guest of Torchwood
Summary: An unexpected family friend crashes in Cardiff.
She came down with the rain.
Despite the Doctor's predictions, the fallout from the Earth's temporary displacement lasted nearly a month. Not that anyone in Cardiff really noticed -- they talked about it, of course, but that was what people did in Cardiff: talk about the rain. Jack had been listening to people with Welsh accents (and sometimes in Welsh, way back when) talk about the rain for the past hundred and twenty-five years, give or take.
"Bit wet today," Gwen once said to Ianto, who had just walked into the Hub soaked to the skin.
"Oh yes?" he'd replied. "I hadn't noticed."
"Well, it'll clear up soon, weatherman says."
"Huh, the weatherman," Ianto had sniffed, taking off his jacket and spreading it over a railing to dry. "It'll be two more weeks of this, and my umbrella blew out this morning."
"Keeps the pollen down, though!"
"It'll only make it worse when it stops."
And then Jack had been forced to bite his lip not to laugh, because god, they were so Welsh sometimes.
At any rate, it was no surprise that it was raining the day the small one-man craft blipped across the sensors. It took Gwen and Ianto's combined efforts to track it down and identify it, where Tosh would have needed perhaps five minutes and someone to hold that button down there until she said stop.
Jack missed Tosh fiercely. Even Mickey wouldn't have needed any help, but Mickey had lasted two weeks before turning in his gun to Jack and telling him he'd got the wrong man for the job. Jack, who already knew this, had allowed Mickey to go back to London and get on with his life, Retcon-free, no hard feelings.
Between the two of them, Ianto and Gwen had managed to calculate the craft's trajectory and scan for weapons and life-signs. It was unarmed, despite the fact that Jack knew the make and model of the ship and it should be bristling with defences. There was only one person aboard, probably humanoid, race uncertain. Oxygen-rich environment though, which meant that -- unlike the Herkaf that one time -- whoever was inside probably wouldn't spontaneously explode when they deplaned.
To say that Torchwood took the occupant prisoner would be overstating it, though that was how Jack recorded it in the logs. What actually happened was that they found the craft smoking hot, stood around in the rain waiting for it to cool down, and were all taken a little by surprised when it popped open and someone stepped out.
It was a woman -- hardly more than a girl, but undoubtedly full-grown -- and she looked completely human. She had short blonde hair, currently fast becoming plastered to her head, and she wore an almost paramilitary uniform, olive-drab shirt and trousers, thick leather belt, heavy boots. She dusted her hands and then caught sight of them.
"Hi," she said cheerfully, in perfect English. "Is this Cardiff? It's sort of flatter than I expected."
All three of them gaped at her.
"Oh, no -- this is the twenty-first century, isn't it?" she continued, turning around quickly, taking everything in. "Only, I'm rubbish at navigation. Get it from my Dad. I'm looking for the twenty first century. Cardiff. Carrrrrr-diff," she said slowly, as if she thought they might not speak the language.
Jack recovered first, stepping forward and offering his hand. "You're at the start of the twenty-first century. You overshot Cardiff by about ten kilometers."
"Oh, well, that's not so bad," she said. She took what looked like a keyring out of her pocket and pushed a button on a little black box. The spaceship bleeped and disappeared. "I'm Jenny," she added, shaking his hand.
"Captain Jack Harkness," Jack replied. "This is -- "
"The Captain Jack Harkness?" she asked, her smile widening. Jack preened. Ianto, behind him, made a short disapproving noise. "Oh, wow!"
He pulled her forward a step and leaned in to whisper in her ear. "All the stories are true."
She laughed.
"Then this must be Torchwood," she said, brushing past him (hey!) to study Gwen and Ianto clinically. "Right? You're Torchwood?"
"Gwen Cooper," Gwen said, diplomatically shaking hands when Jenny offered. "This is Ianto Jones."
"You've got two hearts," Ianto blurted, looking up from the scanner in his hand. "I think."
"Yep, that's me," Jenny replied, leaning over and tipping it down with her hand so that she could see it. "Hey, look! That's my lungs!"
"So," Jack said, with a forced casualness he didn't feel in the slightest, "Where are you from, Jenny with two hearts?"
"Originally, or lately? Not that it matters. I'm here now. Ten kilometers, did you say? Is that an internal-combustion automobile? Can I have a ride?" she asked.
"I did, it is, and you can," Jack replied. "In fact, I'd insist on it."
Jenny waved a hand in front of the door handle, then looked puzzled when nothing happened. Gwen kindly reached around her and pulled on it.
"Oh, right," Jenny said, climbing inside. Jack tossed Ianto the keys and climbed into the back with her. Gwen looked surprised, but took the passenger's seat. Ianto started the engine and turned the SUV, easing it a little more slowly back towards the road than Jack had done taking them off it.
"So," Gwen said, turning around in her seat. "What brings you to Cardiff, Jenny? Tourism? Ianto's got some lovely brochures on the castle."
"Well, I got into some trouble a few galaxies over," Jenny said, "and I needed a place to lie low for a while and I thought, Dad liked Cardiff in the twenty-first century, I'll try that."
"So, not the castle then," Ianto remarked.
"Dad?" Jack asked, with a horrible, a really terrible feeling in his gut.
"Not that he ever talked to me about it, but sometimes I remember things he knew," she said. "He remembers you, Captain Harkness. Very vividly."
"This father of yours," Ianto began, but stopped when he saw Jack glaring at him from the backseat.
"I did know a guy with two hearts once," Jack said. "They called him the Doctor."
"You remember him! That's awfully sweet. That's Dad," she said cheerfully. "I'm so glad. Not that I'd presume on your hospitality or anything, but it's nice to know one has family friends around."
"Your father is the Doctor," Jack repeated, just in case this was all some kind of bizarre hallucination.
"Yeah. Well, no. Well, in the sense of, I've got some of his genes. Well, most of his genes."
Yeah. Doctor's kid.
"You wanna run that by me again?" Jack said.
"He was cloned," Jenny remarked, as if she were talking about someone getting a haircut.
"I'm pretty sure he didn't look like you, when I knew him," Jack said.
"Oh, they rearranged some things. But I got the two hearts and the bit where I come back from the dead and maybe his nose, what do you think?" she asked, wrinkling it as she spoke.
"I think I'd like to buy you lunch," Jack said.
"Great! I'm famished. And broke. Except for these," she said, and pulled a handful of diamonds out of a bag she'd stashed somewhere under her shirt. Jack was impressed. "Are they worth anything on Earth?"
"Yeah," Gwen said, her eyes huge and round. "They're worth some."
"So how long are you planning to stay in Cardiff?" Ianto asked, carefully not looking anywhere but the road.
"I dunno, a few months maybe. I want to see everything, really get to know the city," she said. "You have a castle? That's so...historic."
"And a very good shopping district," Ianto drawled.
"Brilliant. Oh! Can I see your base?" she asked. Gwen glanced covertly at Jack.
"It's not much," Jack said modestly.
"Please, Captain Harkness?"
"I think we could arrange a tour," he allowed. "And we'll find you somewhere to stay."
"That's kind of you." She hesitated. "You're not going to lock me up and do weird experiments on me, are you?"
Jack could hear Gwen and Ianto waiting for him to say Only if you're into that kind of thing, but he couldn't quite bring himself to flirt. If this was the Doctor's daughter -- and he didn't doubt that she was, between the guileless face and the intense enthusiasm for everything in sight -- then that...changed things.
After all, Jack Harkness had very few sexual rules, but he held fast to those he did have. No non-sentient beings, no children, and always get consent; also, you didn't mess with your buddy's siblings or offspring or spouse (unless your buddy enjoyed that) and if you did, you definitely asked permission first.
"Not unless you're into that sort of thing," Ianto finally said, breaking the tension. Jenny laughed again, a clear, pleased laugh -- the Doctor's laugh.
Warnings: Canonical character death (Toshiko).
First Posted 4.15.2010
Title: For A Good Time, Call A Human
Summary: Rose and the Doctor require a lot of thought.
Sex took a lot of thinking about.
Contrary to popular (read: the Doctor's) belief, Jack was not interested in fucking anything that moved. He definitely wasn't interested in fucking anything that didn't move; no more lazy lays for sunny Jack. Just because his horizons were broad didn't mean they were blindingly so.
By the fifty-first century aliens were very much a fact of life. The human race, having conquered its own sexual insecurities, was well on its way to making the reputation the Doctor had once alluded to (apparently as an in-joke with Rose) that humanity had touched every star in the sky. Jack had once seen graffiti on a loo wall that read "For a good time, call a Human". While it might be Xenist, it was also more or less true. Humanity seemed proud of the fact. It was probably a human who'd written it.
If an alien had an erogenous zone and a reasonably functional method of stimulating a human erogenous zone, there was a human out there who was willing to give it the old college try. And clearly that was all the Doctor had on his mind when Jack admitted he was from the fifty-first century and the Doctor got that look on his face. That Oh, you're from that century look. The century of flexuality.
Jack was up for a grope or a kiss or dinner and dancing with any willing soul that pinged him as sexually attractive, and plenty who weren't but seemed like they'd be good in bed or interesting to talk to. That was just fun. But he didn't wreck homes, he didn't push, and he didn't do serious relationships without a whole bucketload of thought first.
You'd have to fill the entire TARDIS with thought before you fully identified all the issues and ramifications of seducing the last of the Time Lords. Besides, there was Rose to think about.
"Do you ever think about Rose?" he asked the Doctor, around a bite of apple, propping his feet up on one of the railings at the edge of the TARDIS control room. The Doctor, tinkering affectionately with some below-the-floorboards gutpiece of the TARDIS, tossed a greasy rag up through a nearby hatch.
"Course I do. All the time. Mostly to wonder where she buggered off to after I told her to stay put," he replied.
"I don't mean in a general sense."
"How else am I supposed to think of Rose?"
Jack shrugged. "Oh, in the carnal sense, I guess I meant."
There was a thud and a clank and a curseword. The Doctor's head and shoulders appeared in the hatch-hole. He rubbed the top of his head.
"Why would I be thinking about Rose in a carnal sense?" he demanded.
"I didn't say you were, I asked if you did," Jack said. He took a knife out of his pocket and sliced off a portion of apple. "Want some?"
"No, thank you. Why are you thinking about me thinking about Rose in the carnal sense?"
"Listen, we have all of eternity before us and the universe at our feet. Someone has to make small talk."
"I promised Jackie I'd keep her safe," the Doctor said darkly, disappearing again into the depths of the TARDIS.
"You're not an alien chastity belt, Doctor."
There was a grunt from the floorboards. "Tell her mum that. Wait till I'm there, I want to see someone else get slapped."
"You got slapped by Rose's mom? I'm sorry I missed that."
"It was nothing to do with carnal relations, thanks," the Doctor replied, aggrieved.
"I don't know about her mom, but Rose can slap me carnally any day."
"She will, if you keep on like that."
Jack burst out laughing and the Doctor backpedalled.
"I didn't mean carnally!"
Jack let his boots slam down on the floor, still laughing. He choked on a piece of apple, and that made him laugh harder, until tears were streaming down his cheeks and the Doctor popped out of the floor again, like a groundhog, to see what was going on. Which only made him laugh more.
"What's going on in here?" Rose asked, appearing in the doorway. Jack looked up at her, inhaled, snorted, and kept laughing.
"He's having a seizure," the Doctor said.
"I -- Rose -- phowar," Jack wheezed. "Sorry. Apple down the wrong pipe."
"And that's...funny?" Rose asked. Jack, incapable of any more speech, thumped his chest and tried to get his breathing under control.
"I once knew a bloke who laughed until he passed out," Rose continued, stopping at the console to study the computer screen. "He couldn't get enough air and he just went down. We had been drinking," she added, grudgingly. Jack, clutching his ribs, breathed deeply.
"Rose, I adore you," he managed.
"You adore anything with tits. And lots of things without," she replied.
"Above and beyond the basic standard."
"It's nice to be adored above the standard," she said, stepping over the Doctor. "Where are we off to next, then?"
"Nowhere, till I get the zagwat bolt tightened," the Doctor replied. "S'not safe."
Both of them looked at him. Safe was not a word that generally existed aboard the TARDIS, except in a sarcastic sense.
"It'll only take an hour or two. If it slips off midflight there's no telling where we'd end up."
"Come and have tea first, then," Rose said. "I put a kettle on."
The Doctor put his hands on the floorboards and hefted himself up effortlessly.
"Tea," he said, and offered Rose his elbow. She took it, Jack following behind, still wiping his eyes.
At the little table in the TARDIS kitchen, Rose tended the ancient and possibly alien-manufactured kettle while Jack pried open the tin of biscuits and the Doctor cleaned his hands using the disinfect setting on the screwdriver. It was the only thing Jack had ever seen that got grease out from under fingernails. And the Doctor did have delightful, nimble long fingers.
Seriously, something had to be done about this, between the Doctor's fingers and the way Rose's ass moved when she was fidgeting and waiting for the water to boil. He wouldn't mind being between the Doctor's fingers and Rose's ass, if it came to that...
"What kind d'you want?" Rose asked.
"Both," Jack answered absently.
"We've got three million kinds of tea," Rose said, annoyed. "Just pick one."
The Doctor, without moving his head from where it was bent over his hands, looked up at Jack and raised an eyebrow. Rose might be oblivious to his slip, but the Doctor was not.
"Umm-mm, Tarcax Rosehips," he said.
"Same for me," the Doctor called.
"You always have the same as we're having," Rose said, wrinkling her nose. "I'm having Irish Breakfast."
Jack got up to help her carry the tea and sugar to the table, reaching around her for one of the cups and giving her a sidelong smile. She grinned back, a little nervously in fact, and slipped away with her cup of tea and the Doctor's.
This was going to take so much thought.
Title: A Handshake Would Have Sufficed
Summary: A new Torchwood agent meets its most famous freelancer.
Ben had been with Torchwood Three for about a month when Jack the Bulldog showed up for the first time. Just walked right in, bold as you please, some stranger acting like he owned the place, and Ben (who hadn't survived his first month in Torchwood by being slow on the draw) had a bead on him before he was three feet through the door.
His hands shot up, fingers spread, and he grinned sheepishly. "Don't shoot. Or, well, yeah, shoot if you wanna."
"Stay right there," Ben said.
"Wanna see a trick?" the man continued, turning towards Alex's office. Ben didn't hesitate; one bullet, straight through the head.
"What the -- aw, Jesus," Erica said, appearing on the upper gantry. "ALEX!"
"WHAT?" Alex's voice, drifting out of the boardroom.
"JACK'S BEEN SHOT."
"Who?" Ben asked. Alex came into view next to Erica.
"What, again?" he said. "Ben, honestly."
"He was an intruder!" Ben protested. "He was going for your office! I -- "
He stopped then, because the man on the floor had gasped and flailed, probably in some kind of death throes...
And then he sat up, then stood up. Ben blinked at his whole, unharmed head, and let his gun fall to the ground.
"Jack?" Alex called.
"Just making friends!" Jack called back.
"Showoff," Alex muttered, but he clanked down the stairs and offered Jack his hand, clapping him on the arm in greeting. Erica followed, and this strange American scooped her into his arms and twirled her around, laughing and kissing her -- once, twice, three times. Then he set her on her feet and turned to Ben, smiling.
"Captain Jack Harkness," he said, offering his hand. Ben looked at it warily. "It's okay, I don't bite unless you say please."
"He's fine, he's one of us," Alex said. "Go on, shake the man's hand."
"I wouldn't blame you if you didn't, though. That was really mean, Jack," Erica said.
"What? Isn't that the done thing? Hazing the new kid? I'm sure I've done this before," Jack replied. "No hard feelings, huh Ben? Besides, he's a hell of a shot."
Ben sighed and hesitantly shook the man's hand. Jack's thumb rubbed across the back of his own before he let go.
"He's Darlene's replacement?" Jack asked, turning to Alex.
"That's right," Alex said, and Jack bowed his head.
"Sorry I couldn't make the funeral," he muttered.
"You were on assignment. Darlene would have smacked you around for breaking cover," Alex told him. Jack got a nostalgic look on his face, as if being smacked around by Ben's predecessor was his fondest memory.
"Doesn't matter," Alex continued, in a voice that said it did matter but they were going to pretend otherwise. "Come into my office, I'll debrief you."
"Love it when he says that," Jack said over his shoulder to Ben and Erica, following Alex into the office. Alex shut the door firmly.
"Who the hell is he?" Ben asked, staring after them.
"That's Alex's bulldog," Erica said. "He's a freelancer."
"A freelancer for Torchwood?"
"Yeah."
"Who can't die."
"Pretty much," Erica replied. "Sorry, should have warned you about him, but he's been gone for nearly three months. I didn't think about it. Jack had some kind of accident, he won't talk about it. How old do you think he is?"
"Dunno, thirty-four, thirty-five?"
"He's been with Torchwood since 1879."
Title: Something Beautiful
Summary: There's a coded meaning in Ianto's diary that Jack can't quite parse at first.
Ianto's diary was not half so interesting as first-look had tantalisingly implied. Jack reckoned most peoples' weren't, to be honest. And part of it was that Ianto's neat handwriting and messy sketches composed an undocumented hardcopy chronicle of his life at Torchwood -- aliens, monsters, and cannibals included -- which was a security risk.
Jack tipped his head back. Ianto's opinion was that the cannibals hadn't actually been so bad, in the end, because there hadn't had to be a cover story and no cleanup afterwards. They just had to downplay their role, never hard when the local police wanted their cut of the fame, and go home and lick their wounds.
He flicked back a dozen pages. The cannibals were about a quarter of the way in; the account started with their first case after his return from suspension. For all he knew Ianto hadn't even kept a diary at all until after Lisa's death, but he doubted it. The way the text was organised, fitted to its author's mind (all events in chronological order, diagrams labeled, but the text haphazardly strewn around pasted-in clippings) said that this was someone who was experienced at taking his life down in a book in a way that would make sense to the only logical reader -- himself.
Most surprising, really, was how much Jack there was in the diary. Well before Jack had even kissed him, well before they were anything to each other --
Actually, well before Ianto even liked him much, to all outward appearances. A handful of weeks after Jack shot his girlfriend Ianto was recording Jack's opinion on an alien microwave that tumbled through the rift into a local man's back garden. Two days later, a drily witty account of a heated debate between Jack and Owen. A week after that the entries became more regular, rarely less than one a day, recording Torchwood's investigations. Sometimes food receipts or newspaper articles or photos were pasted in.
It was mostly cases. Ianto's inner thoughts on the team, if he had any, weren't sketched out in any detail. Once in a while there was a slightly sarcastic comment about Gwen (usually in conjunction with "not a stray cat" or "v. tired of being called cold fish") or a notation about having lunch out with Tosh, but that was about the size of it. There wasn't even much about his personal life: where he went outside of Torchwood, who he talked to, all the minutiae of daily living that most diaries were composed of. Either he was an open book with a lot less writing in than Jack supposed, or he simply found the cases more interesting than his own personal thoughts.
Except...past the cannibals and Tosh's psycho girlfriend (lots of exclamation points during that account), Jack got the sense that there was something coded into the diary that he was missing. For one thing, the DVD-Commentary-By-Jack faded away, gradually, and was replaced by a more dispassionate analysis of the cases. Made sense, really, once Ianto was out of the hub and on fieldwork more of the time.
Instead, the DVD-Commentary was about Jack.
He was startled to find that some days he "seemed off" and other days he was "a trial to all but Gwen" though mostly he was "usual charming self" with never a hint of sarcasm, and often a sort of contextual tone of affectionate tolerance.
"Evening shift," was another phrase that increased in frequency, until Jack realised this was Ianto's subtle way of marking the nights he spent with Jack. And that the status reports from those nights weren't about the Hub.
All quiet (ordinary evening in, Jack supposed). Bit of a disturbance tonight (he couldn't fathom that). Hub security check (Naked tag games). Spent some time in the greenhouse (humidity was good for the skin). Easy few hours (slow sex at Ianto's flat, streetlights picking out planes and shadows on bare skin). Ordered in (dinner date). Weevil hunting (Well...probably weevil hunting. Unless Ianto was being very imaginative with his euphemisms). Art appreciation (baffling; most baffling of all was a postcard of a Jackson Pollock painting clipped to that page, labeled "Avant Garde").
There was one page -- a pretty recent case, a sentient creature alive and being butchered by a pair of greedy brothers and a whole crew of quasi-sociopathic meatpackers. Warehouse measurements, a rough sketch of the alien's location, a few calculations Jack recognised as the logistical workings-out of how to cremate a creature of that size.
And a tiny printout of Gwen and Rhys sitting outside -- CCTV footage of them eating ice cream, Rhys's arm in a sling. Next to it, Ianto's tidy handwriting.
Jack didn't make Gwen retcon Rhys today, it said. Jack braced himself for the inevitable jealousy he suspected the other members of the team had felt; he couldn't help treat Gwen differently sometimes. He glanced back at the text.
Believe there may be hope yet for Torchwood.
Ianto, feeding Myfanwy, glanced sidelong at Jack as he joined him on the fountain walkway. Ianto heaved the steak up into the air, watching as Myfanwy swept down and caught it, the wind from her wings disordering his hair. Jack slid an arm around him from behind and pressed his face into Ianto's newly-messy hair, then kissed his ear.
"What's all this?" Ianto asked, twisting to face him. "You weren't licking something that fell through the Rift again, were you?"
"You are so human," Jack mumbled into the side of his throat.
"What on Earth, Jack...?"
"You see so much horror, but you're always grasping after something beautiful," Jack said.
Ianto gave him a rare smile, the affectionate kind he didn't often bestow -- the kind without a dry, sarcastic tilt to it.
"Got something beautiful," he replied. "Can I ask..."
"Anything," Jack said, tightening his grip.
"Jack, are you certain you didn't activate some kind of alien mood enhancer?"
Title: Chips Down The Pub
Summary: Ianto and Gwen discuss Jack's dating habits.
"Stakeout. Just fucking great."
Gwen could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she'd heard Ianto swear. And, if they were going to get into details, most of those had been during the long, hellish night that Lisa had been discovered, so Ianto wasn't really responsible for those.
(True: she had spoken to Owen about it afterwards and it had been his considered medical opinion that Ianto Jones was not in his right mind that night. "I'm dead serious," he'd said. "Delusions, overt aggressive behaviour, irrational behaviour, violent mood swings. Why not? A psychotic break, brought on by emotional strain and post-traumatic stress." Owen went so far as to claim Ianto may not have been in his right mind since Canary Wharf, all things considered. It was the first time Gwen really understood that Owen was capable not only of objectivity in his practice, but of mercy.)
"Well, we have to work to the job," she said reasonably, as Ianto sulked viciously in the driver's seat. "Bit of a shame though, I had a dinner date tonight."
"Yes, well, as it happens, so did I," Ianto replied. "Somehow I think Sunset House may have misplaced our dinner reservations for eight, by the time we arrive tomorrow night."
"Sunset House? Special occasion?" Gwen asked.
"Jack likes their steaks." Ianto glanced at her. Gwen lifted her eyebrows. She and Rhys had gone to Sunset House once, to celebrate his promotion, and dined on noodles and tinned meat for a week after. "He pays."
She grinned at him.
"What? I couldn't afford it, could I? If he wants me to pay he'll be happy with chips down the pub, or give me a raise."
Gwen laughed. Ianto looked annoyed.
"Sorry," she said. "It's just, once in a while I wonder just how the two of you work, and then you say something like that and I don't even need to ask."
"What? That he pays for everything?" Ianto asked.
"No! Ianto. Come on," she said. "I meant, Jack likes to think he's master of the situation, but you're the one who calls the shots."
"Oh." He looked slightly mollified.
Title: The Obvious Perk
Summary: Jack knows what makes a marriage, and what makes a survivor.
Once I was capable of it. I was, I really was, but then I found what inevitably followed. And, while I'm no stranger to heartbreak, I tried for a while not to court it anymore.
Once I was capable of building a life with someone, before I lived alone in a hole in the ground.
Back then I knew that anyone I loved would die before I betrayed them, because I had a hundred years to wait. I was still Jack -- I was miserable a lot of the time, but I was essentially a stupid kid with forty years and a half-forgotten war under my belt. I knew how it was to lose: my brother, my best friend, my memory, my partner, my Doctor. I didn't know how it was to marry, buy a home, pretend that it was all normal, and then lose everything that mattered. Because when your wife dies you still have a house full of things you bought and made and did together. You still think about what your children would have looked like.
I burned our house after she died, with everything still in it. The grief was wrenching and there would be no end to it and even if I loved again there would be that terrible overwhelming wave-crash of memories that I'd never be able to run away from even if I retconned myself back to infancy. Because sooner or later I'd just do it again. The fire helped for a little while.
I didn't mourn her for a hundred and two years, but I clung to the fire for a hundred and two years and I never got that close again. It was practically part of the training manual: Fuck Jack if you want, but don't get too attached. He won't.
I almost did with Sascha, but Alex shot her on New Year's Eve. At least that time I didn't have to burn a house down.
Every ten years or so I look back on my life and find new reasons to think I was an idiot in the previous ten years. Apparently I've got all the time in the world to one day figure out how not to be an idiot, but it hasn't happened yet.
"Jack?"
Ianto's such a boy sometimes. Gods love him, occasionally I feel like I'm committing some kind of illegal act.
"Yeah?" I ask, looking up. He has coffee and a sandwich.
Sharing food is one of the most primal bonding experiences of human culture. For two weeks after he nearly ended the world (let nobody say Ianto Jones isn't a go-getter) he wouldn't eat food I brought him unless I ate some too. At first I thought it was natural paranoia that I'd put retcon or poison in it, but I think after a while it was a ritual. If he was allowed to eat from my plate, it meant he still belonged to someone.
I take the coffee, help myself to half the sandwich and offer him the other half. No tomatoes, because I don't like them; mustard, because he likes it.
Marriages are all about compromise. And, also, sharing food.
"Are you staying tonight?" I ask, around a mouthful.
He leans on the desk, looks down. "Can do, if you like. I had a favour to ask, actually."
I raise an eyebrow.
"Nothing like that."
"Oh?" I ask.
"I need some time off. On call, of course."
"Weekend in Tahiti? Please say you're taking Gwen and a videocamera."
"She's married, Jack."
"Rhys can come along."
"I hope daily that the difference between your fantasies and reality is not an indication of your grip on sanity."
I love it when he talks smart.
"Can I ask why?"
"Got to find a new flat. Lease is up. You've seen it."
I have seen Ianto's flat. He'd be better off living in the tourist office. For one thing, the tourist office has regularly functional heating.
"Take what you need. You should look around here."
He pulls a face. "I can't afford around here."
"You want time off and a raise?"
A year ago he would have protested, then looked relieved that it was a joke. Now he leans in close and thumbs a smear of mustard off the corner of my mouth.
"Well, there ought to be some perks of sleeping with the boss. Aside from the obvious perk of sleeping with the boss."
"I'll have you know there have been times when the attentions of your boss were highly sought after."
"Are you saying people have paid to have sex with you?" he asks, and then kisses the corner he just wiped clean. "You are a little bit of a whore, Jack."
Smart, dirty, not much difference when you get down to it.
"No raise for you."
"No bayside penthouse, then. I wonder what alley hovels are going for these days?"
Title: Composition
Summary: John Hart is a master composer, and frankly he's running rings around the Harkness boys.
When John finally realises the scope and breadth of Gray's insanity, of this insane plan, he shuts his eyes for a brief moment, feels the bond of the detonator on his skin, and then he smiles.
"Leave it to me," he says, and begins building bombs.
John's not an utter sociopath. Yes, okay, he does kill people, but only when he has to or they've done something to deserve it or when he doesn't feel that it will be a waste of life. He has no qualms about being judge and jury. But he doesn't want to blow up Cardiff, or kill all of Jack's...people, and the word grates against him because Jack's having at least two of them, he must be, probably Eyecandy and the gutsy copper. Still, it's not enough to make him want them dead, and Eyecandy's pretty gorgeous and Gwen packs a nice punch, she'd be fun to play with.
So he convinces Gray to let him do it his way, which is less Gray's way than Gray thinks, and he orchestrates it like the master conductor he is.
A pleasant overture: Gray insisted on at least trying to take out Jack's people, but he doesn't seem to notice that John's building big redlighted timers into them or placing them where they'll do minimum possible damage, behind walls and up against tempered-steel columns. The brunt of the explosion will hit Jack, who can take it. He had factored at least two deaths into the plan, and that's acceptable, though of course Jack wouldn't see it that way. Better some than all, is the thing. And everyone survives, which is not only a testament to John's skills and abilities but a way to stick it to the fucking bastard who bonded a detonator into his skin. John doesn't like being muzzled (except by Jack, who can make any restraint, physical or spiritual, seem like everything you always wanted).
The Rift spikes are next, which Gray thinks are fun when John suggests them. He has no way of knowing what'll burst out, but hopefully they won't be too nasty, nothing that can't be handled. Gray thinks it'll knock the surviving members of the team off their feet, but he isn't looking at where John's planting the spikes any more than where John planted the bombs. This will pull Jack's people to where they'll be needed most: central police command, the hospital, and the server building. Really they should be thanking him for giving them tip-offs that way. He knows Jack will come to the Hub, is counting on it.
Then there's the bombs in Cardiff. They're placed in factories and warehouses and outside of the residential areas, where they'll kill the fewest people. Outgoing roads have to be shut down, of course, but it's after rush hour. The deaths from the bombings are regrettable, but they're also acceptable in the grand scheme, and it's not like John knows any of them personally. John would burn worlds for Jack, just like Jack would for him (still; that kiss wasn't any kind of fake, and neither was the fight). He's willing to drop a few minivan mums off the face of the earth for a good cause.
John watches from the balcony of the castle as the bombs go up and he feels the hard thud of Jack's heart as Jack watches it all go to hell, or what he thinks is hell.
Planting the idea in Gray's head of releasing the Weevils was, he thinks, pure genius; it will keep assholes off the streets and in their houses, and minimise the rioting. John is after all a Time Agent, he's dealt with the logistics of mob violence before. They're nothing more than jumped-up cops when it comes down to it, but cops know what to worry about in a multiple-bomb situation. The important thing is that Gray thinks that Cardiff is falling to pieces, when in fact there will be no riots, no looting, minimal death, and very little panic.
Really, the Harkness brothers are just not that bright. Taken serially and individually, John can run circles round them if he wants. It's just that Jack has these...people, and Grey caught John off-guard.
Won't happen again.
And in the end, well. Jack suffered, but Jack was born to suffer, he gets off on his own suffering. Owen died, but he was already mostly dead. It's a shame about Toshiko, though. John liked what little he saw of her.
Title: Ghosting
Summary: Tosh has left more of herself behind than she intended. (Warning for character death.)
Tosh started ghosting a week after she died. That was what Jack called it, said it was a term people would invent one day.
Tosh had put a handful of macros into the computer that would open up password-protected files, run a goodbye video, and transfer administration of the mainframe to Ianto (actually it was prioritised; Ianto, Jack, Gwen, Owen, just in case Ianto died and Jack disappeared again). what she hadn't thought to do was turn off another handful of automated email macros. On Monday, all three of them received an email from Tosh updating them on rift activity (simple mail merge program input the proper codes) and reminding Gwen that they were going to meet for coffee. On Friday it was a "have a good weekend!" message to Ianto and Gwen, who had been scheduled to have the weekend off, and a "Don't misbehave!" message to Owen's empty mailbox, because he'd been scheduled for duty.
After three weeks of cheery reminder emails and "Give my love to Rhys!" and "Ianto, don't forget to pick up the organic sugar Jack uses!" Gwen couldn't cope anymore.
"It's creepy and weird," she said, sitting at the conference table on Jack's left, Ianto on his right. "Can't we shut it off?"
"Not without hacking Tosh's email, which considering her security measures would probably bring down the mainframe," Jack said.
"It can't go on forever," Gwen protested. "It's going to make me nuts."
"I wondered what she was doing, always coming in on New Year's Day," Jack mused.
"Programming the year's emails?" Ianto asked.
"Some of them, anyway. I'm sure she made adjustments all the time. Point is, she was good about setting expirations. After New Year's they should stop," Jack said.
"You can put a filter on your inbox," Ianto said to Gwen. "Show you how if you like."
"I'll still know they're there," Gwen insisted. "You mean we can't stop it?"
"Not without endangering the Hub." Jack glanced at Ianto. "You feel like Gwen does?"
Ianto didn't quite meet either set of eyes. "I don't really think I need to have an opinion on this."
"Ianto!" Gwen said.
"Well, it's not as though we can do anything about it, Jack says, and it'll stop after the first of the year," Ianto replied, shrugging. "If we can't stop it we just have to treat it like a code glitch that'll go away when the year turns."
"She's not a code glitch! She was a person!"
"Was," Jack said, without the hard edge she'd been expecting.
"I'll put a filter on," Ianto repeated.
Gwen gave up. At least with the filter she didn't get them directly.
A month later, Jack caught Ianto laughing aloud at the computer, and leaned over his shoulder shamelessly.
"It's my birthday letter," Ianto said, delight on his face. "From Tosh."
"And that's...funny?" Jack asked.
"It's brilliant, Jack. Look, she made me a to-do list for the year." Ianto pointed. "You're number four."
"Four?" Jack looked insulted.
"She's right though, I should work on Myfanwy's table manners," Ianto said, pointing to number one. "And you can't blame her for complaining that I should stop mucking about on the server without more compsci training."
"Three: get out more and wear more jeans," Jack read. "I'm listed after fashion advice."
"But before 'Practice restraint in passive-aggressive taunting of Owen'," Ianto argued. "Also in before 'start checking for grey hairs'. And number ten."
"Don't let Jack read your personal emails over your shoulder," Jack read aloud. Ianto gave him a pointed look.
Title: Guest of Torchwood
Summary: An unexpected family friend crashes in Cardiff.
She came down with the rain.
Despite the Doctor's predictions, the fallout from the Earth's temporary displacement lasted nearly a month. Not that anyone in Cardiff really noticed -- they talked about it, of course, but that was what people did in Cardiff: talk about the rain. Jack had been listening to people with Welsh accents (and sometimes in Welsh, way back when) talk about the rain for the past hundred and twenty-five years, give or take.
"Bit wet today," Gwen once said to Ianto, who had just walked into the Hub soaked to the skin.
"Oh yes?" he'd replied. "I hadn't noticed."
"Well, it'll clear up soon, weatherman says."
"Huh, the weatherman," Ianto had sniffed, taking off his jacket and spreading it over a railing to dry. "It'll be two more weeks of this, and my umbrella blew out this morning."
"Keeps the pollen down, though!"
"It'll only make it worse when it stops."
And then Jack had been forced to bite his lip not to laugh, because god, they were so Welsh sometimes.
At any rate, it was no surprise that it was raining the day the small one-man craft blipped across the sensors. It took Gwen and Ianto's combined efforts to track it down and identify it, where Tosh would have needed perhaps five minutes and someone to hold that button down there until she said stop.
Jack missed Tosh fiercely. Even Mickey wouldn't have needed any help, but Mickey had lasted two weeks before turning in his gun to Jack and telling him he'd got the wrong man for the job. Jack, who already knew this, had allowed Mickey to go back to London and get on with his life, Retcon-free, no hard feelings.
Between the two of them, Ianto and Gwen had managed to calculate the craft's trajectory and scan for weapons and life-signs. It was unarmed, despite the fact that Jack knew the make and model of the ship and it should be bristling with defences. There was only one person aboard, probably humanoid, race uncertain. Oxygen-rich environment though, which meant that -- unlike the Herkaf that one time -- whoever was inside probably wouldn't spontaneously explode when they deplaned.
To say that Torchwood took the occupant prisoner would be overstating it, though that was how Jack recorded it in the logs. What actually happened was that they found the craft smoking hot, stood around in the rain waiting for it to cool down, and were all taken a little by surprised when it popped open and someone stepped out.
It was a woman -- hardly more than a girl, but undoubtedly full-grown -- and she looked completely human. She had short blonde hair, currently fast becoming plastered to her head, and she wore an almost paramilitary uniform, olive-drab shirt and trousers, thick leather belt, heavy boots. She dusted her hands and then caught sight of them.
"Hi," she said cheerfully, in perfect English. "Is this Cardiff? It's sort of flatter than I expected."
All three of them gaped at her.
"Oh, no -- this is the twenty-first century, isn't it?" she continued, turning around quickly, taking everything in. "Only, I'm rubbish at navigation. Get it from my Dad. I'm looking for the twenty first century. Cardiff. Carrrrrr-diff," she said slowly, as if she thought they might not speak the language.
Jack recovered first, stepping forward and offering his hand. "You're at the start of the twenty-first century. You overshot Cardiff by about ten kilometers."
"Oh, well, that's not so bad," she said. She took what looked like a keyring out of her pocket and pushed a button on a little black box. The spaceship bleeped and disappeared. "I'm Jenny," she added, shaking his hand.
"Captain Jack Harkness," Jack replied. "This is -- "
"The Captain Jack Harkness?" she asked, her smile widening. Jack preened. Ianto, behind him, made a short disapproving noise. "Oh, wow!"
He pulled her forward a step and leaned in to whisper in her ear. "All the stories are true."
She laughed.
"Then this must be Torchwood," she said, brushing past him (hey!) to study Gwen and Ianto clinically. "Right? You're Torchwood?"
"Gwen Cooper," Gwen said, diplomatically shaking hands when Jenny offered. "This is Ianto Jones."
"You've got two hearts," Ianto blurted, looking up from the scanner in his hand. "I think."
"Yep, that's me," Jenny replied, leaning over and tipping it down with her hand so that she could see it. "Hey, look! That's my lungs!"
"So," Jack said, with a forced casualness he didn't feel in the slightest, "Where are you from, Jenny with two hearts?"
"Originally, or lately? Not that it matters. I'm here now. Ten kilometers, did you say? Is that an internal-combustion automobile? Can I have a ride?" she asked.
"I did, it is, and you can," Jack replied. "In fact, I'd insist on it."
Jenny waved a hand in front of the door handle, then looked puzzled when nothing happened. Gwen kindly reached around her and pulled on it.
"Oh, right," Jenny said, climbing inside. Jack tossed Ianto the keys and climbed into the back with her. Gwen looked surprised, but took the passenger's seat. Ianto started the engine and turned the SUV, easing it a little more slowly back towards the road than Jack had done taking them off it.
"So," Gwen said, turning around in her seat. "What brings you to Cardiff, Jenny? Tourism? Ianto's got some lovely brochures on the castle."
"Well, I got into some trouble a few galaxies over," Jenny said, "and I needed a place to lie low for a while and I thought, Dad liked Cardiff in the twenty-first century, I'll try that."
"So, not the castle then," Ianto remarked.
"Dad?" Jack asked, with a horrible, a really terrible feeling in his gut.
"Not that he ever talked to me about it, but sometimes I remember things he knew," she said. "He remembers you, Captain Harkness. Very vividly."
"This father of yours," Ianto began, but stopped when he saw Jack glaring at him from the backseat.
"I did know a guy with two hearts once," Jack said. "They called him the Doctor."
"You remember him! That's awfully sweet. That's Dad," she said cheerfully. "I'm so glad. Not that I'd presume on your hospitality or anything, but it's nice to know one has family friends around."
"Your father is the Doctor," Jack repeated, just in case this was all some kind of bizarre hallucination.
"Yeah. Well, no. Well, in the sense of, I've got some of his genes. Well, most of his genes."
Yeah. Doctor's kid.
"You wanna run that by me again?" Jack said.
"He was cloned," Jenny remarked, as if she were talking about someone getting a haircut.
"I'm pretty sure he didn't look like you, when I knew him," Jack said.
"Oh, they rearranged some things. But I got the two hearts and the bit where I come back from the dead and maybe his nose, what do you think?" she asked, wrinkling it as she spoke.
"I think I'd like to buy you lunch," Jack said.
"Great! I'm famished. And broke. Except for these," she said, and pulled a handful of diamonds out of a bag she'd stashed somewhere under her shirt. Jack was impressed. "Are they worth anything on Earth?"
"Yeah," Gwen said, her eyes huge and round. "They're worth some."
"So how long are you planning to stay in Cardiff?" Ianto asked, carefully not looking anywhere but the road.
"I dunno, a few months maybe. I want to see everything, really get to know the city," she said. "You have a castle? That's so...historic."
"And a very good shopping district," Ianto drawled.
"Brilliant. Oh! Can I see your base?" she asked. Gwen glanced covertly at Jack.
"It's not much," Jack said modestly.
"Please, Captain Harkness?"
"I think we could arrange a tour," he allowed. "And we'll find you somewhere to stay."
"That's kind of you." She hesitated. "You're not going to lock me up and do weird experiments on me, are you?"
Jack could hear Gwen and Ianto waiting for him to say Only if you're into that kind of thing, but he couldn't quite bring himself to flirt. If this was the Doctor's daughter -- and he didn't doubt that she was, between the guileless face and the intense enthusiasm for everything in sight -- then that...changed things.
After all, Jack Harkness had very few sexual rules, but he held fast to those he did have. No non-sentient beings, no children, and always get consent; also, you didn't mess with your buddy's siblings or offspring or spouse (unless your buddy enjoyed that) and if you did, you definitely asked permission first.
"Not unless you're into that sort of thing," Ianto finally said, breaking the tension. Jenny laughed again, a clear, pleased laugh -- the Doctor's laugh.
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