Hatful of Hollow - 4/13
May. 19th, 2007 02:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
custodianTitle: Hatful of Hollow (Part 4 of 13)
Disclaimer: I'm not RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. Life is hard.
Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG-ish for language, post-coital snuggles, and come-ons.
Notes: Takes place during and very slightly after "Greeks Bearing Gifts" and utilizes some dialogue from that episode. Title refers the Smiths album that inspired this mess. Constructive criticism, comments, chocolate, and good coffee welcomed. Unbeta-ed, because that is apparently how I roll.
Part One is Here.
Part Two is Here.
Part Three is Here.
Ianto suspects that the online therapist -- that is, if he had chosen to keep working with the online therapist after the initial consult -- would have him think of this as a "down" day, and to keep at it. He remembers reading somewhere that going through the motions of happiness can produce feelings of happiness. Smiling releases endorphins, and false laughter can produce actual laughter.
This is, in Ianto's experience, a load of bollocks. No amount of smiling makes his losses any less profound. It does, however, aid in smoothing things over and letting the others get on with their lives. It also squares nicely with his professional ethic. Thus, he smiles and says good morning and doesn't let on that he spends most of his time coming apart.
Two nights ago, he'd slept with Jack. He'd enjoyed it. The human contact. The sexual release. The care the other man took in looking after him. The four good hours of nightmare-free sleep. He'd even managed to begin forgiving Jack in a very real way. But it hadn't taken the pain away. He hadn't expected it to, but he supposed there was a part of him that had hoped that his relationship with Jack would at least ease the ache he felt from his heart to his throat and fingers, his gut, his knees. Even his feet.
I can't imagine a time when this isn't everything, he thinks as he clears away some cups. Pain so constant that my stomach's full of rats. Feels like this is all I am now. There isn't an inch of me that doesn't hurt. He stops himself then. Forces himself to notice Tosh. To smile and offer her coffee. He is going to make coffee after all. Coffee is one of the things in his life that continues to make sense.
When she declines, he nods and goes on, not bothering to ask why a "no thank you" sounded so much like "I'm so sorry."
# # #
Two days later he hears Jack exclaim, "Is there something on my face? Is it food?" More curious than anything else, he winds his way around the Hub to get a closer look. He watches Tosh leave, then ducks in to offer Jack some coffee.
Jack is standing, arms crossed, staring irritably at the Really Big Stapler.
"Problem with the device, sir?" he asks, indicating the mug in his hand. When Jack accepts it, their hands touch slightly and linger for a moment. A tiny smile crosses both of their faces. Ianto can't help but think of things he's read in a magazine about twins sharing secret languages.
"Not exactly." Jack takes a sip and sets the cup down on the table.
"Can I help?"
"No, it's fine. It's pretty much set." Jack is silent again. Miles away.
# # #
Not again, please. God, not again. Ianto is frantic. And almost perfectly still.
He is only yards from the armory. Owen is even closer. But the blonde holding the alien dagger to Tosh's throat is fast. Too fast. Impossibly fast. This is the only thing holding him immobile. It isn't fear. It's helplessness.
They were bargaining, now. Everything was happening too quickly.
"Okay!" Jack's voice cut through the fray. "You want the transporter? We want Toshiko."
It's a bluff. That thing can't still work, he thinks as Mary pushes Tosh into Owen's hands. And now its Jack he worries for. Jack, who holds the alien transporter in front of him like a shield. Jack, whose nimble fingers accept the knife as he passes the Really Big Stapler to the woman on the invisible lift. Jack, who --
"You smell different to them."
"That's nothing. It's when you compare teeth to a British guy. That's when it's really scary."
"What are you?"
"I don't know."
"And you would have put me in a cage."
The device chirps to life. Seconds later, Mary is gone, burned up in dawns and sunsets. Tosh is in tears.
# # #
Ianto does not enjoy preparing the official report. The interview is too familiar. Maybe, Ianto muses, this is why Jack chose him to do this bit rather than doing it himself.
"I'm sorry," he says to her as she stands and leaves. He watches from the boardroom as Owen confronts her, but he does not interfere. Instead, he gathers his things and begins clearing away an evening's worth of coffee mugs.
# # #
He is still not sure what to call what it is he and Jack are doing, but that night, they do it a second time.
The logical parts of him simply call it "having sex." The parts of him that hurt and rage want to call it "fucking," and it is that as well, he supposes. But right now, in the afterglow, there is absolutely a part of him that refuses to name it anything other than "making love." He isn't sure how he feels about that. Unready, maybe. Afraid. He remembers one of the self help books he'd thumbed through at a bookstore in the weeks after Canary Wharf, and something about it being okay not to know how he feels. He has a sneaking suspicion that this might also be bollocks, but he's willing to go with it.
"Jack," he asks, lifting his head from the man's chest to look him in the eye.
"Mmm?"
"Something Mary said," he starts, unsure of how to continue. "Mary said you --"
"Smelled different?"
Ianto nods.
"And what do you think?"
"I think you smell quite nice, sir," he says, leaning down to kiss Jack on the mouth. "I also think I wouldn't mind another go. Possibly," he glances up at the dim circle in the ceiling above them, "on your desk. It's twice the size of this bloody camp bed, and my neck is killing me."
===
Prev. Ep: 3/13
Next Ep: 5/13
Disclaimer: I'm not RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. Life is hard.
Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG-ish for language, post-coital snuggles, and come-ons.
Notes: Takes place during and very slightly after "Greeks Bearing Gifts" and utilizes some dialogue from that episode. Title refers the Smiths album that inspired this mess. Constructive criticism, comments, chocolate, and good coffee welcomed. Unbeta-ed, because that is apparently how I roll.
Part One is Here.
Part Two is Here.
Part Three is Here.
Ianto suspects that the online therapist -- that is, if he had chosen to keep working with the online therapist after the initial consult -- would have him think of this as a "down" day, and to keep at it. He remembers reading somewhere that going through the motions of happiness can produce feelings of happiness. Smiling releases endorphins, and false laughter can produce actual laughter.
This is, in Ianto's experience, a load of bollocks. No amount of smiling makes his losses any less profound. It does, however, aid in smoothing things over and letting the others get on with their lives. It also squares nicely with his professional ethic. Thus, he smiles and says good morning and doesn't let on that he spends most of his time coming apart.
Two nights ago, he'd slept with Jack. He'd enjoyed it. The human contact. The sexual release. The care the other man took in looking after him. The four good hours of nightmare-free sleep. He'd even managed to begin forgiving Jack in a very real way. But it hadn't taken the pain away. He hadn't expected it to, but he supposed there was a part of him that had hoped that his relationship with Jack would at least ease the ache he felt from his heart to his throat and fingers, his gut, his knees. Even his feet.
I can't imagine a time when this isn't everything, he thinks as he clears away some cups. Pain so constant that my stomach's full of rats. Feels like this is all I am now. There isn't an inch of me that doesn't hurt. He stops himself then. Forces himself to notice Tosh. To smile and offer her coffee. He is going to make coffee after all. Coffee is one of the things in his life that continues to make sense.
When she declines, he nods and goes on, not bothering to ask why a "no thank you" sounded so much like "I'm so sorry."
# # #
Two days later he hears Jack exclaim, "Is there something on my face? Is it food?" More curious than anything else, he winds his way around the Hub to get a closer look. He watches Tosh leave, then ducks in to offer Jack some coffee.
Jack is standing, arms crossed, staring irritably at the Really Big Stapler.
"Problem with the device, sir?" he asks, indicating the mug in his hand. When Jack accepts it, their hands touch slightly and linger for a moment. A tiny smile crosses both of their faces. Ianto can't help but think of things he's read in a magazine about twins sharing secret languages.
"Not exactly." Jack takes a sip and sets the cup down on the table.
"Can I help?"
"No, it's fine. It's pretty much set." Jack is silent again. Miles away.
# # #
Not again, please. God, not again. Ianto is frantic. And almost perfectly still.
He is only yards from the armory. Owen is even closer. But the blonde holding the alien dagger to Tosh's throat is fast. Too fast. Impossibly fast. This is the only thing holding him immobile. It isn't fear. It's helplessness.
They were bargaining, now. Everything was happening too quickly.
"Okay!" Jack's voice cut through the fray. "You want the transporter? We want Toshiko."
It's a bluff. That thing can't still work, he thinks as Mary pushes Tosh into Owen's hands. And now its Jack he worries for. Jack, who holds the alien transporter in front of him like a shield. Jack, whose nimble fingers accept the knife as he passes the Really Big Stapler to the woman on the invisible lift. Jack, who --
"You smell different to them."
"That's nothing. It's when you compare teeth to a British guy. That's when it's really scary."
"What are you?"
"I don't know."
"And you would have put me in a cage."
The device chirps to life. Seconds later, Mary is gone, burned up in dawns and sunsets. Tosh is in tears.
# # #
Ianto does not enjoy preparing the official report. The interview is too familiar. Maybe, Ianto muses, this is why Jack chose him to do this bit rather than doing it himself.
"I'm sorry," he says to her as she stands and leaves. He watches from the boardroom as Owen confronts her, but he does not interfere. Instead, he gathers his things and begins clearing away an evening's worth of coffee mugs.
# # #
He is still not sure what to call what it is he and Jack are doing, but that night, they do it a second time.
The logical parts of him simply call it "having sex." The parts of him that hurt and rage want to call it "fucking," and it is that as well, he supposes. But right now, in the afterglow, there is absolutely a part of him that refuses to name it anything other than "making love." He isn't sure how he feels about that. Unready, maybe. Afraid. He remembers one of the self help books he'd thumbed through at a bookstore in the weeks after Canary Wharf, and something about it being okay not to know how he feels. He has a sneaking suspicion that this might also be bollocks, but he's willing to go with it.
"Jack," he asks, lifting his head from the man's chest to look him in the eye.
"Mmm?"
"Something Mary said," he starts, unsure of how to continue. "Mary said you --"
"Smelled different?"
Ianto nods.
"And what do you think?"
"I think you smell quite nice, sir," he says, leaning down to kiss Jack on the mouth. "I also think I wouldn't mind another go. Possibly," he glances up at the dim circle in the ceiling above them, "on your desk. It's twice the size of this bloody camp bed, and my neck is killing me."
===
Prev. Ep: 3/13
Next Ep: 5/13