Words half spoken and thoughts unclear...

Sat, 22 Mar 2008 04:04:23 GMT

Overall: Good, but not as good as some of the previous weeks.

Okay, first, a very important announcement regarding this episode:

IANTO AND I HAVE THE SAME BIRTHDAY. He is two years older, though. I couldn't stop grinning for a while after Jack said that.

And onto the rest...

The frame was a little problematic for me, but that was bound to be the case. Flashback episodes are hard to do, but at least it wasn't a clips episode! I really liked the opening sequence, liked the individualized reactions to the bomb (Ianto closing his eyes, resigned), and I liked the shots of them being pulled from the rubble. But I guess I was just hyper-aware of the fact that, as far as real-time is concerned, nothing happened. The frame was just that, a convenient forum for explaining how each of them joined the team, and that was obvious.

Still, I love backstory, and that's exactly what we got here. On to the flashbacks...

Jack, oh Jack. That bottle looked painful.

I adore Victorian girl power Torchwood, and think I may have a crush on the Scottish one. (Who, I would like to point out, is wearing a tie.)

The best parts of Jack's section were the time-passing montage, which was so incredibly gorgeous, and the death of his team in 1999. I would have liked to see more of 1999 and less of Victorian!Jack, I think. To me, it makes perfect sense that Jack was only a field officer for all that time. He is a natural second-in-command. He only took command when he had to, before there was no one else.

I wonder if the Lodmoor Research Facility is the "government think tank" that Mary was referring to? But if that's the think tank Mary meant, Tosh had been with them since she was 20... was spying the entire time, I wonder? Or was it a different think tank? And I guess this means that in DW, Tosh was undercover for Jack.

I don't like that UNIT is so... Torchwood. I'm sure that we're supposed to recognize a) shades of Gitmo and b) that it's post-911, but... I don't know. Torchwood is supposed to be the morally ambiguous one. That's why no one likes them, and presumably why they're effective.

So... In late 2007, Mary said Tosh'd been with Torchwood only three years. She could have meant 3+, which would put the date of recruitment at early 2004, and it could be late 2008/early 2009 in the current timeline...? That could equal out to 4.5 or 5. Still, that means a lot of time has passed during S2. TW timeline hurts my head.

Oh, Ianto. Ianto. He looks so young, doesn't he, and so desperate. He is just doing whatever he can to get his foot in the door.

Did I mention that he has my birthday? It's also different than the one in Torchwood magazine. So, Ianto could be 24 or 25, depending on the current Torchwood timeline. Meaning he was probably 23 when Canary Wharf happened, and turned 24 while at Torchwood Three (a bit before Everything Changes, maybe?). Which means he was 21 when he joined Torchwood.

We have a fair enough of Ianto details now. We know when he was born, that he was an able but not exceptional student, that he shoplifted, that his dad was a tailor, and that he is presumably from the Cardiff-area (in order to go to the Electro?). Oh, and that his coffee apparently is that good.

Also, that he had a number of temporary jobs and was a 'drifter'-- so... I wonder what kind of education that means. 'Junior researcher' at Torchwood One seems like it should require a degree. If so, and if he did join when he was 21, he couldn't have had too much of a gap between uni and TW, so temp jobs make sense.

Hee. The little comparisons to Torchwood London are great. The special equipment line makes me think back to "Do we need special weapons?" from KKBB (which is such a Torchwood One thought). Dinosaur nets! I wonder how long it takes Ianto to stop comparing the Torchwoods. Also, it occurs to me that Ianto admits to have possession of Torchwood technology and Jack doesn't seem to care. (Ianto = the right hands?)

Interesting little mention of two members of Jacks team scavenging the ruins, too. Not Jack, apparently. Suzie and Tosh, perhaps?

You know, I think my favorite part of the episode is the rolling. It's just such a perfect, understated character moment. The laugh, the pause, the almost kiss... and then Ianto pulling away because he realizes that he's already in too deep. He's obviously attracted to Jack, but I don't think that's all that is. When Ianto laughs there, it isn't forced, it isn't goal-oriented-- he laughs like he's forgotten that Torchwood One fell and that his girlfriend is half-converted. No wonder he runs off so quickly; the last thing he wants to do is forget. It probably scares him that he could.

I remained convinced that Jack and Ianto didn't have sex while Lisa was still alive. I suspect that if Ianto was willing to go that far, he would have kissed Jack right there. Instead, I get the feeling that Ianto was sincerely interested, but as long as Lisa was there, he kept pulling himself back. I'm sure similar things kept happening. So maybe the Jack/Ianto suddenness is because it's all been building up?

His face when he gets the job is heartbreaking. It's so clear that he's in constant pain, but that he's just been hiding it, and it's clear that having to use Jack has made it hurt that much more. I wonder if maybe he hadn't actually realized, before, that hiding Lisa would mean lying to real people, even ones he might actually like. It's a necessary touch; Ianto has been so manipulative, and flirty, and persistent, but... that one detail makes it so that his persistence is pathetic (as in pathos) instead of calculating. I'm glad, because his 'agenda' could have easily been taken too far.

Knowing the story of how Ianto and Jack caught the pterodactyl makes me cringe even more when I think about Cyberwoman. Did that occur to Jack-- or to Ianto?

We essentially see Ianto try out three personalities. The dark and mysterious "looks like a Weevil to me" came first. Then the young, eager, and vulnerable. And lastly, the professional and well-turned out in a suit. I wonder if he did that purposely.

Owen's backstory was lovely and sad, but I don't have all that much to say about it.

Thu, 17 Jan 2008 03:13:20 GMT

Kiss Kiss Bang Bang! Torchwood 2x01 was a pleasant surprise from Chibnall.

Some random thoughts/observations beneath the cut.

* The Obi-Wan reference was cute, but does that mean that Star Wars is still around by the 51st century, but Star Trek is not? My reaction to this is similar to my reaction to most of the pop culture refs in Who-- they tend to be little more than cheap laughs.

* Gwen's in charge. Huh. She seems to be rather good at it. I am a little confused about this because A) she's the newbie and B) in the field, Owen seems to be giving the orders. Interestingly, I kind of like that she's touchy-- she touches Tosh's back and Ianto's chest-- because it's a mannerism that's simultaneously very Jack and very Gwen. Anyway, I maintain that she gets to be leader because she's the one with the blurriest job description. And I don't necessarily mean that as a bad thing.

* The bit in the Hub with them all reporting to Gwen? I think this is the most competent we've ever seen team Torchwood. Maybe Jack ought to take notes. (Hooray for no world-endangering mistakes this episode! Well, except for trusting John, maybe, but that was all Jack's fault, which is new.)

* Anyone else notice that they're using more (alien) technology here? Gwen scanning John for weapons, for example, and Tosh tracing the Rift activity, identifying algae, CONVENIENT MEDICAL SCANNER, etc. It's nice to see that they don't just shoot things.

* Um, completely expected ~~naked Jack~~ Chibnall plothole here, but just how does the Blowfish fit into all this? He knew the team, he had one of the parts that John was looking for... was he a plant? A partner gone rogue? A tech scavenger? How did he know the team, and for that matter, why did he shoot those civilians, anyway?

* That Jack and Gwen scene baffled me. I wasn't sure what we were, ultimately, supposed to take away here. There's some kind of "connection" between them, which is something we've been shown time and time again, but Jack has also been pushing Gwen towards Rhys from the start. I do wonder if Jack's defenses are down as a result of Year That Never Was trauma, and that's why the physicality of that exchange seems a bit out of nowhere. (I like to imagine that he would have said "coming back to you" like that to every one of them, but that's probably just wishful thinking).

He also seems honestly surprised that their lives went on without him-- the most prominent display of this being Gwen's engagement. The last he saw Gwen and Rhys were not doing so well (including the bit where Rhys was dead), and we all know how Torchwood relationships usually go... Is he just now realising how much time has passed, and that he can't take anything for granted?

* In terms of Jack/Gwen shippiness, I did find it heavy-handed and distasteful. But then again, it's pretty obvious that when Gwen says no one else would have her... all Jack had to do was say "I would," and things would have gone completely differently. Gwen seemed to be daring him to say it, too. But he didn't. If that was her saying "it's now or never," then Jack's answer was quite clearly "It's never." I can hope that this was tossed in as some kind of overblown resolution to the forced Jack/Gwen of S1...? God knows there are not enough male/female platonic relationships on TV.

I've seen a lot of people comment on the way that this episode sets up Ianto as Jack's second choice, and while I don't necessarily agree, I am annoyed that the episode can be seen as suggesting such a thing. I don't trust you, writers.

* Oh, but Rhys just gets more and more lovely, doesn't he? Though Gwen should think about putting her phone on silent now and again.

* The office scene! I LOVE IT. I love the understated quality-- and the fact that Jack seems truly vulnerable here. I love the background music, and the little 'heartfelt conversation' note that plays right as Jack is about to ask "How are you, Ianto?" (JB's delivery on that is perfect. I wonder if this question isn't informed by that earlier conversation with Gwen, and if the vulnerability isn't partly because of the realisation that Ianto too may have gone on with his life.) I love that Ianto is standoffish and stuttery, and trying to focus on doing his job. That really isn't the best place or time to ask him out, Jack. (Office fetish, office romances, 'office boy promoted beyond his measure'... pattern here. "As long as it's not in an office" is a lot more than it seems.)

* The smile Ianto gives Jack when he says "Don't want you getting over-excited." gets its own bullet point. Just because.

* I'm very unclear on where Ianto keeps his gun. Last season he seemed to keep it tucked into the waistband of his trousers. When I first watched this episode, it looked like he was removing it from some kind of holster, based on the position of his hand when he reached for it-- but now, upon rewatching that scene, I can't really confirm that. (I hope for a shoulder holster. Suits + shoulder holsters = really sexy combination.)

* "You used to have better taste." "Doesn't look like that from here." XD Jack and John have a truly, truly fabulous dynamic. I do wonder what their relationship was like, and if it was Jack or John who was different then. They do seem to still honestly care for eachother.

* John's "join me" speech is just a biiiit cheesy. The music doesn't help. It's all painfully Doctor Who, isn't it? I suppose this is intentional. Those of us who watched S3 saw Jack turning down a chance to travel the universe, and now even those who only watch Torchwood see Jack doing essentially the same thing. We get it: he wants Earth, wants Cardiff, wants his team.

* Vegas galaxies! I think I love that they're not even trying anymore. It's utterly fantastic.

*Um. Handcuffs. Couldn't they have just, I don't know, cut off his hand? He came in with a SWORD, after all. I mean, John already referenced Star Wars, so it would serve him right, right? Is it wrong that this was my first thought?

* I adore that the little blood vials have the Torchwood T on them. I'm utterly unsurprised, but I adore it just the same.

Oh, and is it just me or is the vial-- of Ianto's blood-- that Jack holds up labelled "IANTO, JONES"?

* Ianto is all about color this season. If I'm not mistaken, even his jacket has a pink lining.

* Dodgy bit of science with the DNA stuff, y/y? But it works, as long as I don't think too hard about it.

* As much as I would have liked to see Torchwood without Jack for an episode, this worked. We got to see a Torchwood where Jack didn't quite fit in. Gwen and Jack butt heads. Later, in the office, Ianto is essentially ordering Jack around. Still later Owen drags Jack off by his shirt. It really isn't until the end, when Jack barrels in to save the day at the last moment, and then leads the team off in slow motion, that it's really clear that he's still the boss.

Overall? Quite fabulous. A couple of off bits-- Exposition Fish, the clunky scene with Gwen-- but nothing that made it any less enjoyable. And quite a bit that made it more so. Bring on S2!

Thu, 10 Jan 2008 03:18:44 GMT

Title: All I Want For Christmas is You
Author: halfspokenwords
Characters: Jack, Ianto
Words: 100
Rating: G
Challenge: tw100 Christmasolstikwanzakah Songs

"Here, sir," Ianto said, helping Jack through the door and easing him down onto the sofa, "are you all right to stay here while I run you a bath?"

He nodded distantly. Ianto hesitated, brushed Jack's face with his fingertips, and then quietly disappeared up the stairs, leaving Jack to look around. On Ianto's desk, beside his computer, sat a small Christmas tree, lights twinkling cheerfully. Beneath it were three gifts, beautifully wrapped.

When he looked, each was labelled in Ianto's careful script: Lisa.

Jack felt sick-- and for the first time that night, it wasn't because of the exhaust.

Tue, 01 Jan 2008 16:17:26 GMT

Title: A Study in Fear
Characters: Team
Rating: PG
Words: 1000
Note: Written for writerinadrawer 1.05. Prompt was this photo of Tosh from the S2 trailer as well as the mandatory inclusion of a picture. I might want to make this into a longer fic one day, but I thought I'd post it as-is for now.

"Get off me!" Tosh screamed as they approached, her voice already hoarse. She fought Owen to get away, only straps at her ankles keeping her in place. As she struggled, the electrodes attached to her forehead strained to detach from the monitors. "Get him off me!"

"Tosh--" Ianto started as he stepped forward, but he was silenced as Jack, next to him, immediately started questioning Owen: "What the hell are you doing to her?"

"Keeping her alive," Owen answered shortly, as he finally got the wrist restraints to strap back into place. "Or trying to. It's my job."

"Ianto!" Tosh caught sight of him, and was scrabbling for his hand. He took hers, as she concentrated on his face. "Ianto," she gasped in between heaving breaths, "what is he doing to me?" Her face contorted in fear and her grip tightened. "Don't let him."

Jack leaned over her, touched one of the electrodes, and then looked over his shoulder. "Owen--"

The doctor sighed and pulled Jack aside. "Look. I'm serious. Her entire body is in overdrive. Ridiculously highs levels of adrenaline, norepinephrine, dopamine. That's your basic fight or flight response: elevated heart-rate, blood pressure, blood sugar, and a whole slew of psychological effects-- notably, panic. I've tried to neutralise the best I could, but it only works for short intervals. She's just--"

"Turned up to eleven," Jack cut in grimly. Owen responded with a mirthless smile. "So, tell me. What causes these kinds of levels?"

"Honestly?" He reached for a leaf of papers, mostly for something to do with his hands. "Unless she's been taking large amounts of speed-- which she hasn't, by the way; I checked-- central nervous system trauma, neuroendocrine tumors, that sort of thing. But in her case, it's this." He passed over an image of Tosh's brain, pointed to a cylindrical dark spot, and said, "Implant, just like the others."

"We thought they were just terrified," Jack mused to himself. "But it was induced. Why?"

"Jack?" He looked up; Gwen was at the railing. He waved at her to continue and went back to studying the implant. "I've been going over the CCTV footage for all of our victims. Two met with the same guy, and I thought it was just a coincidence, because none of the rest..."

"Coincidences are a waste of my time."

"But then I noticed," Gwen went on, her voice devoid of the usual victory, "that Tosh met him also." She leaned over to hand Jack a file. "Put him through facial recognition and got Sergei Gorodetsky. Works at the BT Data Centre in the Bay, or he did 'til he quit two weeks ago."

"That's right around when the deaths started," Ianto contributed, approaching with his hands in his pocket. He glanced over his shoulder to look at Tosh.

Jack checked that she had given him this guy's last known address, and then started toward the door. "Good work, Gwen. Ianto, with me; we're going to get some answers from Mr. Gorodetsky."

OOOOOO

Gorodetsky's kitchen was painted a sunny yellow.

It seemed less than cheerful now, as Jack forced the man into one of his own chairs, and gave the signal to begin. Ianto held Gorodetsky's gaze a few seconds too long, his own face blank, and then cleared his throat. "Mr. Gorodetsky," he began, using the no-nonsense voice he knew Jack would love under different circumstances. "We need to ask you a few questions."

"I don't know anything," the Russian protested in unaccented English. "I haven't done anything."

Ianto opened a file folder flat and settled his elbows on the table in front of him. He flipped through a series of photographs, picked one, and slid it across the table. It was a rather blurry CCTV image of the first victim in a three-quarter profile. "Do you know this man?"

Gorodetsky barely even looked. "No."

"It would be wise to take this seriously, sir," Ianto reminded him, taking care to make that 'sir' anything but submissive. "Do you know this man?"

"I already told you," Gorodetsky repeated overly slowly, as he looked Ianto and then Jack in the eye. "I don't know anything."

Jack, who had come to stand directly behind Ianto's shoulder, his face stoic and his arms crossed, stepped forward now, produced something from one of his pockets, and held it out to Gorodetsky. "This," he said with some degree of relish, seeming to appreciate the weight in his hands, "is a silencer." Jack's lips curled into a half-smile. "Does exactly what it says in the tin."

"I know what it is," Gorodetsky said, nonplussed.

"Good. Because I," and at that point Jack paused, mostly for emphasis (damn, Ianto couldn't help thinking, he was good), "am going to give it to my colleague here. Ianto?" When he tossed it, Ianto caught it deftly. "And he's going to hold on to it for me. Aren't you, Ianto?"

Ianto smiled across the table and added two things to the files on the table. One was the silencer. The other was his handgun.

"Like the man says," Jack said, "it really would be wise to answer our questions."

"Alexander Malcolm." Ianto added a photo of an older, severe-faced blonde woman to the first. "Tanya Young." Another two photos. A dark-skinned man in uniform, a nondescript youth in front of a Boots. "Sgt. Vikas Thomas. Barclay Holcombe." He hesitated, just briefly, and then laid down the last, letting his fingers hover near the weapon as he lifted his hand. "Toshiko Sato."

Jack brought a fist down, hard, on the tabletop, so that Gorodetsky jumped. "I get cranky when people lie to me, Sergei. We know you met with them. Now tell me why, because you don't want to see me cranky.

"I haven't--" Gorodetsky broke off. "They said I had to. They said they wanted to study-- Look, I just said what they wanted, and that's it."

"Ah," Jack said, showing his teeth. "Now we're getting somewhere."

Mon, 17 Dec 2007 22:14:35 GMT

Title: That Old Black Magic
Characters: Team, slight Jack/Ianto
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Note: Written for writerindrawer 1.03. Challenge was 'under the influence' with the added requirement of a mustelid (here, mink). The plot is a little bit (or a lot) cliche, and I'm a bit ashamed about that, but mainly this was an attempt to write Owen and Gwen.

Owen sat at Tosh's workstation, chewing the end of a pen and using one finger to absently flip through the CCTV. "Boring," he muttered around the plastic. "Boring, boring-- hey." He leaned forward, hit zoom a couple of times, and leaned forward a little more.

The pen clattered to the tabletop.

Gwen looked over from her desk. "What, did Tosh forget to turn off the CCTV in one of the women's changing rooms?"

"Very funny, Cooper," he deadpanned as she prepared a rude gesture in reply. "Ha, ha." When an onscreen flicker drew his attention back to the computer, he waved Gwen off and reached for his earpiece. "Hey Jack, got a problem here."

"Talk to me," came Jack's voice a few seconds later. "What's going on?"

"Where are you?" It was more of a question than a demand.

In the background, Owen could hear the muted sounds of traffic, a question, and the soft Welsh lilt of a reply. When Jack came back on the line, it was with the tail end of a hearty laugh. "Under no circumstances are we lost. Just coming into the city, why?"

"Need you to detour. Stop off at Le Monde." He was already transferring the location to the SUV's navigation system. "You've got your car, yeah?" he asked Gwen and from halfway to his desk, she nodded. "We'll meet you there."

"Right," Jack said. "And Ianto says I never take him anywhere." He laughed, as though Ianto had responded, then explained: "Le Monde."

"Mind if I ask," Ianto broke in, voice both professional and loud enough to be heard over Jack's earpiece, "what we're being sent after?"

Gwen, who had come up behind Owen, examined the CCTV footage. "Oh," she said as she saw what had attracted the doctor's attention. "Jack, Ianto, when you get there, look for a woman in-- what looks like a fake mink coat. She'll be hard to miss."

"Fake mink?" Jack's voice carried his disgust. "I'll say; some of you people have no taste."

***

"What are they doing in there?" Gwen whispered to Owen as they crouched just behind the doors to the Le Monde dining room. When he shrugged to say that he couldn't see, she stuck out a foot and eased the door open slightly.

"It looks like they're--" She paused, re-considering the view she had of Jack and Ianto. "...I think they're feeding her fruit."

"Figures," Owen commented. He rolled his eyes, because it really did figure. He craned his neck to see for himself.

Half of the dining area had emptied out, but there was still a large group of people-- from well-dressed patrons to wait staff, mostly men, but with a few women in the mix-- standing glassy-eyed around the mysterious woman. When she moved, they moved with her, and from time to time, she would wave someone forward to attend to some request.

At the moment, she seemed to be enjoying the newest arrivals. She whispered to Ianto, and in response he stroked her cheek rather tenderly. At her other side, Jack offered a chocolate-covered strawberry from a platter that had been produced seconds before.

"Well?" Gwen prompted after a pause.

Owen glanced back at her. "That's disgusting."

"What are we going to do?"

He thought about it for a split second before answering. "I'm going in."

Before she could manage to argue, he strode into the room, weapon drawn--

--and promptly dropped it to the floor. A few meters away, the woman in the mink coat was glowing a soft blue.

"Oh!" she cried, her tone obviously one of delight, as she spotted Owen. Her voice revealed not only that she was quite young, but also that she was not native. Her accent was nondescript. "Oh, you've come to join me for dinner as well. Hello."

She held out her hands and Owen, surprisingly docile, stepped forward to take them. She giggled and positioned him next to Jack.

In the kitchen, watching through the slightly open door, Gwen made a decision.

Taking a deep breath, she threw herself through the door and chucked a small disk at the woman's feet. As blue glow filled the room, Gwen felt the slightest stirrings of interest; just as she found herself struggling to keep from moving toward the woman in mink, a few seconds had passed, the portable cell activated, and the glow faded away.

The roomful of thralls dropped motionless to the floor.

"For god's sake," Gwen muttered as she shook off a strange, off-kilter sort of feeling and then crouched to check Owen's pulse."You lot are useless, I swear."

Sat, 08 Dec 2007 03:52:22 GMT

Title: What Happens Tomorrow
Characters/Pairing: Team
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Note: Written for round two of writerinardawer. The lyric prompt I chose was "These tiny lives mean everything".

The ship arrived in the middle of the night, their claims to the Earth broadcast on all frequencies. Immediately they were all action: Jack woke Ianto, Ianto phoned the team, and they met here, in the middle of a field outside the city limits.

When they arrived, there was no spaceship, no invading army: There was only a set of three very serious looking creatures-- tall, blue-skinned, each with a metallic uniform. And guns.

"You know," called Jack, striding toward them, "I was having a nice night. Slippers, a warm drink, infomercials on the telly--" He stopped about a foot away from the nearest alien and his demeanor changed completely. "--And then you showed up."

The alien stared at Jack a moment before extracting an oddly shaped device from one of its apparently numerous pockets. "A translator," Tosh informed the others in a quiet voice, as it flicked a switch and then said,

"This planet is ours. The atmosphere will be removed."

"Jack--" Gwen tried to surge forward, but Ianto held her back; it was her first invasion, yes, but Jack's expression was not that of a man who wanted help. "You can't do this," she protested to the strangers from her place at Ianto's side. "There's life here. Don't you care about that?"

The alien blinked and the movement was slow, fluid. "You are tiny. Your lives are insignificant."

Jack clenched his jaw; Ianto was close enough to see the muscle spasm that meant he was about to snap, and when he did it wouldn't be pretty. "That's where you're wrong," Jack said to the trio, his voice stretched tight and forceful, and stabbed at the air with a fingertip. "These tiny lives mean everything!"

"You are all insignificant," the alien repeated.

Jack moved a little closer and leaned in to what Ianto supposed might be the alien's ear. "You listen to me. You have messed with the wrong planet and the wrong guy. The Earth is defended, it's defended by me, and I have a Sdaxian wave generator I've been dying to try out." He lowered his voice. "Now, you will get back in your ship and go, or so help me god, I will shoot you down."

Then Jack stopped, stepped back, and smiled. "Capiche?"

The lead alien switched off the translator and spoke to the its cohorts in a language that resembled birdsongs. The second chirped, the third chirped back-- and promptly they all shimmered and disappeared in a flash of light.

For a moment, the entire team stood still. Behind him, Tosh let out a breath, and Ianto couldn't say he didn't share the sentiment.

"That's it?" Gwen took a step forward and this time, Ianto let her. She rounded on Jack. "Are they leaving, then? What did they say?"

"I don't know," Jack said, his arms crossed against his chest, his eyes still on the speck of light that only a Torchwood employee would identify as an alien spacecraft. Something about his voice, his face, his eyes-- was empty. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see if they take the hint."

"And hope," Tosh added mildly, tucking a bit of hair behind one ear.

Jack took a deep breath, but said nothing else. When he started to follow Tosh back to the SUV, Gwen caught him by the arm and held on tightly. "But how will we know?" she insisted, her voice thick with urgency.

"You wake up tomorrow," interjected Owen, as he stopped nearby to pick up a piece of equipment, "you'll know."

Sat, 10 Nov 2007 00:01:36 GMT

Title: A Little More Time
Characters: Suzie, Ianto, briefly Owen
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,615
Prompt: (for skidmo_fic's lyric challenge) She'll find strength in her anger, and the truth in his lies / When the last scar finally fades, she'll have a new life (SR-17, "Alive")
Summary: All she's asking is for a little more time. Missing scene from 1x08.
Note: This is something of a tentative foray into Suzie-territory, so if it doesn't seem to get inside her head, it's because I'm still figuring her out. I welcome comments, flowers, kittens, etc.

The room persisted in swimming for several minutes after she came to. She was alone except for Owen, and he seemed to be preparing to leave her as well. Look at Suzie, his eyes seemed to say: she can't even kill herself right.

She swallowed twice before she realized that she shouldn't have been able to at all. She couldn't feel the hole the bullet had cut through her throat, but she knew it was there. "I should be dead." It was a groan, the words nearly unintelligible, but he seemed to understand despite that.

"No argument here," said Owen, shoving some folded-up scrubs in her direction. "Put these on." He stopped, looked at her, and wiped both of hands on his lab coat, as if touching her flesh, checking her pulse, had contaminated him. After a pause in which it looked as if he was attempting to think of something appropriate to say, he turned on his heels and left in silence.

She was alone. It figured--they brought her back to life just to leave her cold and alone, undressed and spread out on a morgue table. It wasn't long before she willed herself to try getting dressed, and attempted to pull herself into a sitting position. Quickly, she found that everything felt wrong. Cold. Heavy. Her fingers didn't quite work correctly; every sensation was dulled.

She managed to turn herself sideways, but that was all. She couldn't hold back a curse as she fell back onto the cold table, her shoulder hitting it with a solid, fleshy thud. It was beginning to seem like a lost cause-- she'd have to swallow her pride, wait for one of them to come back and take pity on her, and who knew how long that would be-- when she became aware of movement at the corner of her eye. "Who's there?" she managed to ask, the venom seeping into her voice despite the slur. "Are you enjoying this?"

"I'll help you," he said, quietly, instead of answering. It was Ianto, one hand gripping his gun, although as he descended the autopsy bay stairs it became obvious that his finger wasn't anywhere near the trigger.

Dryly, she laughed-- then coughed, as something unfamiliar caught in her throat. She wondered briefly about shrapnel.

"Here." And he must have come the rest of the way with his usual stealth and swiftness, because suddenly there was Ianto, easing her into a sitting position, one arm supporting her dead shoulders. "You probably shouldn't be trying to do this just yet," he added, but she noticed he made no move to lay her down again. Instead, he straightened her, then reached for the scrubs with one hand as he held her steady with the other.

She almost snapped "You try being the one dressed for the morgue," but in the end that asked too much of the energy she didn't have.

One-handedly, Ianto began to unfold the dark blue trousers. Once he had them ready, he a spared her a rather thoughtful look. "Here," he said again, meaninglessly, as he stayed against her for support. "Can you hold yourself there a moment?"

When she tried to nod, her head lolled forward; the nod become a grimace became a sneer. But despite that, she did succeed in propping herself up with her left arm. Her right remained almost dead weight, hanging slack by her side, wrist against the edge of the table.

Ianto moved quickly, and soon he was tugging the scrubs up past her ankles, past her knees. He stopped at her thighs, not quite awkwardly. "Care to help?"

Between the two of them, Ianto supporting her weight first on one side and then the other, soon he was very conscientiously tying the drawstring loosely around her hips. "Fully dressed," she said finally. "The Captain won't be happy."

Ianto smiled. It was pale and fleeting, but it was a smile. "I'll have to--" He motioned widely to her upper body, then stopped and waited for permission to get nearer. Always the gentleman, Ianto.

"Go on, then," she muttered tiredly. "I have no shame. I'm sure you've seen it all already."

It was almost-- almost-- worrying, the way he didn't answer.

When he began to unfasten her gown, there was something purely clinical about it. No surprise there. "Why are you doing this?" she asked, though she knew full well already-- he was doing this because no one else would. That was Ianto's job, or that's what it had become.

"Someone has to." Well, that confirmed all of her suspicions. "And besides," he went on after a pause, softly and to her surprise, "I don't mind."

In an unexpected surge of curiosity and something not unlike surprise, she probed: "Why?"

Ianto hesitated, his eyes momentarily distant. It passed quickly, with that disconcerting habit he had of hiding himself away-- and to that she could relate; once he pulled his gaze back to hers, he gave a little, jerky shrug. "I've looked after the ill before."

"I'm not ill." She leaned heavily against Ianto's trunk as he maneuvered one of her arms into a sleeve. He was so warm-- so warm, because that's what it meant to be alive. "I'm dead."

"You're not," he answered quickly, definitively, pausing to look down at her as though it mattered that she knew she wasn't, and to hold her before moving on to the second sleeve. He looked thoughtful, almost-- haunted. "You're not really, are you? You're here talking to me, and that's as good a criteria as any."

As he helped her into the rest of her shirt, she felt the displacement of air-- against her throat, where it tickled the ragged edges of flesh in a thoroughly unpleasant way. She shuddered and, immediately, Ianto went still. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," she snorted. "No. Not a lot you could do, is there?"

"Suzie," he said softly, a soft reproach. The single word was followed by a silence in which Ianto hitched up his trousers and knelt down with a pair of thick woolen socks.

Finally, she couldn't hold it back any longer. Looking around, at the reception she'd had, it was obvious she didn't have to ask. "Did any of you even miss me? You have Gwen Cooper, Torchwood agent extraordinaire, now."

She didn't expect a reply, and so almost wasn't paying attention when one came. He kept his eyes on her feet even once he was done, and finally said, "I did."

She bit back the denial, because of all of them Ianto was the one she doubted deserved it, and went instead for a too-sharp "Oh, I'm honored."

He either didn't mind the slight or didn't notice it. She suspected the former; very few things escaped his notice, though as she remembered with something like bitterness and something like relish, she'd been one of those in the past. "There. Now, I've brought you a wheelchair," he said, shifting the topic again to something more palatable, as he stood and wiped some nonexistent dust from his trousers. "Took it out of storage since it seemed you could use it. Won't do you much good down here, sadly. Shall I offer to carry you?"

"What, over the threshold?" She didn't move, just let her body hang still as she spoke. She tried to imagine that; but it was all too romance-heroine and she just couldn't manage. "Why, Ianto," she remarked when he raised an eyebrow in lieu of a proper answer, "I didn't know you cared."

"Up the stairs." He knew the clarification was unnecessary, as was the fact that he turned to again consider the stairs that led to the main area of the Hub. In the end, he didn't wait for an answer and put one arm around her waist, slid one beneath her knees. "Just lean against me."

When she did, Ianto took it as assent. He seemed to know, at any rate, that it was all he was going to get.

At the top was a wheelchair, just as he'd promised. It was metal, looked uncomfortable, but of course that was fine by her. Comfort wasn't exactly on her mind. He deposited her in it as carefully as he could, then took some time to fuss, to re-arrange her in the seat, to straighten the shirt which had twisted around with all the movement. That done, he stepped back to her side.

"I'm lucky, aren't I," she mused, reaching up to probe ungently at the wound, "that suicides don't need to be autopsied. Don't think I'd want to live forever with a Y-incision."

When her fingers came away gummy but not bloody, she looked between them and Ianto. To his credit, he hadn't turned green yet-- though he was very pointedly keeping his gaze anywhere but on the back of her head. "Jack will be over in a few moments," he offered, his tone one of forced calm, reassuring as always. "While you're doing that, I'll see if I can't find you a headscarf."

It took a moment, but she finally forced her lips into a smile. "Thank you."

He nodded. "And a sweater?" For a moment, a tiny, almost imperceptible moment, his hand came down to rest at the curve of her neck. His fingers twitched, as if they didn't know what they were supposed to do once there. It wasn't usual--Ianto wasn't particularly tactile-- and for those few seconds she had the distinct impression that he was convincing himself once again that she was real.

Then the hand was gone, safely confined in a trouser pocket.

"Yes," she said, and let her head fall to rest against her shoulder.

Sun, 28 Oct 2007 17:37:10 GMT

Title: Reconnaissance
Characters: Jack, Ianto (Jack/Ianto implied)
Rating: G
Words: 750
Note: Originally written for theatrical_muse; it's just a little scene, but I was happy with how it turned out, so I thought I'd post it over here too. Yes, I know the title's terrible.

"Wellies," Jack commented as they left the SUV parked by the side of a dirt road. "Very classy."

The dirt road was, in fact, more of a mud road, as it had rained overnight. Therefore, Ianto felt more than justified in his footwear and gave Jack a look that said as much. To make his point exceptionally clear, his path to the back of the SUV was forged with particularly heavy steps.

"You should wear them more often," was the next morsel of input, contributed as Ianto unloaded their equipment. He would have passed the heavier knapsack to Jack just for that, but unfortunately he'd spent the hour before they left painstakingly evening the load.

As he led the way into the forest, Ianto kept his eyes glued to the screen of his PDA. Finally, Jack had had enough. "Anything good on?" he called, trotting up to match their strides. "Hamish Macbeth? I love that one."

"Actually," Ianto mused, shooting him a worryingly mischievous sideways glance, "there's no signal out here." He held up the offending gadget and gave it a slight shake. "No wireless. I've just been attempting to ignore you."

"Because I laughed at your boots?"

"Because you laughed at my boots," he agreed, but the corners of his lip turned upwards, just slightly. It was all too obvious on his profile, so Jack noticed.

"You're just winding me up."

"No, sir." Ianto glanced over and raised an eyebrow, all traces of the smile gone. "Though if I were, which I'm certainly not, I might say that turnabout is fair play. If I were."

"Which you're not," Jack supplied, rolling his eyes theatrically as he picked his way through the underbrush. "Yeah, yeah, I get it." His greatcoat, which he had insisted was proper attire for a trek, caught on something and he swore.

Ianto allowed himself a smile on Jack's behalf, but quickly hid it before it was seen. He had allowed himself to be talked out of wearing a suit; after the trip to the Beacons he rather fancied it a bad omen to wear street clothes on the job, but sometimes it did seem necessary. Jeans, a long-sleeved polo, and a hoodie-- plus the boots.

"Remind me again why we couldn't send Owen."

Jack grinned. "Ianto, Ianto. I needed your expertise, not Owen's."

"Ah. By which, I suppose, you mean Owen wasn't in the Hub at half five in the morning. If that's the only requirement, then I may have to request that we start spending the night at mine."

He was about to add something about the bed being bigger as well when an oddity in his PDA-displayed data caught his eye. He frowned down at the screen, then glanced at Jack, suddenly serious. "It's active again. About three hundred meters this way," he said, nodding to indicate a direction. "Same signal as before."

They travelled in near silence, Ianto leading the way and Jack at his shoulder, a half-step behind but otherwise comfortably close.

Finally, Ianto stopped. He looked between the screen and the scenery, just to double-check what he was seeing, and then bit back a groan. "It's out there," he announced instead, pointing toward the clearing in the trees.

The clearing held, of all things, a creek; there was no passing but over or through it. That much was clear. Moss-covered rocks jutted out from the quick-moving water. None of it was very deep, but it still did not strike Ianto as awfully inviting.

He looked at Jack.

Jack looked right back.

"Well, go on," said the Captain after a moment, waving a hand toward the creek. No doubt about it: he was smirking. He was also leaning against a tree, making no sign of having plans to move. In fact, he had the air of a man who was planning to watch and enjoy himself during every moment.

"What?" Ianto very nearly crossed his arms; at the last minute it occurred to him that Jack would just find that attractive and slightly amusing, so he thought better of it. "You know, Jack, it was you who dragged me out of bed to investigate these readings. You could at least do the dirty work."

"I could-- but of course you're the one with the Wellies."

Decaff for a week, he thought as he hitched up his jeans and prepared to wade across.

Sat, 27 Oct 2007 03:28:04 GMT

Title: Der Teufel ist ein Egoist
Characters: Ianto, Jack
Rating: G
Words: 100
Challenge: Demons (at tw100)

"Think about it," the form of a black cat hissed. It had been there for the last half hour, perched on the side of Ianto's desk, its tail too long and curling around its body.

Ianto sighed and reached up to click his earpiece to 'on'.

"Captain," he intoned, still writing with one hand. "I thought you'd like to know. Mephisto's after my soul again."

"He knows I have rules against that," came the answer, then a pause. The cat still stared, golden eyes shining. "Right, go ahead and remind him it's Torchwood property. Says so in the fine print."

Mon, 15 Oct 2007 15:17:20 GMT

Title: Breathe
Characters: Jack, Ianto
Words: 1000-ish
Note: Very late birthday ficlet for tanarian. For 'Jack/Ianto,' 'chill,' and 'coffee morning.' Lack of plot. May be fluff, angst, or some weird combination of the two.

Jack woke first to the realisation that it was early morning and second to that he was alone. He must have slept, he realised; that was a surprise, though not as much of one as late. Sleep, or something approaching it, was an awful lot easier to accomplish with a warm body wrapped around you. Jack yawned, stretched languidly, and spent a few very conflicted moments convincing himself that he really ought to move. What finally did it was the fact that in those moments, said warm body never returned.

He found a bathrobe draped across the back of a chair and shrugged it on; no doubt he was the one who'd left it there, since Ianto tended not to wear robes (much to Jack's utter delight) and would have hung it on the hook on the inside of the bathroom door, which is where Jack supposed it belonged, if he had. At the last moment, he noticed that the temperature had dropped overnight and shoved back the duvet to retrieve a light knit blanket and wrap it around his shoulders.

He got halfway to the front door before he found any signs of where Ianto'd gone. It wasn't a large flat at all, a handful of rooms and a kitchen, but it currently felt very cold and very empty. And very dark-- none of the lights were on, so Jack found himself relying on the faintly reddish haze of sunrise through the windows. But speaking of windows--

The door to the balcony was open. No wonder it was so chilly.

The balcony was one of the nicest things about the otherwise average flat. And though Ianto demonstrated excellent taste in the few decorations he had, the flat really was overwhelmingly average. The first time they'd come here Ianto had confessed to leasing the first thing on the market; all he'd cared about was getting Lisa to Cardiff as soon as possible. Therefore, it really was amazing that he'd lucked out in any aspect.

At three stories up and in a residential area, the view was suburban scenic at best and irritatingly public at worst, but that didn't stop it from being enjoyable. Nor did it stop Jack and Ianto from enjoying it whenever they had the opportunity. They'd sit out here to share a bottle of wine-- or whiskey, depending on the context-- and watch the stars. Sometimes, though he'd be loath to admit it, Jack watched Ianto's neighbors too. They'd weren't particularly interesting people, but you take what you're dealt. And when huddled together out on the balcony, Ianto's head back on his shoulder, he'd never had any reason to complain.

Jack paused at the sliding doors, resting his shoulder against the frame. Ianto was sitting on the metal-framed cushioned bench, his eyes distant. As he wore only a threadbare t-shirt and boxer shorts, he looked cold; his skin was pale, paler than usual in the chill and the dim light of dawn. Jack shifted in place, then quietly ventured, "Hey."

A handful of seconds went by and still Ianto said nothing. When it seemed clear that there was no plan to acknowledge his presence, Jack sat down beside Ianto, then shifted to drape half the blanket over his shoulders. Ianto leaned into the warmth and Jack noticed, unsurprised, that he was shivering. Instead of making another valiant attempt at conversation, he rubbed Ianto's back and upper arm.

"It's the air," Ianto said after a long silence. "I needed to breathe."

Jack inhaled sharply, then nodded to himself. He'd woken up like that more often than not, struggling, clawing at his own throat to open up the airway. Even when it wasn't that bad, it was bad-- and Ianto certainly had reason enough for those kinds of nightmares, considering what little he'd revealed about his experiences when Torchwood One came tumbling down.

But instead of bringing that up, he just chuckled and made his answer as light-hearted as he can. "And you couldn't have put on trousers?"

Ianto turned to press his forehead against Jack's shoulder. It took a bit, but finally he laughed. "First time you've ever implied I wasn't wearing enough clothes." He paused, and Jack could feel him weighing his options before he snuggled closer. "Blanket's nice, though."

"Thanks," Jack replied airily. "Picked it myself. I would've offered the robe, but then I'd just be giving your neighbors a free show and you've never liked that idea in the past."

"Of course I haven't, sir," Ianto countered, almost managing 'affronted' through the weariness he projected. "If you're going to do that, you could at least let me charge. You know what sort of state the main treasury's in."

Hearing the smile, albeit hidden, in Ianto's voice, he chuckled again-- until abruptly, the sound fell away. Neither spoke and instead they stayed, still, huddled together on the little balcony. The sun was climbing now, the windows of the building across the street shining orange. In the interim, Ianto seemed to gather himself; Jack was willing to wait as long as it took. As long as it didn't take too long, because the even the arrival of the sun was not warming things up.

"Come on," Jack said finally, giving Ianto's wrist a quick squeeze. "Time for breakfast. My feet are freezing."

"Breakfast?"

"Breakfast," he confirmed, nodding his certainty. "You know, the first meal of the day, sometimes said to be the most important, often served in bed. I just realised that I've never cooked you one and that's so much of a shame that it's got to change. If you don't mock me too much, I might even let you help."

"God forbid I let you attempt the coffee machine, after all."

"Jeez!" Jack kept stroking Ianto's arm, his fingers dipping beneath the short sleeve to touch now-warmed skin. "You try to be nice to a guy..."

Ianto hadn't moved, but the one visible corner of his lip quirked into the beginnings of a smile.

Breakfast, Jack thought as he looked down, then the rest of the day, and they'd go from there.

Sun, 07 Oct 2007 14:38:48 GMT

Title: White Lies
Characters: Ten, Joan
Rating: G
Words: 100
Note: Spoilers for Human Nature/Family of Blood. Posted to dw100.

"John?" she rasped, hopeful. He’d forgotten she would be so old—frail, blind, head turned toward his footsteps nonetheless. For him it had been a year, maybe two, but in her world nearly five decades had passed. "John, is that you?"

She'd never married again; all that meant to him was that two wars went by and she didn't have to lose another husband or a son. She stayed at the school and lost other people's sons instead.

Honesty would be cruel-- and for once, he couldn't bear the cruelty of the world.

"Yes," he said, and held her hand.

Sun, 09 Sep 2007 15:07:38 GMT

Title: Workplace Hazards
Characters: Jack/Ianto, Tosh
Rating: PG-13
Words: 865
Summary: On the dangers of office relationships, particularly when the office in question is Torchwood Three.

"Here," Ianto mumbled against Jack's mouth, pushing him back until his shoulders bumped against the nearest filing cabinet. Jack acquiesced, allowing Ianto to set the pace of lips, tongue, grinding hips. The kiss was fierce, a crash of teeth and wordless pleas for more into each other's mouths.

While Ianto concentrated on the other man's shirt, wanting more skin, more touch, Jack had one hand at his back, beneath the jacket, and one teasing at his belt. When he could no longer hold back, he tightened his hold and slid a hand beneath the waistband of Ianto's trousers--

And something cold hit them both, spreading large quantities of unfamiliar green foam in the process.

Ianto was rarely armed within the Hub; he instinctively moved to one side as Jack pulled his gun in the split second that followed. As he did, he noted that his shoes made a rather unattractive squelch against the floor.

"It's all right, it's me," the culprit called, causing Jack and Ianto to exchange glances-- first both were surprised, but slowly the latter turned to discomfort. Their attacker was Toshiko, holding a modified fire extinguisher as if it were a rifle.

Jack stood still for a pause, looking like he couldn't decide whether to raise his hands in surrender or take disciplinary action. Meanwhile, Ianto occupied himself with the removal of the largest bits of foam, which had taken quite well to clinging to one of his favorite suits. His breathing, quickened from the kiss, slowly calmed, and he with it.

"What--" And just like that, Jack seemed to find his words. "Let me tell you, now that's what I call ruining the mood. Foam; that's a new one." He reached up to wipe a handful from where it stuck gracelessly to his cheek.

"Sorry," Tosh huffed, revealing that she was out of breath-- and, as Ianto realised with detached interest, suspiciously missing the jacket she'd been wearing when she arrived this morning. "I didn't have time to explain."

"Well, explain now."

"Pheromone gas." She put down the extinguisher, sheepishly, and tucked some hair behind one ear. "We're getting reports from all over Cardiff. Owen and I put these together, based on the last exposure to this kind of gas; the spray should render the pheromones inert."

"Good work," Jack said, seemingly honestly; far be it from him to be ashamed of being indisposed during a-- albeit minor-- crisis. He was rewarded with a smile. "So, tell me why you're down here spraying us inside of up there spraying them?"

"Neither of you were answering your comms--" Jack held up one finger in a 'wait' gesture, then pulled two earpieces from his pocket. Ianto retrieved one and tried to clean it off with his fingers, only to find that the attempt made it that much worse. Tosh ducked her head and went on, "So I looked for you on the CCTV."

"We're in a blind spot," Ianto protested mildly. At the glances from the other two, he shrugged. "I know the internal surveillance systems better than anyone."

"I couldn't track you, so I ran a thermal scan. It's protocol when team members aren't responding."

"Yeah, thanks." Jack rolled his eyes. "I'm starting to regret my own rules."

"From the readings, it looked as if you were-- as if you were compromised."

"We were," Ianto supplied quickly-- too quickly, but that didn't appear to be too obvious. "Must have been."

In the brief and slightly awkward silence that followed, he once again turned his attention to his suit. It was near ruined; the foam had a smell, too, which he hadn't noticed at first. As he began to inspect the immediate vicinity for damages to the archives, he was vaguely aware of Tosh fidgeting, looking like she wished she had something to say.

Finally, she found something. "Owen and Gwen are out, hopefully containing the largest outbreaks. They took both SUVs, should be reporting in soon."

"Right. Good. You keep working on that. I'm--" Jack looked down at himself, soaked and green, and sighed. "Going to go get cleaned up. If my coat's ruined, Tosh..."

"I'll run it to the dry cleaners, sir," Ianto offered quietly, self-consciously tugging at his own cuffs and closing the file drawer. "Before it dries."

"Sorry, Jack." Tosh gave them both a faint smile, hefted up the fire extinguisher once again, and then headed off toward the main area of the Hub.

As she got further away, Jack cast one more mournful look at his greatcoat and crossed his arms. His expression, which was fixed on Ianto, suddenly turned to one of amusement. "You know, we could have just told her."

"I know. But I didn't have the heart." Ianto half-smiled and shook his head as he reached to help unbutton Jack's half-open, thoroughly soaked shirt. "Should I take this too?"

Jack chuckled and caught his hand, fingers relentlessly stroking the inside of his wrist. "Change of plans," he murmured as there was an audible hitch in Ianto's breathing. "Cleaners can wait. Fancy joining me for that shower?"

"Yes, sir," was all Ianto could manage before his back was against a wall and Jack's hands were slowly stripping him of his suit.

Sat, 25 Aug 2007 04:56:23 GMT

All right. Seven drabbles, seven deadly sins. All written for tw100's latest challenge. (Gluttony doesn't exactly fit the challenge... oops.)

Also, I was hoping to feature all the team somewhat equally, but... it looks like I unconciously favor Jack, Ianto, and Tosh.

Title: Hubris
Characters: Jack
Rating: G
Challenge: Seven Deadly Sins (Pride)

Hands in his pockets, Captain Jack Harkness walks the wreckage of One Canada Square. Behind mirrored sunglasses, his eyes are determined.

Blood and ash, dust and rubble; that was her Torchwood, built on wings of wax.

It is all too clear: Yvonne Hartman had flown too close to the sun.

But not now. No more. He arrived too late to stop her... but to prove himself, he was just in time.

That calms him. Inside his pocket, his fingertips press against the tape-- security footage of a blonde girl, a man in a pinstriped suit.

Torchwood, reborn.

In their honour.

---

Title: Breaking Point
Characters: Owen/Suzie
Rating: light R
Challenge: Seven Deadly Sins (Lust)

The first time, they don't realise that a vial has broken in Owen's lab.

The first time, they don't realise much beyond this: she's pushed him back into his chair and her mouth is on his. She's on top and they don't even undress, skirt pulled up, jeans tugged down on his thighs.

As she re-arranges clothing, he attempts an apology. By the time he moves on to commentary and feedback, she's already left to take care of the CCTV.

The second time, she leaves angry red scratches down his back because she has no one to blame but herself.

---

Title: Ebay (or: Meeting the Competition)
Characters: Jack, Tosh
Rating: G
Challenge: Seven Deadly Sins (Greed)

"Jack!" Toshiko adjusts her glasses and glances over to where he's joking with the others. "We're losing the auction."

"What?"

He's beside her in an instant, Gwen on his heels. Tosh points to the screen. "There. It's just gone above our limit."

"Forget the limit," Jack says, dismissive, leaning over her. "Match it."

"Our limit for the year, she reminds, adding: "I'm tracing the account now."

"Got it!" she exclaims after a moment, motioning to a new window flickering in the bottom of the screen. "--That's odd. It's a company in America."

"Should have known," Jack mutters darkly. "Geocomtex."

---

Title: Lessons Unlearned
Characters: Ianto, Gwen/Rhys
Rating: G
Challenge: Seven Deadly Sins (Envy)

She's smiling today. Typically, smiles mean she's either spent the night with Owen or that she has a date with Rhys. Ianto finds himself hoping for the latter, even as he fights to smile back.

She talks nonstop: Candelit dinners at restaurants Rhys can't afford. Ice skating, though Rhys doesn't know how. Evenings spent watching the game, Gwen wearing his jerseys and eating nachos.

Owen mocks, Tosh makes all the right noises; no one notices him leave.

Later, resting his forehead against the cool metal of the morgue, Ianto wonders if Gwen will realize what she has before it's gone.

---

Title: But it's Enough
Characters: Ianto, Tosh
Rating: G
Challenge: Seven Deadly Sins (Gluttony)

Ianto takes a deep breath and opens the door to the refrigerator.

There is surprisingly little there. A take-away carton-- immediately he dumps the pork lo mein into the garbage-- some bottled beer, jars of condiments that may have come from his flat in London.

In the cabinets, not much else: dry pasta, microwave noodles, coffee grounds.

Finally, he carries a bowl of dry cereal and a bottle of wine to the sofa. "Milk's spoiled, sorry," he says as he fills two glasses-- and yet when he looks over, he has no words for the gratitude written on Toshiko's face.

---

Title: Again and Again
Characters: Tosh/Mary
Rating: PG
Challenge: Seven Deadly Sins (Wrath)

In her dreams, Mary returns.

Sometimes she holds Tosh at knifepoint again, with Jack in the background yelling threats in a thousand alien languages. Sometimes someone else is threatened. Often it's Ianto, and even without the pendant, Tosh can hear his mental mantra-- please, not again, not again, not again.

Every night, the details vary, but every night, the end is the same.

There's always the moment of betrayal; again and again she feels a fool. Again and again, she screams I could have loved you inside her mind.

And again and again Mary laughs and takes her heart instead.

---

Title: Wednesday Morning
Characters: Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG
Challenge: Seven Deadly Sins (Sloth)

Ianto wakes up pressed against a familiar body. "Morning," he mumbles, reaching out for more contact, comfort, skin.

"Go back to sleep," is the reply, alert and somehow fond, with a kiss. "We're taking today off."

Ianto isn't nearly awake enough to argue, and he really can't remember why he'd argue with a warm bed, this man, and much-needed rest.

But before sleep comes again, there's just one question--

"Why did we rent a room," is murmured against bare skin, "when I've got a perfectly good flat?"

He feels the laugh as if it were his own. "Hotel was closer."

---

Sun, 19 Aug 2007 01:28:35 GMT

Title: And we shall hide together here
Characters: Jack, Ianto
Rating:: PG
Words: 100
Challenge: R.E.M. titles ('Underneath the Bunker')

"I wonder how much longer we'll have to stay down here," Jack muses. When there’s no answer, he shrugs. "Yeah, I don't want to think about it either."

"Really," he tries again later, "we're lucky. When it comes to waiting for the dust to clear, I could think of better, but oh, the things we could do with the place." Silence. "You know, you, me, soft music... okay, so there's no soft music, but a guy's gotta dream, right?"

Jack looks over. Ianto is still grey, cool to the touch.

He sighs. Just another day of talking to himself, then.

Title: Losing my Religion
Characters: Suzie
Rating: G
Words: 100
Challenge: R.E.M. titles ('Losing my Religion')

Torchwood has strange effects on faith.

It doesn't help you with the things like faith in God or faith in the greater good-- or even faith in humanity. Now, faith in the existence of things beyond your wildest dreams, it does that-- but what you don't realize at first is that your wildest dreams leave you screaming and afraid to sleep again.

For a while, I thought faith was following the man who drew me in. O Captain, my Captain.

I was wrong. It screws you up, Torchwood.

Now I know: the only person who deserves my faith is me.

Mon, 13 Aug 2007 03:58:51 GMT

Four drabbles, all for the UNIT challenge on tw100.

Title: Sontaran Mating Habits
Characters: Jack, Bambera
Rating: G
Challenge: UNIT

He catches himself thinking that she cleans up nicely. That segues smoothly into the thought that if he'd said that out loud, he'd be testing his immortality in ways he really doesn't want to.

"So, Winifred." He drapes an arm over her shoulders. "Heard you ran into a band of Sontarans. I hate those guys."

"Yes," she answers, curt. "We did."

"I bet they wouldn't be half as grouchy if they didn't have to clone."

"Tell me, Harkness. You invite me here to discuss Sontaran mating habits?"

"No, sir," Jack says, leaning forward to pour her another glass of wine.

Title: Stopping By
Characters: Jack, Doris, Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart
Rating: G (shameless fluff)
Challenge: UNIT

He leans over to kiss her; she protests, pantomimes pushing him away, but it's obvious that she adores it.

She shows him through to the kitchen, where tea awaits. He's been dropping in like this for years, usually when he needs advice on how to save the world. Doris disappears when they talk business, but always returns with food and idle gossip to cheer them up.

But today is Doris' birthday only, and he's brought flowers.

His existence is probably classified, and his organisation certainly is, but no one ever accused Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart of being unable to keep a secret.

Title: Jurisdiction Disputes
Characters: Owen, OC
Rating: G
Challenge: UNIT

"We saw it first," he insists between bites of jam-filled pastry.

Lieutenant Morgan gives him an unimpressed look; he's Torchwood, he's irritating, and he's got icing sugar down his front-- no way he's getting back to the crash site.

"Finder's keepers."

Morgan snorts. "This isn't a playground. I've got my orders, straight from Geneva."

"Beyond the government, kitten," Torchwood tries again, sucking stray jam from his thumb in a thoroughly unattractive manner. "That's you, by the way."

He attempts to shove his way through the perimeter, but a rifle against his chest stops him. She smirks. "Did you say kitten?"

Title: Plea
Characters: Jack, Ianto
Rating: G
Challenge: UNIT

"Look," Jack sighs into his mobile for what seems like the hundredth time, "it really isn't funny."

Ianto can hear the laughter from where he's sitting, shackled to the wall. The others are still unconscious in the cell across the way.

"How was I supposed to know?" Jack is saying now. "Come on, you could have warned us about the mind control."

Tosh stirs.

"Aren't you tired of hearing it yet?"

More laughter. Idly Ianto wonders if they're on speaker again.

"All right," Jack interrupts, exasperated. "Fine. We're restrained in our own cells. Just come and break us out, Captain."

Mon, 06 Aug 2007 16:58:38 GMT

Title: Through Other Eyes, Part 4/4: Day One (like the day before)
Word Count: 1,535
Characters: Ianto, Jack
Summary: An AU in which Ianto is offered command of Torchwood Three after Canary Wharf. Written for tw_exchange

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

He 'borrowed' Gwen, in the end, but all too quickly the provisional basis became permanent. Police liason was her official title, but in reality she began to take on paperwork because she was bored of being Owen's lab rat. It was helpful, to have another set of eyes, someone to read through the data stream, make telephone calls, do the little bits of investigating that Torchwood generally avoided.

Her first day was also the first time Ianto saw Jack die.

It went well until the evening, when two reports on opposite sides of Cardiff forced them into dividing.

Ianto sent Tosh and Owen off to investigate a crashed meteor with Gwen in tow. The Army had already secured the site, so all the trio had to do was take readings and, if necessary, pack up the rock and bring it back to the base. He was thankful he'd stressed protocol when, later that night, Owen had cracked the surface of the meteor and became infected with some sort of purple alien gas. He'd been in a containment suite at the time, and Tosh had freed him safely.

Meanwhile, Ianto had taken his own car and Jack to check out the police reports that indicated that there was something prowling through a residential area. The police had suspected dogs, until sightings had begun to feature words like gelatinous and fangs.

They started with a canvas of the area where the sightings were most concentrated.

"Look," Ianto called, squatting down by some garbage bins and pulling out his torch. In the light, a thin, almost translucent trail shimmered. "Not terrestial, then."

Jack joined him, took one look, and remarked, "Certainly not dogs." He held out one finger and touched it to the trail. Immediately, he inhaled sharply and wiped the slime on another patch of ground. "Acid. Wonder why we haven't gotten reports of that."

"Gloves," Ianto reminded idly, but Jack didn't notice. He was already on his feet again, motioning for silence.

After a few-second pause, he pointed to the end of the block, where the entrance to an alley was just barely visible. Ianto nodded, took out his gun, then moved in front of Jack. For a moment, he thought the other man was going to argue, but he seemed to come to terms with the situation because he set his mouth and stayed silent.

The alien was there. It didn't even attempt to hide itself. Ianto fingered the portable cell that he had pocketed before leaving the SUV. If only he could get closer-- if only. In fact, he was only a few feet closer when it attacked. He made for cover, and it was only after he was safely behind something that he heard Jack scream.

He moved back out into the open, only to see Jack struggling with it. None of Jack's bullets had seemed to impact or if they did, the alien showed no effect. Ianto took aim, but realised too quickly that he couldn't fire without risk to Jack.

He was beginning to formulate a new plan when he saw the alien's tail. It resembled a scorpion's, though in concept more than form.

The tail struck. Jack went down. Ianto fired three bullets into what he hoped was the heart of the creature; as soon as it stopped moving, he was at Jack's side.

No pulse. No respiration. There was something lodged in the side of his neck-- a barb? When Ianto eased it out, it was nearly blunted and the wound didn't bleed. He smelled it and identified a sharp, pungent odour. Poison. Fast-acting poison.

He grabbed his mobile and dialled 999. "Ambulance," he gasped into the phone as someone picked up. He gave the address. "Torchwood security code alpha-alpha-six."

He felt foolish, now, for the nights he'd spent poring over Suzie's legacy-- the files from the archives. Photographs all the way back the 1800s, fuzzy and grainy and of men who might have been Jack's relatives. Documents, Torchwood and otherwise, yellowed and falling to pieces, with a signature that might have been Jack's, handwriting so similar it was hard to believe, and the initials JH. Newspaper articles and stories from private correspondence, of a man living through a lightning strike, of a soldier being mistaken for dead and piled with the corpses.

He had almost begun to believe in the obsessions of a dead woman. He might have come to, some day, were Jack not dead in front of him; it had been easy to wonder about the secrets beneath the empty smile, beneath the knowledge Jack shouldn't have had and the wrist device Ianto'd always supposed had fallen through the Rift. Secrets, yes, but it looked like immortality was not one of them.

Ianto put on hand flat on Jack's chest. Vaguely, he wondered when he would stop losing people.

Today, he told himself. He tilted Jack's head back, pinched his nose, and breathed for him, twice. Feeling heavy and hopeless, he started chest compressions, counting to himself in a gravelly voice.

As Ianto got to his third "twenty-nine," Jack gasped.

Ianto pulled back with a start, almost stumbling away, which was incredibly bad CPR technique. But this wasn't anything that should have happened from CPR. Jack was breathing, his eyes were open, and as Ianto brought one hand to his wrist, he found a strong pulse.

"You're alive," Ianto said, immediately chiding himself for stating the obvious.

"Yeah." Jack's voice was hoarse, his breathing shallow, and yet he was still attempting to sit up. Ianto was too dazed to stop him; instead, he helped ease him into a sitting position. "Happens sometimes."

It happened too quickly to think. One moment he was looking at Jack and attempting to classify what had just happened, and the next there was a kiss. He was aware of a response, weak but thorough, and also that he had somehow lifted one hand to cup Jack's face, fingertips threading into his hair.

"You were dead," he gasped against Jack's neck. He wanted to believe that his shoulders weren't shaking, that he had had a more professional reaction to a colleague reanimating-- not for the first time, either, though of course he was glad not to have to do any re-killing at present.

Something occured to him and he pulled back thoughtfully. "You kissed me."

"Actually," Jack said with a rapidly strengthingly laugh, "You kissed me. I think that might be harrassment."

Ianto would have had a witty retort, he told himself, if only the ambulance hadn't chosen that moment to arrive. Instead, he merely stared at the jelly-like corpse that lay several feet to one side.

*****

"You can't die." Ianto looked Jack square in the eye. Without breaking the gaze, he opened his drawer, removed Suzie's file, and threw it, open, to the desk between them. Jack's eyes flickered down, then back up.

"No," he said, "I can't." And then, because he seemed to be having trouble believing it, "You knew."

"I suspected. I found these. Did Suzie know for certain?"

"No. At least, I don't think she did. Look, is this going to be a problem?"

"You're alive," Ianto answered calmly. "Of course that isn't a problem. But you could have told me, Jack. You should have told me."

"Hi, welcome to Torchwood Three, and oh by the way, I'm immortal?" He moved closer, still watching Ianto. Ianto wondered when he became the one who was being studied. "No, I don't think that would have worked. The others don't know either, before you ask."

He had a point. Torchwood, and particularly Torchwood One, had never had a good track record with dealing with people so profoundly different. At times it bordered on out-and-out xenophobia. Another agent might have dragged Jack in for study-- but Ianto was not another agent.

"There's nothing in your file to indicate you're anything but human."

"I change it every once in a while. But I am human. I promise you that."

"You're my second, Jack," he said, and suddenly he was not at all impressed with the sound of his own voice. "I need to be able to rely on you. Hell, I do rely on you, more than I ought. I'm not going to stop because of this, but I might if you continue to keep secrets that could affect the job."

Jack sighed; he looked resigned. "It never has before, and I've been doing this a long time. You know, I could have your position if I wanted it. Several times over."

"Do you want to get dinner?" Ianto frowned as his brain caught up his mouth, and then promptly stopped frowning as it occured to him what that must look like. "To talk, like. I think we could use it."

"Depends," Jack said, perching on Ianto's desk and leaning back teasingly. Ianto marvelled at how he seemed to speak with his entire body when he wanted to, only he tried to do it without staring. "Do you cook?"

"Yes, but not tonight. I'm shattered. There's a fantastic Thai place by my flat. Late-night take-away?"

Slowly, Jack smiled-- not the grin, not any of the looks used for deflection. This seemed serious somehow, like the dullness Ianto sometimes saw in Jack's eyes. "You're on."

Ianto smiled. If nothing else, it was a start.

Sun, 05 Aug 2007 04:17:18 GMT

Title: Through Other Eyes, Part 3/4: Everything Changes (feel your way)
Word Count: 2,456
Characters: Ianto, Jack, Owen, Tosh, Gwen
Summary: An AU in which Ianto is offered command of Torchwood Three after Canary Wharf. Written for tw_exchange

Part 1
Part 2

"Team morale," Jack said, looking comfortable in the passenger seat of the SUV. Ianto was no longer in a cast, had therefore begun driving again, and had therefore cleared himself for field duty. Owen probably thought he hadn't heard the cracks about the suits being inappropriate, but Ianto wasn't about to compromise his personal dress code.

"Could use some work, yeah." That was an understatement; he'd been heading Torchwood Three for a month now and though he'd settled in well and his orders were being followed, he couldn't help but notice Suzie's death still weighing on them all. "Should I get the iron maiden from the archives?"

Jack laughed. "You saw that, huh? Well, that's one way, but I gotta warn you, it's not exactly medieval. It's a transporter in disguise. More or less. We don't know where it goes, either. No one's ever reported back."

He raised an eyebrow. He'd gathered that Owen and Tosh found it hard to tell when Jack was joking, but to him it seemed incredibly naive to assume jest unless assured otherwise. Ianto, on the other hand, chose to go neither route; he faced everything with the same careful skepticism. "Even better."

"You, Ianto Jones, are a cruel man."

"Oh, yeah. Vicious, me." After a few seconds went by, he said, as something as an aside, "Iron maiden's nineteenth century, anyway. Wouldn't be medieval. Siebenkees' was a hoax."

"You frighten me sometimes. I was more worried about who would build a transporter that looked like an iron maiden."

"Maybe it doesn't go anywhere," he suggested, a thoughtful frown creasing his forehead. "Maybe that's the point. It isn't a transporter. It's an iron maiden, of a sort." Beat. "An iron maiden that looks like a transporter that looks like an iron maiden."

"Did I say sometimes? You just frighten me."

"Worried I'll have you strung up?"

"Would you?" Ianto thought he should have been more concerned over the delight in Jack's voice.

"No," he answered mildly. "I'd be too afraid you'd enjoy it."

"If you did it? I would."

Ianto laughed. This wasn't so bad. He didn't mind the flirting, as long as it was harmless, and it seemed to be. Harmless and so normal, and for a few moments each day he could pretend all the people he knew weren't dead. "You know. Apparently there's a pool," he said, taking his eyes off the road to glance over at Jack. "Toshiko told me about it. She wanted to know my opinion."

Jack's grin was wolfish in return. "A pool?"

"Regarding your sexuality."

"Oh, that pool," Jack said, sounding far too pleased about being the subject of debate. "And what was your opinion?"

Ianto raised his eyebrows in an are-you-kidding sort of expression. "That as your superior it's none of my business." He allowed for a pause that was just long enough. "But that if she found out, she should let me know."

"Ooh, now you have my interest." Jack shifted in the seat, so that he had one elbow on the dashboard and his back against the door. "But I bet she didn't mention the other pool. The Ianto Jones version." Ianto laughed. "No, really. Owen thinks your manicure gives you away. Tosh isn't sold; she says you could just be a young professional who's too busy to date."

"And what do you think?" Ianto asked, immediately chiding himself mentally. Stupid questions backed people into corners, and that was the last thing he needed right now.

"That I don't like labels." Sometime during the conversation, that Jack Harkness grin had become a Jack Harkness smirk; Ianto relaxed nonetheless. "But that if they found out, they had damn well better let me know."

He laughed again and the rest of the drive was spent in the same sort of light-hearted banter, the subject of Ianto's orientation thankfully not coming up again. They caught up to the Weevil in, of all places, the police station. It was fairly routine, as far as Weevil chases went. They had it cornered; Jack sprayed, Ianto clamped.

As he finished securing the beast, he looked up to see where Jack had got off to to-- only to discover him talking to a female PC. Figures, he thought. Even on a deserted floor of a building they were only in to catch a riftugee, the man managed to find someone to charm.

"Captain Jack Harkness," he was saying, his body a shield between the girl and the Weevil. "So, what's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

"You're Torchwood," she answered, trying to see around him. At one point, she caught Ianto's eye and he shoved the Weevil further from sight. If she needed to be retconned, it would be easier if she'd seen nothing with large teeth. "I recognised you. You were at that crime scene last week, the one with the teeth marks that couldn't be human."

Another Weevil attack, one the police had gotten to first. Routine clean-up and body collection, really; the Weevil had gotten away. It might have even been the one Ianto was holding. That wasn't exactly a cheerful thought.

"Torchwood?" Jack laughed. "No, what's that?"

"I don't know. Some kind of--special ops or something, they said. But look, I don't care who you are. I want to know what they are. Those things, the ones that are killing. If the people around here aren't safe, they deserve to know." She was insistent, this girl. Ianto would have been impressed, if only this hadn't been such a spanner in the works. "Don't they?"

"Jack," Ianto called finally, as the spray wore off and the Weevil began to struggle slightly. "Give me a hand, and then you have my permission to take the nice PC for a drink."

*****

Having got the Weevil safely in the SUV, Ianto sent Jack off with a retcon capsule. Predictably, he only made it as far as the nearest intersection before a message from Tosh had him making a U-turn and nearly driving onto the curb to get Jack's attention. He pushed the passenger's side door open. "Code one! Jack, get in. Now."

He did. "They have awful timing," he said, his voice light but his eyes serious. "What about Gwen?"

"Who's Gwen?"

One of the back pasenger doors slammed shut. "Her," Jack said, thumbing back. "Ianto, meet PC Gwen Cooper, professional snooper. Gwen, Ianto. My incredibly sexy boss."

"Charmed," Ianto said, starting up the engine and hitting the gas. He'd deal with this later. He had a code one to worry about. "I'm sure."

"Hi." He looked at her in the rearview mirror. She was wide-eyed, maybe scared, but determined. "Right, so where are we off to, then?"

"I can't take you anywhere," he muttered to Jack, who responded with only a grin. "We," he directed to Gwen, emphasizing the pronoun, "have something to take care of. You are going to try not to get in the way."

"And watch the Weevil." Jack didn't twist in his seat, but the smugness was clear in his voice.

"The what?" Almost as if on cue-- and Ianto wouldn't rule anything out where Harkness was concerned -- the Weevil began to throw itself against the sides of the containment area in the back of the SUV. Gwen shrieked and tried to jump forward, wrapping her fingers around back of each headrest.

Ianto recognised Jack trying his very best not to laugh. Himself, he merely licked his lips, stared straight ahead, and added, "Seatbelts please."

As he worried in silence, a conversation continued around him. As he caught bits and pieces, he had to smile to himself, despite himself.

"I said I'd meet up with you later."

"Yeah, but I didn't believe you."

"So you followed me?"

"Well... yes."

"Fair enough."

The smile faded when he looked at the time-- they didn't have much of that left. Ianto shifted forward and hit speakerphone. "Tosh, what do we have?"

"Two ships, geosynchronous orbit. Our satellite picked them up on its last rotation."

"Wait, wait, wait," interrupted Gwen from the backseat. "You lot have a satellite?"

"Yes," Jack told her. "Shh."

"Does it say Torchwood on the side of that too?"

Ianto sighed. "Yes, actually. Tosh?"

"They're sending an umbrella broadcast. So far not on any frequencies that should affect radio or television channels, but it's only a matter of time. From what we can tell, their weapons are armed and locked."

Ianto cursed and drove faster.

When they got back to the Hub, he parked across two parking spaces in the garage and took off at a run. He felt Jack at his elbow. "I need you to arm the plasma cannon," he said in a quiet voice as they stopped just before the main area of the Hub. "And I need you to do it without telling the others. I don't plan to use it, but..."

"Back-up plans. Always a good idea. Got it."

"What?" Gwen asked, trailing behind them. "What?"

Owen stopped in the middle of his sentence, his mouth staying open for a few seconds too long. "Who's she?"

"Owen Harper, Gwen Cooper," Ianto supplied without even looking in their direction. He was already at a computer, accessing the broadcast. "Tosh, have you got that translation program running yet?"

"Already on it." She hit a few keys and suddenly Ianto's monitor was displaying the same readout as her own. This was software developed jointly by Torchwood and UNIT; it was the best they had.

"-- surrender."

"There!" Tosh cried. "It's working. Hang on, it'll repeat."

In the meantime, Ianto chewed on his thumbnail. He stopped abruptly when Jack appeared at his side. He tapped the mysterious computer he wore at his wrist and Ianto knew the cannon was ready. It was a last resort, something they'd cannibalised from a crashed ship several years ago.

"People of Sol," the computer announced, in artificial tones that were almost alien enough to sound authentic. "You cannot resist. We are claiming your planet and planetary resources as our own. You will surrender."

"All right," Ianto said, keeping himself completely calm. He glanced at Jack. He was chewing on the inside of his cheek; that couldn't be good, but he also wasn't panicking. Yet. "Tosh, I need the translation to go two ways. Hook it into the transmitter and wait for my signal."

"Ready," Tosh announced thirty seconds later. He nodded and with a deep breath, he leaned down.

"We do not surrender. This planet is protected by the Shadow Proclamation," he said into the transmitter, "and I hereby invoke convention fifteen. Read, convention fifteen of the Shadow Proclamation. I demand conference." As he clicked the channel closed, he eyed the others and remembered to breathe. "I hope this works."

"So what's the Shadow Proclamation?" asked Owen. Admittedly that didn't set Ianto's mind at ease when it came to staff competency.

"And why does it protect us?" That was Gwen; at some point previously, she'd come to sit nearby, moving back and forth in a swivel chair.

Jack looked between them, his face grim. "It doesn't."

"No," Ianto agreed, voice firm. "But they aren't aware of that."

Tosh's computer suddenly burst into life. The static cleared as the program translated. "Sol Three," came the same, mechanized voice. "We were not aware it was protected."

"I speak for Sol Three when I say that it is. Convention eighty-four, subsection seventeen, statute six mandates that proper warning be given prior to invasion, and all the correct forms, complete and in triplicate, be filed by the deadline."

Behind Ianto, there was whispering. He caught Jack's voice in the tangle: "The yellow one's for us."

It took a long time for the final transmission. "We recind our claim on Sol Three."

"Thank god." He found the nearest chair and attempted to sit down without collapsing. "Tosh?"

She spent a few seconds typing and then grinned his way. "Both ships are leaving orbit."

"Jack?"

"Disarmed and powered down."

*****

"So what about her?"

Ianto looked at Jack a bit askance. He could guess what he was asking-- and didn't know what, if anything, he felt about it. "What about her?"

He motioned to the CCTV footage playing on Ianto's computer. It was real-time, showing Gwen following Owen in a sort of a self-made tour. Between the relief that the Earth was not being invaded and the extraction of one very angry Weevil from the SUV, they hadn't yet had her escorted out. "She's taking it well, Weevils, aliens, secret underground bases. She's with the police, seems to really care about people..."

"She's stubborn, and nosy, and--"

Jack grinned. "So you see it too."

He sighed. "Yes. Hang on, I'll put on the audio."

"What's this?" Gwen was asking, reaching out for the metal glove Owen had taken to keeping at the side of his work station. As he turned around to answer, she yelped and pulled her hand back as if it had been burned. "You should really put warnings on this thing."

"What?" He stared at her. Back in his office, Ianto zoomed in to have a better look.

"Warnings," she repeated. "On things that are dangerous. That glove, thing, whatever it is, it gave me a shock."

"It's never done that for anyone else."

Strictly speaking, Ianto mused as Harper checked the girl's fingers for injuries-- she had none-- that wasn't quite true.

They'd continued to run tests on it, even though a quick glance at the paper records had shown a wax and wane of interest in the glove. Every decade or so, someone would take it out and perform a battery of tests, to differing results. That last was the reason for most of the fascination, really. Generally, uninteresting artifacts garnered consistently uninteresting results.

This, on the other hand, seemed to vary according to the person who wore it. Psychic testing hadn't been done on it before-- not surprisingly, since the procedure had only been perfected and approved in recent years.

So they'd all tried it, hooked up to various psychic monitors. Tosh and Owen had both registered just about nil. Jack the same, though Ianto privately suspected some sort of psychic shield. Ianto, when he'd tried, had felt a tingle, then a burn, enough that he'd had to raise his own psychic shields, ending the experiment. Even then, there was only a radiation spike; nothing notable.

Ianto had been about to order it classified harmless/unknown and packed back into its original box, which looked as if it dated from the Second World War itself. They were wasting time and getting nowhere.

Until Gwen.

"Oi, Ianto!" Owen called over his headset. "So, this PC. Can we keep her?"

Part 4

Sun, 05 Aug 2007 04:15:17 GMT

Title: Through Other Eyes, Part 2/4: New Sheriff in Town (feel your way)
Word Count: 2,439
Characters: Ianto, Jack, Owen, Tosh
Summary: An AU in which Ianto is offered command of Torchwood Three after Canary Wharf. Written for tw_exchange.

Part 1

Even once he was in Cardiff, belongings stored in a small, modern flat, it seemed unreal. Torchwood One was gone.

Torchwood Three was his.

He knew Cardiff, one might even say well, on account of it being the closest city to his childhood home. In fact, that had greatly contributed to his decision to avoid it at all costs. He'd wanted London after university-- the center of it all, where the real work was done. Cardiff was backwater, the rogues.

His rogues.

Ianto stopped in the middle of the Plas and spent a moment looking up at the Millenium Center. It hadn't been there when he was a child, or even when he'd left for university, and now it felt out of place. Too large, too showy-- it seemed wrong, somehow, to come from London and criticize Cardiff for being flash.

He knew about the invisible lift embedded into the paving stones at the base of the fountain, but that seemed a bit too flashy as well. He chose instead to make his way to the normal street entrance, the small, run-down tourist information office.

And run-down it was. Once inside, he was surprised to see that it didn't improve. There were all the usual trappings of such an office, all the brochures, posters, and two-page dictionaries of 'helpful Welsh phrases' but they were dusty, ill cared-for. There was something wrong about that too, his heart aching for dusty brochures when he had a world to mourn.

Using the pre-programmed override he had been provided, he secured entrance to the main area of the base. This was slightly more impressive, with the automatic lock on the outside door, the slide-away wall, but all a bit James Bond for his taste. Torchwood One had been all about security guards, voice prints, and retinal scans.

A few minutes later, it made sense: this was nothing like Torchwood One. In place of glass and chrome, it was all tile and running water, with a high ceiling-- the look of an old Tube station. In his best, most expensive, finely tailored suit, he felt out of place in the dark, damp Hub.

"Howdy," came a voice from the top of the steps. Ianto looked up and found a tall, dark-haired man in braces and a military greatcoat. Classic good looks, American accent. No doubt this was Captain Jack Harkness, interim leader after Costello's rather unfortunate demise. His cipher. Captain of nothing, as far as he could tell.

"Guess you're the new sheriff 'round here," Jack drawled.

"As a matter of fact," Ianto answered, motioning with the briefcase he carried in his uninjured hand. "Though if your next comment is a variant of 'This town ain't big enough for the both of us,' I may have to reconsider."

Jack laughed, the sound easy but there was something about the mechanics of it that seemed forced. Ianto could understand that well enough. "I'll spare you, then."

"Thank you." He went to offer a hand to shake, but realised belatedly that he had only one and it was occupied. The other man seemed to realise this too, but he thankfully stayed silent. "Ianto Jones. You must be Jack."

Jack. Not Captain. He was going to have to be very careful about that.

Something screeched overheard. The sound, the sudden movement-- Ianto was taken off-guard and dropped his case. For a moment he was back at Canary Wharf, amongst the screaming, the flames, and the marching. Oh, god, the marching--

All of that must have shown on his face, because Jack approached, everything about him suddenly serious. "Hey, you all right?" Ianto became aware of a hand on his shoulder. "Hey," Jack said, looking him square in the eye. "It's just the pterodactyl."

He knew. Ianto realised this suddenly, with the echo of the Cybermen still crashing in his ears. There was something about the way his fingers curled almost too-tightly, the way he held eye contact, the compassion on his face. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he knew why. Great, Ianto thought. What he really needed was for his new subordinate to think the boss was crippled.

"Fine," he answered smoothly when he could, immediately stepping out of the contact. "Believe it or not, prehistoric pets do make it into the briefings. I take it that's my office?"

"Yes." Jack stooped down to retrieve the briefcase, like a steward. Ianto cursed himself again; he'd nearly forgotten that too. Falling apart was a hell of a way to introduce himself. "But I warn you, it's a mess. Suzie wasn't very good at paperwork."

"I am. I'm sure it will all sort out."

"That's a lie, actually," Jack corrected, without a trace of shame. "She was good at everything. It's me that's terrible at it."

Ianto smiled, grateful for the deflection. He doubted it was an oblivious move on the Captain's part. "Guess we'll have to sort you out, too."

Jack followed him toward the office, though he walked a few steps behind. Ianto felt studied, and he didn't know if he liked where he imagined that studious gaze to be lingering. "You're younger than I thought you'd be," he said, almost conversationally.

"I assure you I'm very experienced."

"Oh, I have no doubt about that," was the reply, appreciative. Ianto could feel the leer burning into him without turning around; he was beginning to wonder if the amount of sex appeal on this man could possibly be natural. He shook his head instead of answering, then began to take a look around.

His office was rather large and the only private space in the Hub-- not that it managed to be terribly private. Most of Suzie's personal effects had been moved out by Jack and the others, so only the professional debris remained. There wasn't truly an 'only' about it-- papers, notebooks, and boxes were everywhere. It looked as if someone had started to clear it out and halted quickly. On the news of his transfer, he assumed.

A hatch distracted him from that line of thought. He called it to Jack's attention. "What's down there?"

"Rooms. Suzie kept a bed; she was dedicated. Didn't always go home. Neither do I, most nights, if we want to be honest." He held up both hands, palms out, at Ianto's look. "Hey, I stay in the barracks."

The next morning, at 0800-- or more accurately, quite a bit after, once they'd decided it suited them to come to work-- Ianto met his staff. He had already reviewed their files-- and that included both personal and professional, as well individual cases-- so he barely needed introductions at all. In fact, he preferred to cut those out as much as possible.

"Dr. Sato," he said as he entered the conference room, nodding to the very pretty Asian woman who was already seated. "Very nice to finally meet you. I've read your work, particularly concerning the computer core recovered last year."

Her spine seemed to straighten and she smiled shyly, almost glowing. This was a woman not used to being noticed. He'd have to do something about that. "Oh. Really?"

"Yes." Ianto paused to smile quickly. "You should have seen the faces of the guys down in Computing when we passed it along." The pang of grief was quickly suppressed; sooner or later it would worry him that it had become so easy.

"So, is he here yet?" Ianto heard echo through the Hub. "I don't see why we need a suit, anyway."

He couldn't hear Jack's hushed reply, but as they both appeared a few seconds later, he assumed it was nothing genuinely disloyal. "Ah," he observed in his dryest voice, "Dr. Harper, I presume? You're late."

"Bloody bender, all right?" The doctor seemed to slump into one of the empty chairs as Jack slid in on the other side of Ianto. Owen scowled. It seemed to be his default expression, judging by the photograph in his file. "But yeah, okay, I'm here. Make yourself at home."

Ianto let himself show neither amusement or irritation-- already he suspected that Owen would routinely inspire a frustrating combination of the two. "Well, I'd say good morning, but it obviously has failed to be one." He was rewarded with only a grunt, though he noticed Toshiko smiling behind her hand. "As I'm sure you're all aware, my name is Ianto Jones."

Introductions, protocol, and rules and regulations all out of the way, he released them without new instructions. There had been no new reports that morning, nothing of immediate importance, and so he thought it prudent to give the team time to adjust to his presence-- not to mention finish the duties assigned before he'd arrived.

Just as he sat down to review the current cases he hadn't had a chance to read the night before, there was a knock.

It was Jack, standing in the doorway, knuckles resting against the doorframe. "Hey, boss. Can I get you a coffee?" His tone was mocking, as the nickname seemed, but something in the offer sounded genuine.

Coffee. The coffee machine, the smell of the beans, the smell of the smoke, of the flames, of seared flesh-- Ianto ground his teeth to keep from gagging. "No," he said, hoping that Jack missed the heavy swallow, "thank you. I drink tea."

The only answer was a long, considering glance, a nod, and then a quiet departure. Ianto watched him go and got down to work.

*****

Torchwood One was all about delegation and departments. Torchwood Three, by its very nature, was completely different. It was only the four of them for now, though Ianto planned on making personnel his top priority. Jack would make a fine second-in-command and seemed to be at home leading the others in the field-- a blessing for Ianto and his healing arm-- but even then, they were stretched thin.

He couldn't imagine how they'd managed before he arrived, but a quick look through the interim files showed the answer quite simply: they hadn't. Jack had kept everything together on the surface, but no reports had been filed, no recommendations written, and there were two cardboard boxes full of alien equipment waiting to be tagged and secured. One of them was labelled harmless while the second, to Ianto's horror, was very, very dangerous-- with do not shake added in another hand.

It had taken longer him to discover the third box, shoved under the desk and forgotten, which read who knows? in Jack's old-fashioned script. Unsurprisingly, this last was filled to the brim; also unsurprisingly, the first device Ianto identified could have levelled half of Cardiff if it had been armed. Which it hadn't, thankfully-- a quick check revealed that it lacked an energy pack.

As he'd rolled up his sleeves and begun to sort the contents, he didn't miss Jack out of the corner of his eye. He was watching, thoughtful and unashamed, and seemed to be waiting for something. He must have found it, because when Ianto looked next, he was gone.

Only after everything was sorted did Ianto discover that none of his current team had more than a precursory knowledge of the archives.

It was a therefore a mere matter of days before found himself venturing down into the labyrinthian archives, up to his elbows in dust, in order to see just what it was he was up against. Everything down here was well-cared for, at least; one might even say loved. The vaults to his left were technological, and a few rooms deeper were biological specimens, oddities stored either on ice or in formaldehyde.

The last archivist had been an older man named Miles; Costello had thought very highly of him, judging by her reports. He died six months before her accident-- and though it was rare for Torchwood employees, his death had been natural causes. He'd had a heart attack right here in the archives, after straining to lift a loaded-down box. Costello hadn't ever forgiven herself for that, and for the rest of her tenure insisted on doing the archival work herself. It was probably why she didn't sleep, Ianto reflected as he walked through the dimly lit corridors. He'd have to see about hiring someone for that.

As he was finishing his introductory rounds, he caught sight of what seemed to be an old workstation, set up for some recent studies. A stack of files was set out, all out of order but thankfully alphabatised, numbered, and colour-coded for convenience. He lifted one file and found a page of recent notes on the top; he thought he recognised his predecessor's handwriting.

Before he could get too involved, a photograph, old and brittle, became dislodged and floated to the ground. Once retrieved, it appeared to be nothing out of the ordinary, just a shot of an old crime scene, something taken care of by Torchwood nearly a century before. On the back, in ink that looked just as recent as the page of writing, was scrawled, "Jack??"

He flipped it over and held it closer to the light. It did indeed look like Jack Harkness, but it couldn't possibly be.

Could it?

Very carefully, Ianto tucked the photograph back into the correct folder. Then, with an uncertain look and a heavy sigh, he set it aside. He'd take that home for a proper look.

"Hey, look what I found in the archives," Owen was saying, holding up a hand on which he wore a metal gauntlet, as Ianto resurfaced. "Came with this," he added, hefting an oddly-shaped knife. "Cool or what?"

"Christ!" Ianto exclaimed, his voice echoing, as he approached and could see everything clearly. Sometimes he wondered if they were idiots all the time, or if he brought it out in them. "Do we need a seminar on safe handling of alien objects? Take that off."

Jack waited for Owen to do as he was instructed and then grinned at Ianto; he wanted an audience. Ianto obliged, the photograph he'd found threatening to burn a hole through the manila file in his hands. "Definitely not your colour, Owen. What, they didn't have anything in fabulous?"

Tosh, already rummaging in her desk drawer, laughed; Ianto smiled, but that was all. "Owen, Tosh, if you want to run some more tests, be my guest, but do wear gloves and be careful." He checked his watch, then nodded toward his office, adding, "Jack, I need you for a conference call. Options Committee and the PM. Five minutes?"

"Yes, sir," Jack called, with a cheeky grin and an offhand salute, as he headed to his desk.

When Ianto got to his own, awaiting him was a cup of tea, still hot.

Part 3

Sun, 05 Aug 2007 04:13:02 GMT

Title: Through Other Eyes, Part 1/4: Prologue (walk out of any doorway)
Word Count: 750
Characters: Ianto, Torchwood One OCs
Summary: An AU in which Ianto is offered command of Torchwood Three after Canary Wharf. Written for tw_exchange.

They approached him while he was still in hospital. It was UNIT's doing, the cordoning off of an entire wing of Albion Hospital just for the survivors, what few of them there were. Ianto Jones wasn't nearly injured enough for full-time medical care, but it had only been a few days and the doctors were citing observation for acute stress. It was the same for all twenty-seven of them; all in shock.

Their world had just burned. Of course they were.

They came, a woman in a smart pantsuit and a man in waistcoat and tie. The two of them certainly hadn't been in the battle, but they were Torchwood, through and through.

They found him in his bed, gown pulled tight around him, tapping with the oximeter clipped to the tip of his right index finger, listening to the steady beep of his heartbeat. His other arm was hung in a sling close to his chest, his wrist in a plaster cast.

The man pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down. He seemed to be the more personable of the two. "Mr. Jones, how are you feeling?"

"Better," Ianto said, though he didn't even try to smile. Better than what, he wasn't sure, but it seemed to be enough for the visitors. It was going to have to be.

"Good. My name is Emmett Sadeler and this is Miss White. We're from the steering committee."

"You're aware," the woman began in clipped tones, "of the recent death of Suzanne Costello, leader of Torchwood Three?"

Taptaptap.

"Mr. Jones."

"Yes," he answered, wondering what it had to do with him. "I'm aware."

"You've decided to remain with Torchwood?." Somehow, in the woman's voice, it rang out like an accusation. But it was true. Most had chosen not to. He didn't need to be told; there was no blaming them, but Ianto couldn't go that route. The implications were too great to bear thinking about: to leave Torchwood is to die, one way or another. He could die on an autopsy table or die in another life, believing he was someone else-- or a constructed version of himself, which was almost worse.

Or he could go on, so that the lives lost were not in vain: he could remember. So Ianto nodded. "Yes."

"Long story short, Mr. Jones," she continued, "until Torchwood One becomes operational again, and it will, Cardiff is going to be our forerunner. It will be Torchwood. And therefore, we can no longer afford to let it run amok."

Sadeler nodded. "Of the current management, barely enough people survived to get the main office running again, let alone one or two spare to ship off to Wales. The Committee has therefore voted to promote from within."

"And that is why we've come to you."

"What--"

Before he could ask them to clarify, or otherwise stutter through a question that would no doubt embarrass himself, Sadeler gave him a much gentler smile. Strangely, he didn't feel patronised. "We'd like you to consider the position."

Ianto struggled with that a moment. They were offering him Torchwood Three? He knew he was more tired than he wanted to admit to himself, but that seemed a little far-fetched for even his brain. "I'm not sure I'm qualified--"

"You possess a background in technology, are trained in data and logistics, and have completed two field rotations. Your record is flawless. In fact, you were on Director's personal watchlist for recruitment into the administration."

"Ah." That would be something else to mull over later. Being chosen by Yvonne Hartman no longer sounded like the honour it would have been a few days ago. "And should I choose not to accept?"

The man smiled. "We'll move on to the next name on the list and you'll be offered the same choice as the rest. Memory alteration and a new life, or placement at the head of a department when we're off the ground."

His own department or his own branch. Either way, he was being offered a promotion-- a promotion he wasn't sure if he'd deserved, and one he certainly hadn't earned. He was being rewarded for watching hundreds of people die, for holding on just a few seconds longer than they had managed.

He wanted to scream about how unfair this was, but all he did was nod.

Shock, Ianto reminded himself. In the background, his pulse rang out in tinny, echoing beeps.

Part 2

Sun, 05 Aug 2007 01:17:14 GMT

Title: Through Other Eyes
Author: halfspokenwords
Characters: Ianto, Team
Word Count: about 7,000
Summary/Prompt:

Ianto never met Lisa, so he never was affected by her cyberisation. As one of the few surviving members of Torchwood One, he's promoted to lead Torchwood Three. There he mets Jack Harkness, who, after the accidental death of Suzie Costello, became interim leader of T3. Jack still is immortal, but it's a secret that only Suzie Costello knew. Write a story of Ianto's arrival and his taking over the branch office.

Part 1 - Prologue (walk out of any doorway)
Part 2 - New Sheriff In Town (feel your way)
Part 3 - Everything Changes (feel your way)
Part 4 - Day One (like the day before)

Thu, 02 Aug 2007 17:07:54 GMT

Title: Spectator
Characters: Team (slight Jack/Ianto if you want it)
Word Count: 765
Summary: Because not all aliens are out to murder Cardiff. Some are just, well, alien.

Jack and Gwen took off at a run, Toshiko's directions in their ears. As they turned the final corner, they found Owen at a stand-still, pointing his weapon at an alien. A body, dead in a pool of blood, lay between them.

They both skidded to a stop, looking from their teammate to the visitor. It was large and nebulous, with something amoeba-like about the body shape. It seemed to pulsate under the street lamps.

"Owen," Jack commanded. "Stand down."

"I don't think so, Harkness."

"We were wrong." He was still staring at the creature, watching as it shimmered. Its colour changed-- a rich blue, to royal purple, to black as oil. It was breathtaking. He smiled, awed, and took a step forward. "These deaths are as human as they look."

"Jack," Gwen urged from behind him. "It killed all those people."

"No." He shook his head and reached out a hand. It extended a wispy tentacle in return. "Hello." Over his shoulder, he explained, "They're not murderers, not these guys. They're... spectators."

"Spectators?" Gwen hadn't moved. Her voice was confused, yet curious, and little doubtful.

"Yes." Jack moved his hand, seeming to stroke the smoke. "You're a long way from home, beautiful." When its colour changed again, red-orange and then a telling mauve, he sighed. "Owen, you're scaring her."

The doctor shot him an undecided look, but ultimately lowered his gun. Jack murmured something in an unrecognisable language. "Her people are drawn to death, human death, for some reason," he said aside to them. "She's not a threat."

Jack spoke a few more words, and the alien moved to envelope him almost completely with its smoky tendrils. After a few seconds of contact in shades of blue, it floated off a few metres and then just-- faded from view. Even once it was gone and Owen had started to examine the body, Jack couldn't tear his eyes from the place where it had been, his expression one of quiet thought.

In the dim evening lighting, he looked almost-- vulnerable.

"Where--" Gwen said, coming to stand beside him. "Where did it go?"

Finally Jack glanced at her, his demeanor completely changed-- shielded in good humour-- and grinned. "Poor girl was lost. I told her she was scaring the locals, gave her directions, and she left."

---

Ianto knocked, but entered without waiting for a reply. He poured them each a glass of Jack's best, cleared space on the desk, and then sat down. He let their fingers brush, thoughtfully, as he handed over the whisky.

"Thanks." Jack watched him carefully and moved the tumbler from hand to hand. He could see Ianto trying to form a question, so he merely waited.

"Spectating," Ianto said carefully. "So to them, death is... what? A play, near as I can figure."

"Sort of. Or think of it as... savouring a fine wine."

He gave a small snort. "Hell of a thing to savour."

"No, actually, maybe you're right. Like a play. You like the theater, Ianto?" Ianto nodded; Jack filed that information away for future reference. "All right. So you go and watch Romeo and Juliet-- why?"

"It's a beautiful demonstration of the capabilities of the English language."

"No," he said, so definitive it was almost a command. "You go to watch Romeo and Juliet die the splendid deaths you know they'll have. Believe me, it was the same in the Renaissance."

He received the usual raised eyebrow and the inquisitve look, but as usual, Ianto asked no questions. Sometimes Jack wondered just how much he had let slip, how many of his secrets could be deciphered by the assortment of small details now stored in Ianto's flawless memory.

"Best guess, they're an ancient race, barely any corporeal form left, and what is there is optional. They spend most of their lives as pure energy. No one knows what it is, exactly, that attracts them to the dying, or why. Comfort, maybe. The one that we saw, I think she was injured or upset."

"Which might explain why she needed to seek out so many," Ianto mused. "If it's comforting. The alien equivalent of a night in with take-away and your DVD collection."

Jack nodded his agreement. "But they never cause death, only observe it. Sooner or later, it will be considered one of the greatest mysteries of all time."

Ianto's scrutiny stayed constant even as he hummed a thoughtful, throaty "Hm."

"Yeah," Jack continued in a laugh, finally taking a drink from the untouched glass. "I certainly don't know what they see in it."

Tue, 31 Jul 2007 19:29:41 GMT

Title: Fantastic
Word Count: 1,400
Characters: Jack/Ianto, Rose, Nine
Summary: Adjusting to life as part of Team TARDIS doesnt always go smoothly, but Ianto makes do.

One

Ianto found life on the TARDIS quite agreeable.

Up to a point.

It went well enough on the peaceful worlds-- when they managed to find them, which was rare, all told. On those, their visits were stays at lush hotels and dinners at restaurants, rich foods that the Doctor assured him would be compatible with his too-human digestive system. Sometimes, with Jack and candelight and an alien moon (or two) in the sky above them, it was very romantic.

And sometimes it was amusing. Ianto's quiet attention and tendency to walk a few steps behind rarely went unnoticed, especially on planets with exceptional class systems. He ignored the few inquiries as to where "the servant" would be kept-- as well as the suggestions of exactly what kind of servant he was. When they were alone, he laughed; he didn't care.

Jack always cared. He would give his small you've-got-it-all-wrong smile, always give the same little speech-- speaking of Ianto in words that translated into varieties of the English "friend" and "lover." Ianto never minded that either, and it even made him smile to remember the way the Doctor looked noticibly more impatient each time.

"See?" Jack said, breaking into Ianto's thoughts with an out-and-out grin, "you're smiling. It's not all bad."

Ianto rolled his eyes and looked away, though he couldn't see much past the rather unnecessarily burly armed guards. "You're enjoying this." It was accusatory; he felt he had that right, at least.

"I always enjoy you in handcuffs; you should know that by now."

"Jack." Ianto employed his best warning tone-- and he was quite good at warning tones. "You know what I mean. You all enjoy this. We're awaiting an execution and you're just having a laugh. And you," he said, turning to the Doctor. "You're the worst of all."

"What did I do?"

"Oh, I don't know," he answered, bringing out the you're-an-idiot look that Jack had the misfortune of finding adorable. "Crashed the TARDIS?"

"It didn't crash!"

"It crashed." Ianto could count the times per day he used this tone, the one reserved for children and Owen, and now the Doctor. "And you, of course, failed to wonder how Archians react to those who enter their airspace without permission."

"Oh, no," the Doctor answered with a grin that matched Jack's, "I didn't have to wonder. Public execution, everybody knows that!"

Ianto just put his head in his hands and began compiling a list-- the pros and cons of hanging versus firing squad. Sometimes, when he began to feel afraid, he threw in something exotic-- stoning, for example, or drowning, or lethal injection-- for good measure. New variables. Those kept him busy.

In the end, it was to be hanging. Some things never went out of style, though he definitely thought this made the flashy weaponry even more excessive. And in the end, rope around his neck and his eyes squeezed shut, he was never so glad to hear Rose Tyler, never so glad for the flash of something and a round of collapsing executioners-- never so glad to get back to the TARDIS, have a nice stiff drink, and curl up in bed.

"I'm sorry," Jack whispered later, hand flat against Ianto's stomach. "I'm so sorry," and though he was pretending to be asleep, Ianto felt him tremble.

Two

Ianto had no time to think. He hardly had any time to act, and so he lunged forward without thinking, shoved Rose to one side, and felt her nearly fall to the ground. Something warm spread through his shoulder, but he didn't have time to think about that either.

And then someone yelled "Run!" and it was Jack, so he ran.

He didn't stop running until the door to the TARDIS slammed behind them. He slumped against Jack, heavily, gasping "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Jack said, pulling him close-- and then the world went black.

When he came to, he was in a different room, lighter, and as his vision cleared he recognised it as the medical bay. "He's awake." The voice was Rose's, comfortably familiar after the darkness.

"Ianto." He forced his eyes to focus and there was Jack. Jack, gorgeous as ever, his gorgeous features creased into a frown. Ianto wondered vaguely what someone so grogeous could have to frown about. "Ianto, you're an idiot."

"Don't harrass the guy," came the Doctor's voice from the other direction, almost amused. "And coming from me, that means something."

"What happened?" That one was his own, he knew. He wondered why it sounded so far away-- though that might have something to do with the cotton in his head.

"You conveniently forgot to mention that you took a bullet, that's what happened. I say again: idiot."

"It wasn't important--" He didn't have a chance to finish, because there were fingers enwtined with his, a mouth on his, and a whisper of 'The most important' against his lips. Jack tasted like desperation and something else.

"Hey, hey. What did I say about domestics in my TARDIS?" But the Doctor, leathered arms crossed, was grinning at them. "The way I figure it, Mr. Jones," he went on at the ebb of the kiss, "you saved Rose's life."

"No," Ianto gasped, struggling to sit up to protest. He sunk back to the bed when he found that whatever made him fuzzy did not make him numb. Bloody Time Lord drugs. Jack's hand on his good shoulder held him down. "No, I wouldn't put it that way."

"I would." Rose was there, somehow, on the other side of him, smiling down at him with dampness on her cheeks. "Thanks, Ianto."

With a kiss to his cheek and a weak "Least I could do," he passed out again.

When he awoke, only Jack was still there, watching him, something tender behind cool blue eyes. "You could have died," he said after a moment, voice soft.

"But I didn't."

"You could have died."

It was then that Ianto noticed that Jack hadn't let go of his hand, that there was still a large bloodstain on his shirt from where Ianto had fallen against him. "Yes," he agreed, not even bothering to lie, "I could have. I'm sorry."

"For Rose. You would have died for Rose." Jack nodded to himself, quiet for a moment, almost awed. "God, you're amazing."

Three

Ianto and Rose didn't have all the details, but still they could tell that by the time they got there, the situation had gotten a little out of hand.

One of the creatures had electrodes fastened to the Doctor's head and he looked rather less than cheery at the development. So did Jack, who was bound, pressed into a corner, and being kept there by what seemed to be poison-tipped claws.

"It's not that don't do pain," he was saying, voice nervous, "it's just that I'm not in the mood-- and really, fellas, understand that that's rare." He paused, tried out his grin. "It is fellas, isn't it?"

All things considered, Ianto thought later, their timing couldn't have been better.

When the TARDIS materialised, the entire cluster of creatures fell to their knees-- and they each had six-- and quietly started up some sort of chant, downright religious in nature. As a scalpel clattered to the floor, the Doctor breathed a sigh of relief and willed his hearts to stop pounding in his ears.

It was Rose who opened the door, Rose who peered out and nodded toward the interior of the police box. "Well," she asked with a smile that was too forced, "you two coming or what?"

"I just have one question--" the Doctor said a few moments later, as he turned away from the controls, electrodes hanging, one hand hovering over a just-depressed button. "Who flew the TARDIS?"

Jack, still struggling to remove the bindings on his wrists (that seemed to happen to him a lot), looked up and at Rose. Rose smiled shyly, shrugged, and looked at the Doctor. From a moment, the Doctor seemed equally at a loss. Then-- realisation dawned and he turned and crossed his arms at the figure lurking in the corner.

"Ah." Ianto slowly raised his hand, seeing that he was caught out and having nowhere to hide. His voice was soft, hesitant. "'Fraid that was me."

To Ianto's surprise, the Doctor turned to look at Jack.

"You were right," he said and Ianto saw unmistakable pride flicker across Jack's face. "Fantastic."

Sat, 28 Jul 2007 23:26:25 GMT

Title: For Queen and Country
Characters: Owen, Gwen, Tosh, Jack/Ianto
Word Count: 100
Rating: G
Challenge: Open

"No! Everyone will think--"

"Get off it. They already know."

"You know I can't. I love Rhys."

"Never stopped you before. Oh, come on. You miss it."

"Owen, no. They want to record--"

"So? They're aliens! You'll never even have to look them in the eyes. Hell, I don't know which are their eyes."

"It's disgusting!"

"You've never videotaped you and loverboy?"

"Of course not."

"One amazing shag versus the destruction of the Earth..."

"You do realise," Tosh broke in with an impish smile, waving her hand between them, "that Jack and Ianto volunteered about five minutes ago?"

Title: Soley, Soley
Characters: Jack, Gwen, Suzie (mentioned)
Word Count: 100
Rating: G
Challenge: Heritage

"I found this," Jack tells Gwen one night, laying a photo album out on his desk.

Silently he opens to a sepia-tone scene of what seems to be an entire family, large and laughing. He turns pages and the photos become newer, travel through the decades.

He pauses at the seventies, lingers on a pretty woman holding a toddler.

"No names, no dates," he murmurs, to himself or the face of the little girl a few pages later. "So much went into this and now they're all strangers."

Gwen watches as he flips the photo and carefully writes 'Suzie Costello'.

Thu, 26 Jul 2007 04:31:03 GMT

Two kisses, previously posted to the Jack/Ianto Kissing Meme hosted by the5thmarauder.

----

"Ianto!" Jack stopped at the doorway to his office, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe. "Come back a moment."

Ianto did as he was told, straightening his suit-- again-- as he approached. "Coffee, sir?" he asked, a smile threatening.

"Yes. But first--" Jack reached out and tugged him forward, hard, hoping to make him stumble and lose his composure. He didn't, and instead moved effortlessly into an embrace and a kiss.

When they broke apart, Ianto licked his lips, smiled once, and turned on his heels to head for the kitchenette. As he walked out of sight, he called, without looking back, "Jack, if you wanted special blend, you know you only had to ask."

----

"You know what I can't stop thinking about?"

It was a surprise, loud but flat, spoken to break the silence of the archives. Ianto looked up from the files in his hands. "Captain?"

There he stood, hands in pockets, the look on his face the same as the day they'd sealed up Suzie's body for the second time, so many months ago. "I'm still alive."

"You are, sir," Ianto said slowly. "And I must admit I'm pleased to hear it."

"No." Jack turned and for a moment Ianto could see nothing in his eyes; briefly he wondered if that's what Tosh meant when she said she sensed nothing from his mind. "Not now. Then. When I'm born, I'll still be alive. When I was born..." He trailed off and shrugged. "You know what they say. Tenses. Won't be able to live with them... haven't been able to live without 'em."

Ianto set the papers down, choosing not to notice when they fell to the ground, and moved to him. "You're in one of your moods."

"I'll be-- what, three thousand and two hundred years old?" White teeth flashed, but his grin was empty. "Isn't time travel great?"

"Maybe the Doctor was right," he went on, as though Ianto too could recall that conversation. "One hundred trillion years. Ianto, tell me, can you imagine being alive for one hundred trillion years?"

Ianto couldn't imagine, but he didn't need to say so. Instead, he wrapped one arm around Jack, cupped one hand against the back of his neck, and offered everything he had.

Tue, 24 Jul 2007 00:19:10 GMT

Title: Here We Go Round the Prickly Pear
Characters: Ianto, Tosh
Word Count: 3,300
Summary: The Year That Never Was, Torchwood remix.
Warnings: Character death. Spoilers for DW The Last of the Time Lords.

Note: This was originally written for a prompt community, but I thought it'd make a decent inaugural post. I'm still relatively new to fanfic, especially writing longer fanfic-- so by all means, leave feedback, concrit... kittens...

Ianto looked out over the shipyards of Capetown; they spread on for miles. Nothing like what had been done to Russia, judging by the small threads of news that escaped the continent, but still vast.

Somewhere in there Gwen toiled. He'd seen her once, dirty and thin, kneeling in subjugation-- as all humans could be made to do when the Master willed it. He'd strained to see her face, but was rewarded with dismay when he realised she was joining the other workers in some twisted version of a prayer.

Telepathic control, some reports said. Satellites that broadcast fear. Just in case, he was using every trick Torchwood One had ever taught him. He didn't know if they helped, or if they would ever be enough.

All hail our Lord and Master, he thought loudly, before the moment passed and he forgot.

He shifted the bag that he held over his hip, and checked again to make sure he had his weapon handy. He had to get this to Tosh-- a laptop battery, fully charged, for which he had traded the last of their medical supplies and a particularly fine bottle of whiskey.

When Ianto walked, he walked slowly, head down; he didn't need to be stopped. He was authorised to travel, but only during designated transit hours-- before and after his work shift.

They'd run here, before the licenses, before travel was restricted. Before the gasoline and the diesel had run low, when ships and trains and private jets still packed themselves to the brim with passengers and set out for somewhere, anywhere, in the hopes that new shores would be better. It was an age-old dream, but no longer realised; the Toclafane were everywhere. The Master was everywhere.

It had been three of them at first-- Ianto, Toshiko, and Gwen, after they'd seen Owen slaughtered. A few weeks after ten percent of the Earth's population was murdered, they'd been caught near a human uprising, caught in the crossfire. Ianto screamed for them to hide, to take cover, but not Owen-- he dove in, firing. When it was over, the street was stained with blood and bodies. Bodies in name only; there wasn't enough to bury. That wasn't the first time they'd seen the Toclafane in action, nor was it the last.

"I'll take care of you," he'd said as he cradled Toshiko two days and who knows how many miles from Owen's corpse. Over her shaking shoulders, he held Gwen's red-rimmed eye. "I'll take care of you both."

Within a week, half of Europe was irradiated. From the Carpathians to the Alps to the coast of the North Sea, it was unhabitable. A handful of people got out, but the ones that did had nowhere to go. Most of the UK burned; some of England survived, but not the North, nor anything past the Scottish border.

The large cities were the first to go. New York in ruins; Paris, Rome, Moscow, Hong Kong, Tokyo-- in ruins. London was kept as the base of Harold Saxon-- the Master, as he was now to be known-- and so it remained to oversee the Southern shipyards.

But Cardiff, Cardiff had burned. All of Wales had burned.

They'd stayed as far from the UK as they could; newscasts showed the Master had control of everything. He had the UNIT flagship-- he even had UNIT manpower. When Ianto heard this for the first time, he'd waited in the silence after for Owen's grumbling-- "It would be UNIT who sold us out, and they say we're loose cannons--" until he remembered that Owen was dead.

So they went south, collected intel, listened to the rumours and the stories. Coasts seemed to be best-- useful, less likely to be razed. They thought, futilely, that they might find somewhere to set up base, to fight-- somewhere the Master had overlooked.

And then Gwen was taken. It happened in broad daylight. Their caravan-- by then, they were off the boats and the puddlejumpers and onto trucks-- was stopped by a group of men characterised by pseudo-military garb and very large guns. The Toclafane hovered just behind them, waiting, hoping that someone would resist. A few did. None of them survived.

Ianto held Tosh back and watched Gwen go, ignoring-- by sheer force of will-- her pleas for help. Any move to save her would mean death to all three, and probably to everyone else too. Instead, they followed Gwen's GPS tracker-- in her mobile, which her captors didn't even bother to take; the networks were near-useless these days-- to Capetown. Here they'd stayed ever since, working, catching brief glimpses of the shipyard workers, and trading on the black market for the technology and weapons required to become Torchwood again. They had rooms, grungy but suitable, over a storefront; it was small and cramped, but they did well enough. They kept eachother warm when the weather patterns changed and kept eachother sane when nothing else did.

Ianto made his way to their little flat, what they'd jokingly called "the honeymoon suite" back when they thought humour might get them through. He knocked twice and entered, making considerable noise with his keys in the rusty locks so he wouldn't surprise or be surprised by the barrel of a gun.

"Tosh!" he called, stopping to lock and double-lock the door behind him. "I've got something for you."

Toshiko appeared, limping, from the other room. Her smile was small and not entirely there. She was pale and thin, but not ill. He hoped-- he didn't know what epidemic was in fashion, but he also didn't want to find out. "Food?"

He gave her a withering look. They hadn't eaten in several days, thanks to the group of looters that had attacked Ianto on his supply run the week before. They were lucky they had water. "No."

"Oh." She sagged against the doorframe, wiping sweat from her forehead. "Sorry, wishful thinking."

"No one was selling," Ianto said quietly, after so many months no longer bothering with platitudes and reassurances. "I'll go out in a bit, see what I can find?" He motioned to his bag and then moved into the second room, pausing on his way only to take her arm gently. "I'll even stop at Starbucks on my way back in."

In the next room, they were surrounded by equipment, some working, some not. Some was bought (when currency still meant something out there), some bartered, but most of it was salvaged from the now-defunct Observatory and weather monitoring stations.

"I wish you would." Tosh combed at her ragged hair with her fingers as she dutifully leaned on the workbench beside him. When she laughed, he wished it wasn't so empty. "I could kill for a coffee."

He smiled a wry smile, feeling the twist of the long scar that split his upper lip. "Every once in a while, I'm tempted."

Tosh motioned for him to get on with showing her his latest acquisition; when he pulled out the laptop battery and smiled, she only covered her mouth with one hand. "You found one." And then, taking it from him gingerly, reverantly: "That was quick."

"Ask and ye shall receive."

"Now that I can get this to keep a charge," she said after a moment, looking up from where she was quickly reassembling her computer. "I can keep working on those scans of the shipyards."

"Good idea. Me, I'll head out, see if I can get us something." He glanced out the grimy window and sighed. "Rain. Was starting when I got in. You know, sometimes it's enough to forget we're not in Wales..." They shared a look, because now their looks said more than anything else, and he shrugged. "Sometimes."

Leaving a slightly happier Tosh to her work-- he was thankful he could do that for her, if nothing else-- Ianto set out again. He pulled his jacket close around him, although it did nothing to combat the weather, which was quickly becoming far more formidable.

He was only a few blocks from home when the thunder started, when the air become a heavy wall of water. He was only a few more when he heard someone running not too far behind him and gaining fast.

Ianto took one look and then he was running too; somewhere nearby, another pedestrian did the same. The Toclafane wasn't after either of them, but that had never stopped one before. They were too often known to slaughter entire streets of people because one had chosen to disobey. They were also known to laugh while doing so; they said it made their Master happy.

Suddenly, there was screaming. Screaming and the sound of flesh ripping as the Toclafane tore the runner in pieces. He looked from side to side; there was nowhere to run. There was nowhere. Out of options, Ianto merely stood still and steeled himself, waiting for the inevitable.

It never came. In its place, there was a flash of light through the rain and then nothing. He didn't dare move.

"You--" A quiet, even voice--a man's, accented but in English, shaky with disbelief-- broke the silence.

"Yes?" Ianto answered automatically, far before he realised that he shouldn't have been able to at all.

"You are alive," the voice said from beside him. He turned to see someone who looked as confused as he felt.

"So are you." They were both silent for a long time, their eyes drawn toward the carnage that used to be a man. Ianto didn't see him any longer; he saw only the blades of a conversion chamber, the face of a Cyberman. "So," he managed once he could trust his voice to tremble less than his body. "Why, again, are we still alive?"

"I don't know. But I can tell you that it isn't."

Ianto was about to argue with the pronoun when he realised what was being referenced. He looked from the stranger to the fallen Toclafane, then back to the stranger again. He knew what he felt must be shock, but he could barely register it at all. A Toclafane, dead. The one thing ensured the Master's reign over Earth. Dead. "I..." he started, staring at his companion in bewilderment. "It's dead."

"Said that. But you know, Martha Jones. I bet it was her."

"I doubt it," he answered, equal parts dry and dismissive, as he moved closer to the Toclafane and kneeled to look it over. "There's something inside."

"You know her, yeah? Everyone does. But I've never heard of her killing..." There was a pause and then, as he leaned closer, holding out a hand: "It might not be dead."

"No!" Ianto exclaimed, looking up with wide eyes. "Don't touch it. We can't open it. We can't take it anywhere. It might be traced. It might even explode." He stood up, straightened his clothing, and then moved a few paces away. "I have to go. I have to get back to--"

He broke off as his wrist was grabbed, preventing his movement. "Martha Jones," the man whispered, just before he let go. "Tonight. At the indoor market-hall. I'm going to tell her."

Ianto nodded, but pulled his wrist away and left as quickly as possible. He didn't look back. Food all but forgotten, he went straight home, and this time he was met at the door by Toshiko.

"You're quite the drowned rat," she said with faint amusement, even a very faint almost-smirk. The battery certainly had done wonders for her mood; in any other situation, he'd be overjoyed to see the change.

He cut her off before she could either continue or help him with his jacket."Energy spikes," he gasped, drenched and leaning against the doorframe. "I need you to look for energy spikes, electrical interference, anything. City center."

"Energy spikes?" She moved aside, encouraged him back in. "Sure."

"It's important."

They went in silence, Tosh leading and Ianto following. He waited while she sat and looked to her scanners, while her fingers danced over the keyboard and windows came and went. He paced and tried to ignore the puddle of water that was gathering along his path.

When the screen flickered dramatically, Ianto bit back a curse and hit it. "Damned thing," he murmured apologetically, pulling back as Tosh shot him a look. "All yours."

"Hmm," she answered, falling quiet until her typing became more frenzied. "Found it! Electric activity, and fairly impressive too."

"What?" He turned the monitor closer to him, leaned over her shoulder to read through her readings. "My god," he said finally, quietly and gravely.

"Those are the energy spikes... registered as 58.5 kiloamperes, with a charge of 510 megajoules. Probably--" Tosh broke off and shrugged, her gaze inquisitive. "Lightning?"

"Yes." He took a deep breath and then another. "Yes, lightning."

"Why is it important?"

"I was there," he answered, accent rough. "It brought one of them down. A Toclafane, mid-flight, mid-attack, completely immobilised."

"Ianto..."

"We can fight them." She looked up at him as he spoke, her smile uncertain and uncertainly hopeful. In response, he put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed, though it was only half for her. "Finally, we can fight them."

After a moment of shared silence, Ianto set into motion. He let go and squatted down to reach under the desk. He carefully removed a series of CD-ROMs that had been taped there. "Here," he said as he handed one to Tosh. "Make copies of that data."

"What are you going to do?"

"This is valuable. We have to get it out there. The Toclafane can be stopped."

"There's no one to spread it to. We don't even know who's out there. We don't even know--" She put her head in her hands, then composed herself and looked up apologetically. "Sorry. I'm sorry, Ianto. I'm beginning to think we're the only ones still trying."

"We're not." Ianto was silent for a moment, as if even he did not completely believe. "We can't be." He took a deep breath, and as he exhaled slowly, remembered something. "If no one else, Martha Jones."

"Ianto--" Tosh started. "She's a myth."

"Maybe. She's here. I hadn't thought much of it at the time, but-- she's here, in Capetown. If we could reach her, leave her with a copy of this data..."

"She's a myth," Tosh repeated, even as she did as he asked with the CDs, adding some of their other findings, mostly regarding the shipyards' layout and energy output. "And even if she's not..."

"I know. But that doesn't matter. You've heard the rumours, the reports-- she's crossed continents when we're lucky if we cross political borders. If there's even the slightest chance that it's true..." Ianto leaned against the side of the desk and moved to put one hand on Tosh's cheek, stroking tiredly. "We have to try. This has to be passed on."

"Maybe you're right," she said and made herself smile. "Of course you're right."

By the time she managed to thoroughly convince herself, Ianto had already moved away and was packing small supplies of water into each of their bags. She quickly copied the data onto a few more CDs, and then they set out. Ianto held her hand at first. He didn't need to and she didn't ask, but still he did.

A half mile from their flat, in the opposite direction from the hopefully-dead Toclafane, they heard the tell-tale sounds of a patrol. The sounds were human, those who switched sides somewhere along the way, those who couldn't manage enough resistance to the mind control or who didn't want to (they lived better, the traitors, and had less of a chance of being murdered or of watching their families suffer). That wouldn't matter. The Toclafane didn't generally make any noise unless they were taunting in their childike voices, and if they did that, they were already too close.

Ianto squinted at his watch, though he already knew what he would find. "Damn. It's past our shift curfew. We shouldn't be out." If they were found, they could be detained. If they resisted-- or if the patrolmen or the Toclafane decided they had-- they could be killed on the street. The latter was far more likely, especially with those suspected of association with known resistance cells; and tonight, with Martha Jones around, everyone was suspected.

Tosh stopped, breathing hard, and looked at him. He saw only gravity in her eyes. "We have to split up. We have better chances of getting to the meeting hall if we do." He still stood frozen, disbelieving, and so she leaned in, kissed him softly on the mouth, then whispered, "Go."

"No," he managed, strangled, afraid of what she might do to buy him time, to repay a debt he wasn't about to collect. "You're coming with me."

"You know I can't. I'll just slow you down." Sadly, Tosh patted her leg, badly healed from a wound and then consequent infection. "I'll meet you, if I can. If I can't, I'll hold them back." She let go of his hand and pulled her gun from where she kept it holstered beneath one arm. Again she smiled, dusty and tired and beautiful. "I'd missed this."

"Tosh. Tosh. There is no holding them back; we've both seen what they can do."

"Go, Ianto. It's okay."

He looked her her eyes, searchingly, nearly frantic. A moment passed, and then he came to a conclusion that was unwanted and quiet, nodded, and went.

He ran as quickly as he could, as far as he could. Behind him, there was the faint demand for identification... and then only gunshots. He tripped over his own feet as he stopped to look back, whispering "Tosh?" into the night air. When there was nothing but blackness and rain, he did the only thing he could: he kept going.

Ianto could barely hear over the rhythm of his heart pounding in his ears. But somewhere, distantly, in the back of his mind, he heard the sound of a gun, the sounds of several guns, and as he turned a corner, felt the impact of a bullet hitting him in the back. He stumbled, caught himself against a wall, and forced himself to keep running. Adrenaline would take him as far as he could go, and only then would he accept defeat.

It wasn't much further. He collapsed onto the dusty pavement and whispered a silent apology to the human race.

Before he closed his eyes, he saw a shimmer of movement; it reminded him of something, of something he hadn't seen in over a year. "Wait," he cried out, before repeating himself in Zulu and in Afrikaans. Then, again in panting English to the nothingness: "Wait."

There was no shimmer, no footsteps, no breath-- and then--

"You can see me."

"No." As he squinted, tried to focus, something like the shape of a woman came into focus. But barely. "Yes." Through the pain, his mouth managed a smile. "Perception filter. I think--" He chuckled and it came out dry, choked. A cough. "I'm jealous."

The other person said nothing. The footsteps of the patrol got closer and stopped; they knew they'd got him, so there was no longer any rush.

"You're English. Are you--" He stopped and reconsidered, then restarted. "Take this." He reached into his jacket-- tattered and nothing like the suits he once kept so carefully-- and pulled the CD case out of his inside pocket. "If you're with us, take this somewhere, anywhere. Please. Get it to Martha Jones."

Ianto thought someone's hand might have rested in his for just a moment, but he couldn't be certain. And then the CD was lifted gently away, and he was alone, and everything went black.