If I do not write to empty my mind, I go mad.

Inbetween Days [ Torchwood ]

2008-05-13T00:46:16Z

Title: Inbetween Days
Characters: Gwen Cooper, Ianto Jones, Tosh Sato, Owen Harper
Word Count: 1210
Rating: All Ages
Warning(s): None
Spoiler(s): No.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I am not affiliated with the television series Torchwood, nor any of the cast and crew. No harm is intended. It's all just for fun.

Author's Notes: Written for Scarlettgirl for the house_of_cooper Ficathon. Assignment: Something that shows Gwen pulling the team together during Jack's absence, bonus for making this funny and not angsty.

I hope I succeeded.

Toshiko Sato leaned back and ran a grease-sticky hand through her hair while she examined the new PVC pipe that led to the sink by the coffee machine. Shit, she thought when she realised what she'd done, and then decided a little more muck in her hair wasn't going to hurt anything.

It'd been thirty-two hours since some alien teenagers had thought it would be funny to detonate small explosives in Cardiff's sewer system. Unfortunately the effect was much messier than the more common "chucking bangers down the pipes". The resulting earthquake had done structural damage to the Hub and thoroughly disrupted the plumbing.

At least it was easy to send them home. They were out of here before Owen could finish his threat to call their parents. Tosh sighed and gave the pipe one final twist. On the bright side, the plumbing had really needed an upgrade.

It also caused a mini tidal wave in Cardiff Bay. She looked across the room. Ianto, stripped down to his tee-shirt and mud-caked trousers, was on the phone, still trying desperately to locate some sort of machinery that would hoover up the water that had overflowed the tidal pool. Apparently they weren't the only people trying to deal with plumbing and leakage problems.

Gwen sat in Jack's office trying to explain to someone in the media that the explosion had really been an earthquake, and that there was no reason to worry. Damage had been minimal, she assured the reporter on the other end of the phone line, and really it wasn't like Cardiff had never had an earthquake before, so why was everyone so curious?

"Little green men in Cardiff? I think some of your staff might have hit their heads in the shakeup! There's no such thing as aliens." She lied smoothly. She almost sounded like she believed it herself. "Right, just an earthquake. Yes. Yes. Oh, you to, sir. Take care now. Bye."

Gwen hung up the phone and buried her face in her hands. "Ianto! How difficult would it be to Retcon all of Cardiff City?"

Ianto had given up on his phone call and was bailing muddy water from the floor back into the tidal pool. He looked up and cast his eyes toward the ceiling. "It would take about..."

Gwen waved a hand as she left Jack's office."I was kidding, Ianto. We can't do that to everyone."

"Not again, no," he agreed and dropped his bucket, ignoring Gwen's wide-eyed stare and the obvious question on her lips. "I think this is the best I can do until the tide goes out. Maybe the mud will be easier to deal with when it's a bit drier."

Owen sauntered out of the lavatory and dropped a dirty rag on Tosh's desk. "Sink in there's still leaking, love. Might want to go have a look at it." He didn't even look at her when he spoke to her.

"I'm still busy with the intake lines. Why can't you do it?"

"Hello? I'm a doctor?" He held up his hands, palms facing away from Tosh, and wiggled his fingers. "Can't risk damage to my hands?"

The wrench narrowly missed his shoulder and landed with a wet, sucking sound in the mud.

"Hey! You almost hit me!"

"Better luck next time," Tosh muttered under her breath as she picked up her tools and plumbing tape.

"Where the hell did you disappear to last night?" Gwen snapped.

"Ianto, get me a coffee." Owen stood just outside Jack's office, feet planted slightly apart and his arms folded across his chest. He stared at Gwen."I didn't realise I was supposed to report to you."

Gwen stood in front of him, mirroring his posture. "Well any of us, then! You could've told Tosh or Ianto. You could've helped us."

"I did help! I got the aliens to shove off, didn't I. I don't see what else I could've done."

"Owen, people were scared. They were injured. A doctor might've been useful."

"I'm not the only doctor in Cardiff," he shrugged and looked around for Ianto and his coffee, oblivious to the fact that Gwen was looking daggers at him.

Gwen shoved his shoulder. He winced in pain. "Careful! Still not completely healed, you know."

"Is that your excuse for just fucking off the rest of the night and then swanning in here fifteen minutes ago, like we're not knee-deep in shit?"

Owen dropped his voice and leaned in. "I thought I saw Jack. I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up, so I just went."

She covered her mouth with her hands. "Did you really? Was it him? Where's he gone?"

"Nah, wasn't him. Just some twat in a trenchcoat. In all the shit blowing around it looked like Jack's coat."

Ianto cleared his throat as he approached. He had seen the two of them standing very close together and didn't want to interrupt. "Here's your coffee, Owen. Gwen, someone from UNIT is on the line. Wants to know what happened and if they need to step in. Shall I tell them the earthquake story, or...?" He drew out the word, waiting for a suggestion.

Gwen turned away rapidly, putting her back to Ianto. Getting the barest flicker of hope that Jack had returned and then losing that hope so quickly had made her tear up. It wouldn't do to let the others see that. "I'll handle it, Ianto. Thank you." She turned to go back into Jack's office, then paused. “When I'm off this call, we're all going to Ikea. It's time to fix this place up a little. Especially now that everything's covered in mud.”

Ianto tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers. Owen sipped his coffee and hummed. It was that disturbing hum he made when he was thinking. Ianto took a discreet step away from Owen.

"Why's Gwen acting like she's the boss of us?" He murmured. Ianto assumed it was meant to be rhetorical and stayed quiet. "Who died and left her in charge?" Owen said, louder this time, clearly seeking some sort of reply.

"Jack did," Ianto said flatly. There was just the slightest downward pull of his mouth. It converted into a smug smile as he withdrew his right hand from his pocket and held up an envelope. "When he actually was dead. I was looking for some paperwork on his desk and found this."

Scowling, Owen took the note.

"Ianto," Owen read aloud, "If you're reading this it's because you're snooping through my desk. If you're snooping through my desk because I'm missing, dead, or captured, Gwen is in charge of things until I get back. If you're snooping through my desk to find those photos I too—".

Ianto snatched the note away before Owen could continue. Red-faced, he put the letter back in his pocket. "Anyhow, Gwen's in charge."

“And she knows this?” Owen asked.

“Yep.”

"And you're okay with this?

"Captain's orders," Ianto said as he patted his pocket.

“Well fuck me,” Owen grumbled.

“Not tonight dear. I have a headache,” Ianto replied, deadpan. He turned casually and walked off. Owen stared after him for just a few seconds before he shook his head and went toward the medical bay.

Deaths and Entrances [ Torchwood ]

2008-05-08T18:49:09Z

Title: Deaths and Entrances (part 1)
Characters: Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, Gwen Cooper
Word Count: 900
Rating: 13+
Warning(s): None
Spoiler(s): No. This is AU, set after the end of S2.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I am not affiliated with the television series Torchwood, nor any of the cast and crew. No harm is intended. It's all just for fun.

Author's Notes: This is completely my own thing. Details, characters, information, and events in this story are not based on any spoilers, rumours, or teasers about S3 of Torchwood. Any eventual similarities between these stories and what happens during S3 is completely coincidental.

"Deaths and Entrances" is the title of a poem by Dylan Thomas.

The last box containing Owen's life was pushed into the self-storage locker. Jack snapped the padlock shut and pressed his palm flat against the metal door. His mouth was set in a tight line. Ianto stood to his right, back against the wall, eyes closed. He might have been praying.

Gwen, standing near Jack's left shoulder made a soft sound.

“Gwen.” Jack acknowledged her presence.

“Jack. I...” she started and faltered. Gwen took a deep breath and spoke again, the words coming in a rush. “Jack, I can't do this any more. I can't do this to Rhys. I can't come to work every day knowing that everything I am is going to end up in a locker. I... I just can't.”

Jack turned to face her. He could tell by the look in her eyes that she wanted him to talk her out of it. She wanted him to beg her not to leave. Instead, he took her hand and brushed his thumb across the wedding band she wore.

“Go,” he said gently. “Go live a normal life, Gwen Williams. Kiss your husband. Have children. Be happy.” His tone changed to insisting. “Be normal.”

Gwen could have the life he could never have. She deserved it.

“Will you erase my memory? Will I forget all this?”

“Do you want to?”

“No.”

“No.” Jack offered her a broad grin, but his eyes were sad. “No, because I want you to know that you can call me – us – any time. You can always come back to Torchwood.”

"But call ahead first," Ianto said. Gwen gave him a questioning look. He cocked his head toward Jack. “Just so you don't walk in on anything again.”

Gwen laughed for the first time in almost a week.

“What about Gwen's friend Andy?” Jack paced the hub and tried not to let his gaze linger too long on any one empty workstation.

“Background check looks good. He's familiar enough with what we do thanks to Gwen, and he's always reacted fairly calmly to things. Good organisation skills, knows the area, has all the same contacts as Gwen. And a few she doesn't.”

“Great! Get him on the phone and see if he wants in.”

“Asked and answered,” Ianto said with a smug grin. “He starts Monday.”

Jack beamed. He couldn't find the words to express how grateful he was Ianto was still here. This would have been impossible without his skill and diplomacy. Impossible without his calming presence.

Jack stood behind Ianto's chair and rested his hands on Ianto's shoulders. Ianto leaned his head back against Jack's stomach, but his eyes and hands never left the computer.

“Martha politely declined,” Ianto said. “She said she loves you, but she's enjoying working with UNIT. She did have a few suggestions for medics, though. I've got their checks running now.” He tapped a few keys and brought up an array of faces.

"Ooh," Jack purred and pointed to a blonde woman with a crooked smile. "How much for that one?"

Ianto rolled his eyes and brought up her full information. "Rowan McHenry," he said. "She's a forensic pathologist by trade, and was working as a medical examiner in Scotland."

"Was. Why'd she stop?" Jack crossed his arms and tried to pick out the details from the lengthy report.

Ianto highlighted the pertinent section and summarised. "She discovered fifteen bodies in a shallow, unmarked gravesite. The bodies were collected and immediately taken to Torchwood Two."

"That's the report you insisted I read before you'd let me —"

"Yes, that's the one," Ianto interrupted. Even though they were the only two in the Hub, he still didn't want some things being discussed. "Anyhow, she wouldn't let the case go and kept trying to get information. She actually managed to track down the location of Torchwood Scotland. Eventually she was caught, given an amnesia pill, and told she'd contracted a form of the plague from the 'animal remains' she'd found in the gravesite. She's technically still employed. Just on extended medical leave."

Ianto turned and looked over his shoulder. "She's got the drive and determination, and although she's not a practising medical doctor, she does have the knowledge to perform."

"Once we get her up to speed on alien anatomy, the pathology might be more useful." Jack wrote her number on a sticky note and waved it at Ianto. "She's on my 'to-do' list. How about a computer expert? Any leads there?"

Ianto turned his chair and looked up at Jack. "Actually, I was wondering if that might be something I could do. I'm not quite to Tosh's level, but I can learn." His lips compressed in a tight line and he waited.

Jack cocked his head to one side and gave it serious consideration. "I'd say yes... but I don't think there's anyone in the world who could do what you do."

Ianto stood and looked Jack directly in the eyes. "I can be both," he said calmly.

"Consider the job yours. But if I think you're not handling the stress, you have to listen to me. I can't have you break. You're too important. To Torchwood."

Jack's implied "to me" hung in the empty space. The two men stared at each other for several long moments, then broke the silence simultaneously.

"I'll go give doctor McHenry a call," said Jack.

"So I'll go fix the coffee," Ianto said.

to be continued

Third Law [ Stargate: Atlantis ]

2008-04-25T00:12:03Z

Title: Third Law
Characters: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay
Rating: All ages
Warning(s): Bad Jokes
Spoiler(s): No
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I am not affiliated with the television series Stargate: Atlantis, nor any of the cast and crew. No harm is intended. It's all just for fun.

"I don't know what you expect to get from them" McKay grumbled. "They're only one step above apes. They don't even have a language we can understand! It's like the opening sequence of 2001 here."

Wordlessly, Sheppard fired the signal flare into the sky. As it exploded in bright, shimmering fragments that hovered above the encampment, the natives fell to their knees. They whispered things that might have been prayers. Or curses, depending on what side you were on.

McKay stared, jaw slightly slack. "Ah," he said as he exhaled. "Clarke's third law."

"Clark with or without an e?" Sheppard asked. He folded his arms across his chest and smirked at the cluster of ape-like humans (human-like apes?) that was forming in front of him.

"With?" McKay said in that snotty tone that only McKay and sixteen-year-old girls tended to use. "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic? You fired the flare. I assumed you knew that."

"I do know that, Rodney. It was a joke."

"Oh," said McKay. Then he frowned. "What's Clark-without-an-E's third law?"

"If I put these glasses on, no one will know I'm Superman."

"I really hate you."

Beginnings [ Torchwood ]

2008-02-29T15:48:29Z

Title: Beginnings
Characters: Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, Suzie Costello
Rating: All ages
Warning(s): None
Spoiler(s): No; set pre-series
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I am not affiliated with the television series Torchwood, nor any of the cast and crew. No harm is intended. It's all just for fun.

She stood in front of a rather shabby looking door that proclaimed itself to be a tourist information centre. It was the correct address, but hardly seemed the place she expected to find high-level technological research being conducted.

She brushed lint from her skirt, checked her makeup in the reflective surface of her mobile phone, and knocked.

A young man opened the door. "May I help you?" Steady gaze, spotless suit -- nothing about him suggested "tourist information" so perhaps she was in the right place after all.

"My name is Suzie Costello. I'm supposed to meet with a Mister Harkness?"

"Captain," he corrected, and stepped aside to let her in.

The "Captain" was standing next to the counter, one elbow propped on it. He was ridiculously dressed in what she could only describe as "Military Retro." Oh, well. Scientists were a curious lot.

"Miss Costello," he said and extended his hand. His grip was firm, sure, and friendlier than she'd expected. He was also, judging by his accent, American. "Pleased to meet you."

The young man gave them a sideways glance. Captain Harkness raised an eyebrow and got a brief nod in return. An entire conversation in a matter of seconds; one that Suzie didn't understand but certainly caught.

Whatever they'd "discussed" in those quick movements had been in her favour.

"Miss Costello, if you'd come this way, I think we might have an offer for you." Captain Harkness ushered her through a doorway that she assumed lead to the office or possibly their research facility. Nothing could have prepared her for the truth.

She agreed to work for Torchwood roughly ten minutes after her tour of the Hub began.

Safe House [ Original Fiction ]

2008-02-05T02:44:10Z

Title: Safe House
Rating: Teen and above.
Warning(s): Gore, implied violence, snark
Disclaimer: This is original fiction. The characters are mine. Any similarities between these characters and any other persons living, dead, or fictional, is coincidental/accidental. Unless the characters/situations remind you of a particular werewolf who hangs out with a particular vampire, because I'm totally stealing from myself right now. I mean, uh, I'm juggling characters and worlds to see who really fits where.

“Nate Banyon is going to be the death of me,” Johnny thought, and he was fairly certain he meant that literally and not hyperbolically. At the moment he thought it (which wasn't the first time this week – not even the first time that morning), they were standing back-to-back in a narrow room that looked, felt, and smelled like a chimney. Only without the luxury of a fireplace.

“Just keep pushing. One of these bricks has to open the panel again.” His voice was gruff and very quiet, which was never a good sign. The only time Nate was ever quiet was when he was worried.

And when Nate was worried, Johnny was terrified.

In the six months they'd know each other, Johnny had been shot at, nearly poisoned, chased by men waving guns, chased by dogs that seemed to have more teeth than any dog ought, hit, punched, kicked, and thrown across the room.

By comparison, death by being walled up in a chimney seemed almost anticlimactic. Except for the fact that Nate was worried, which meant this wasn't as simple as starving to death. Maybe Nate expected the walls to close in, or great spikes to come shooting out.

“Nate,” Johnny began carefully, “what if one of the bricks triggers a trap and suddenly we're run through with spikes?”

Nate considered it for a moment but didn't stop pawing at the wall in front of him. “I don't feel any holes big enough for spikes. Though I suppose they could come from above.” He tipped his head up, but it was too dark to see. “Hey, Johnny? If I gave you a boost, do you think you could see if there's anything up there?”

The two men squirmed and wriggled until they were face-to-face in the confined area. Nate pressed his back against the wall and sucked in his stomach in an effort to put a little space between them so Johnny could get his foot into Nate's hands.

Johnny hoisted himself up until he was standing on Nate's shoulders. Nate's hands were wrapped around his ankles, and Johnny swayed just a little as Nate repositioned himself for better balance. “Don't suppose you have a lighter,” Johnny asked as he methodically patted down the walls.

“Smoking will kill you, kid.”

“Ha. Ha. I want to be able to see better. This one brick feels loose and I don't know if it's just the mortar or if it's...”

The ground dropped and the two men fell. Nate barely had time to move before Johnny came crashing down.

“A trigger?” Nate asked as he checked himself. Nothing broken, but there would be a hell of a lot of bruises. Johnny's face was already starting to show interesting colors. “You okay?”

“I punched myself in the face,” he admitted.

Nate tried very hard not to laugh.

“Where are we?” Johnny stood carefully and felt around for walls. A bare lightbulb hanging overhead tapped gently against his forehead. He reached up, feeling for a switch.

Nate shushed him. “I'm listening for water,” he murmured.

“It's not exactly cavernous in here,” Johnny said and swung the lightbulb so it bounced off Nate's head. “It's probably just the basement. In fact...” he trailed off as he started shuffling across the floor, hands held out in front of him. “the stairs should be right over....”

There was an audible thunk and Johnny swore as he found the stairs with his shins. “Here.”

Nate staggered forward. The complete absence of light in the cellar was unsettling. There wasn't a crack or sliver or even a suggestion of light anywhere – not even at the top of the stairs. He hoped that didn't mean it was another bricked-off doorway. This house was apparently full of them.

He edged Johnny out of the way and started up the stairs. He was aware of Johnny behind him and could tell by the sound that Johnny was climbing sideways with his back against the wall. He also heard the soft click of the safety on Johnny's gun.

At the top of the stairs, Nate pressed against the wall and opened the door carefully. It swung outward, into the kitchen. The yellow tiles of the floor were surprisingly cheery, despite the thick layer of dust that covered them and hung in the air like fog. Weak sunlight filtered through the dirty windows. After the darkness of the hidden room and the basement, it was blinding.

Johnny crouched low and eased through the opening, armed and ready. He rose slowly and stood near the doorway that joined the kitchen to the dining area. There was a mirror on the wall that afforded him a great view of the dining room and the entrance to the living room. “Clear,” he said.

Nate stepped into the kitchen; the floor creaked under his boots and he paused for just a heartbeat. “There's a dead rat in the sink,” he said casually. “Are you hungry?”

Johnny gave Nate a scowl and shook his head. Some days he didn't want to know how Nate's mind worked.

They crept back into the living room. It was just the way they had left it when Nate opened the hidden panel that led to the tiny room. “I wonder what you do if you're in there by yourself and can't get to the brick to open the floor?” he said as he reached for the wooden carving on the bookshelf.

Johnny knocked Nate's shoulder. “Don't touch that again.”

Nate rolled his eyes and picked it up. The panel opened. This time they knew better than to go through. “Must be weight on the floor that closes it.” He started in.

“Nate.”

“If I get locked in there, you can let me out. Just pick that up.” He tapped the statue and flashed Johnny a grin as he stepped into the room. As predicted, the panel slid back into place.

Johnny picked up the carving. The door opened and Nate backed out quickly before it closed again. “Neat,” he said and nodded approvingly.

“I'm glad you're having fun, but I should point out that this isn't getting us any closer to finding the safe.”

“Well, no, but now we know that there could be other hidden panels and trap doors, so maybe we should be a little more careful about what we pick up. You don't want to drop through the floor again, do you?”

“I think I'm more worried about being shot through with spikes. It's not like there's a crocodile pit under the house.”

Nate raised his eyebrows and gave a toothy grin. “You hope there isn't.”

The two continued moving books and lifting carvings. Dust puffed out when books were pushed back. Spiders and silverfish scuttled away when things were moved. No other doorways or traps revealed themselves.

“Maybe it's not here. Maybe it's in the bedroom.” Nate murmured as he stared at the discoloured spot where a painting had hung.

Johnny made a noncommittal sound. “I suppose it could be. The instructions said it was in the study. Maybe one of the bedrooms was converted? I mean, I just assumed it was here because of all the books.”

“You know what they say about assuming, right?” Nate opened a desk drawer and found a penlight. It worked.

“It makes an ass out of you and me?"

“What? No. It means a simple search and retrieval assignment takes twice as long. Come on.” Nate headed for the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, Johnny opened a door. It was a closet – or would have been if there had been a floor. He gestured for the flashlight and shone the thin beam down the shaft. “The hidden room.” There was a slight echo. “No safe in here.”

Nate opened the door to one of the bedrooms. “Ah,” he said. “I found it.”

Johnny looked back over his shoulder. “You opened a door and found a hidden safe?”

“It's not really hidden any more. It's standing wide open and there's a body on the floor. Well, part of a body. Maybe,” he cocked his head to the side to get a different perspective, “half of one? Two-thirds?”

The body was badly decomposed, but obviously partially eaten. Fingers, upper arms, and thighs were gone. The stomach was torn open and the organs were missing. Ragged marks on the bones looked more like teeth and claws and not tool marks. The nose, eyes, and lips had been chewed away.

Johnny stepped beside Nate and pursed his lips. “That's.... That's.... I'd go with two-thirds.”

While Johnny photographed the body, Nate examined the safe. The door bore the marks of a professional. The safe itself was empty except for what looked like a dusting of cigarette ash. He rubbed it between his fingers and sniffed.

“This guy saved us. If we'd gotten here first and opened that safe, that would be you on the floor.”

Johnny looked up. “Me? Why me?”

“I run faster.”

Broken [ Torchwood ]

2008-01-28T19:36:56Z

Title: Broken
Characters: Ianto, Tosh
Rating: All Ages
Warning(s): None
Spoiler(s): None
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I am not affiliated with the television series Torchwood, nor any of the cast and crew. No harm is intended. It's all just for fun.

"Well, it's broken." Ianto declared with finality. "Utterly, irreparably broken."

"You must be joking." Tosh slid from her desk and walked over to the workstation where Ianto stood, hands in his pockets, his face a mask of calm.

She had to admit that it didn't look good. The glass had actually melted and fused with the hotplate. The handle and pouring lip were caved in. The filter basket was an unidentifiable lump of charred black plastic. The top of the coffee machine was gently smoking and bubbling.

"I told him." Ianto heaved a sigh. "I told him that just because it looks like coffee beans doesn't mean it is coffee beans, and it shouldn't be ground up and brewed. Especially if it came through the rift."

Tosh gave him a soothing and affectionate pat on the arm. "I'll get my coat. We'll go buy a new one."

The Secret Life of Ianto Jones ( part 6 of 6) [ Torchwood ]

2007-12-31T02:59:38Z

Title: The Secret Life of Ianto Jones (pt 6 of 6)
Characters: Ianto Jones, OCs
Rating: All ages
Words: 1340
Warning(s): Mention of guns; death.
Spoiler(s): No — set (very) pre-series
Summary: The pre-Torchwood life of Ianto Jones.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I am not affiliated with the television series Torchwood, nor any of the cast and crew. No harm is intended. It's all just for fun.

Part One / ?format=light
Part Two / ?format=light
Part Three / ?format=light
Part Four / ?format=light
Part Five / ?format=light

Ieuan Happ learned to stand, sit, speak, and walk like a gentleman before he was ten years old. By the time he turned sixteen he could use a bow like Robin Hood, run like an Olympic sprinter, and could handle any firearm offered to him.

And now, in less than one year, he had to learn to be a killer.

"Excellence in all things," his father growled in his ear. Ianto pulled the trigger five times. Five kill shots clustered so close together in the paper target that it seemed to be only one hole.

Paper targets were easy.

Torchwood had their version of a crime scene simulation. The trainee would walk into the room, never knowing what to expect. There would be clues, of course, or perhaps a briefing before the simulation was started so the trainee would know what he was looking for, how many civilians were involved, and what sort of alien was being dealt with. Sometimes the type of alien was unknown, forcing the trainee to think on his feet, choose the best weapon, and make the capture (or execution).

Sometimes the aliens looked human. Even like children.

No one was ever killed in the simulations, of course. The aliens and the civilians involved were all Torchwood staff. Each one in light body armor and covered in sensors. The weapons used were harmless - emitting light or shooting paint that the sensors would interpret and report accuracy and level of damage.

Francis would sit in the control room with the technicians, watching. Like the "aliens" and "civilians" involved, Ianto was covered in sensors. They monitored his heart rate, temperature, and breathing, right down to what elements were contained in his exhalations. Body odor - sweat and pheromones - was monitored as well. Anything that might alert an alien (or a human) to his presence was recorded and calculated.

Ianto was swift, silent, and perfectly controlled. He could approach, assess the situation, choose the right weapon to get the job done, and often he was able to get the civilians clear before the carnage.

"Look at 'im!" One of the technicians sneered. "He's a fucking diplomat!" The tech hit the intercom button. "He don't speak English, Cupcake, so talking will get you nowhere." he shouted. "Bang. Bang. You're dead. You've just had your head ripped off by a rabid Gnotelo."

He switched the intercom off and turned to Francis. "No offense, sir. You're one of the best field agents Torchwood's ever seen, but your son? Just ain't a killer."

The look in Francis' eyes reminded the young technician that Francis was a killer. He inched away from the man, stammering apologies.

"I need to take him out in the field," Francis told his superiors. "He knows the simulation is just a simulation. He knows the 'aliens' are friends and doesn't want to risk hurting anyone even accidentally. Please, let me take him on a few more assignments. I promise you, when it comes down to the crucial moment, my son will make the right choice."

Permission was granted grudgingly.

Through the 1990s, the alien population of China had been growing exponentially, but discreetly. The already large population made it easy for the aliens to slip in almost undetected. Some merely transformed themselves to blend in with the population. Others wore the skins of people unfortunate enough to be in the wrong place.

When Torchwood became aware of the situation, twenty agents were dispatched. Francis and Ieuan were among them.

"You cannot back down, Ieuan."

"I know, sir."

"This is a trial by fire. If you hesitate, you will die."

"I understand, sir."

"I hope you do, boy." Francis squeezed his son's shoulder. "You have to be ready."

Ianto found it hard to sleep on the flight. "You have to be ready" echoed in his head and he traced the pattern on the grip of his gun, hidden neatly beneath his tailored jacket. He knew he wasn't ready. He had sneaked a look at hispersonnel file and the note (highlighted in yellow) that stated he lacked the killer instinct.

He knew this was true. He was his mother's son. Careful and kind and patient. The sort of boy who could tolerate three older sisters who treated him like a doll. The sort of boy who could spend hours in a museum and never once think of getting into trouble or feeling bored. He had his father's breeding and efficiency and ability to strategise. But the idea of killing someone - even an alien - was the one thing he couldn't find room for in his mental archives.

He wasn't ready. He would never be ready. All his research indicated that the majority of the aliens were living peacefully, finding jobs, learning skills, and generally blending in with the population. Torchwood made no distinction between them and the aliens that were supplanting humans. They were all scheduled for elimination.

Hopefully the others wouldn't need him. Hopefully he would only be required for cleanup and coverup.

Ianto fingered the gun again and wished he could solder the safety in place.

Torchwood moved through the streets of North Lantau New Town. A quick scan with a device that read energy signals separated the aliens from the humans. The aliens were collected and "purged." The humans were given a quick blast of a spray that put them to sleep.

Field Commander Lang, a lanky black man with an easy smile and a Northern accent explained that it adjusted their memories. "They'll wake up in about ten hours convinced they saw a movie about aliens. Everyone will have the same recollection, so no one will think it's strange." He gave Ianto a friendly slap on the back and laughed (though not unkindly) when the force made Ianto stumble.

Ianto managed to avoid the "purging" by volunteering to scan and spray. He was fluent in Chinese and glib enough to get people to opentheir doors to him. The ones who wouldn't be convinced were "influenced" by Francis' gun - subdued long enough to get a scan. The ones exposed as aliens were shot immediately.

Ianto's legs and jacket were splattered with ichor. It would never come clean. He wasn't sure he'd ever get the acrid smell out of his mouth and nose, either.

They were in the fifth house that had denied them. The man was against the wall, protesting loudly as Ianto scanned him and identified him as alien. Sticky, spongy chunks spattered against his chest as Francis purged him. And then, in less than a heartbeat, something crashed through from the floor above and grabbed Francis around the waist before rebounding.

Several shots were fired and Ianto heard a heavy thud. Dust filtered through the hole, and then there was silence. Francis lowered himself through the hole in the floor and gave Ianto a tired smile. "I thought I was a dead man," he said softly.

Ianto drew, aimed, and as his father was saying "What the hell are you doing, boy", he pulled the trigger. Francis exploded into glutenous fragments.

Ianto thumbed his Bluetooth. "This is Agent Happ. Senior Agent Happ was compromised," he said. "He's been purged."

Lang's voice came through as smooth and calm as if he'd been standing next to Ianto. "Shit, Ieuan. Return to the drop off point immediately."

"Right away, sir," he said, and severed the connection. He studied the display of his scanner and the steady red light, and then the spray device in his other hand.

The slim young man in the perfectly tailored suit gave a tight smile as the receptionist handed him an application and a pen. He accepted them both and took a seat on the soft leather couch.

"Name", the application said. He carefully filled in "Ianto Jones."

"Position applying for," it asked. "Archivist," he wrote in his perfect handwriting.

"Are you related to anyone already/previously employed by Torchwood Industries?" Ianto hesitated a moment and then wrote "No."

Award Nomination?

2007-12-20T01:17:08Z

The story The Next Night was nominated for an award at tw_fandom_award. It's under the "Missing Scene/Post-Episode" category, although now it's obviously completely AU.

The story is a little over 13 months old. It was my second fanfic ever written for Torchwood (and one of my first fanfics ever. The first one listed here is from 15 September, 2006, and it's House MD). I think that right there is noteworthy.

To be cliche, it's a pleasure just to be nominated.

Lots of Things you can do with a Stopwatch [ Torchwood ]

2007-11-21T16:55:49Z

Title: Lots of Things you can do with a Stopwatch
Fandom: Torchwood
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I am not affiliated with the television series Torchwood, nor any of the cast and crew. No harm is intended. It's all just for fun.
Character(s): Jack, Ianto
Word Count: 800 (est)
Rating: 13 and up
Warnings: Nothing you haven't seen on Torchwood already
Summary: This probably isn't what they were doing with the stopwatch, either.

Author's Note: For alanafish's birthday.

IANTO: If you're interested... I've still got that stopwatch.
JACK: So?
IANTO: Well. Well, think about it. Lots of things you can do with a stopwatch.
JACK: Oh, yeah. I can think of a few.
IANTO: There's quite a list.
JACK: I'll send the others home early. See you in my office in ten.
IANTO: That's ten minutes (click stopwatch) and counting.
IANTO: Oh, Jack? (Jack pauses, turns to look back) What do you want me to say on the death certificate? (Watch still ticking in the background, audibly)
JACK: Good question.
IANTO: She had quite a few deaths in the end.
JACK: I don't know. Death by Torchwood.
IANTO: I'll put a lock on the door, just in case she goes walking again.
JACK: Nah, no chance of that. The resurrection days are over, thank God. (He starts off again)
IANTO: Oh, I wouldn't be too sure. That's the thing about gloves, sir. (Jack pauses) They come in pairs. (Jack looks back at him; Ianto looks down at the clipboard. Jack walks off.)

Jack is standing in his office with his back to the door when Ianto steps into Jack's office. Jack pours himself a drink.

Ianto presses the button on the stopwatch. "Thirteen minutes, five seconds," he says.

"I should punish you for being three minutes and five seconds late." He doesn't turn. He's half-smiling, still looking at the shelf and the decanter of whiskey.

Ianto wipes a fingerprint from the face of the stopwatch. "Should you?" he asks very seriously. Ianto transfers the stopwatch to his left hand and stands very still. He clears his throat and Jack turns around.

Jack takes a sip of the whiskey and puts the glass down. "You sure you want to do this?" He asks, one eyebrow raised.

"I am, Sir. I'm very sure."

Jack slides the braces from his shoulders and unbuttons his shirt. "Probably fulfilling some fantasy of office workers everywhere, huh?" Ianto's lips curl into a hint of a smile. Jack takes his shirt off and hands it to Ianto. Ianto folds it and places it on Jack's desk while Jack grabs the collar of his undershirt and removes it and hands it to Ianto as well.

"Shoes and socks, Sir."

Jack rolls his eyes in mock irritation. "If I'd known you were going to be so demanding I never would have asked you." Regardless, he balances first on one foot and then the other, tucks his socks inside his shoes, and hands the pair to Ianto.

Ianto shrugs one shoulder. "I believe I'm the one who made the offer, Captain. I'm also the one who would have to clean up any mess we leave. I'd just like to make my job easier."

Naked to the waist, Jack puts his hands on the buckle of his belt and flashes his best grin. "Want me to keep going?"

"No, that'll be fine, Sir." Ianto says and reaches into his jacket, withdrawing something from under his left arm. A small, low-calibre pistol is in his right hand. In one practised motion the gun is armed, aimed, and fired.

Jack gasps as the bullet pierces flesh and shatters against bone.

Undaunted, Ianto fires again. The bullet lands true, tearing through a section of Jack's heart. Jack drops to his knees and then collapses face down.

Ianto presses the button to start the timer, then kneels next to him and runs his fingers over the odd lump of the bullet; as Ianto had suspected, the velocity was too low for it to go all the way through, even at such close range.

Seconds tick by.

At forty-seven seconds, the lump of remaining bullet turns red and swells. The bullet pushes out slowly until it's free from Jack's body, leaving behind a wet, ragged hole. The bullet rolls off and lands on the floor with a mute tok.

Ten more seconds, and Ianto can see movement under the skin of Jack's back. Muscle and organs and nerves and bones all reknitting themselves. New skin forms over the wound, weaving in pink and shiny and tight. In the blink of an eye it toughens and loses its colour and sheen until there's no indication there was ever a mark there.

At one minute-twelve, Jack plants his hands on the floor and does a push-up as he gasps for air. He's on his knees two seconds later, his hands on Ianto's shoulders and a manic look in his eyes. There's a large bruise, gun shot residue, and sticky blood on his chest where the bullets entered.

The first bullet - the one that lodged in his ribs - is on the floor beneath him. Ianto picks up both of them and puts them in the breast pocket of his jacket. There's surprisingly little blood on the floor, which pleases him.

"So?" Jack pants, grinning like an idiot.

"One minute, fourteen seconds, Sir." Ianto shows him the stopwatch.

"Excellent," he says. He forces himself to breathe normally, but he can't get the smile off his face. "Wanna see how long it takes for arsenic to kill me?"

The Secret Life of Ianto Jones (pt 5 of x) [ Torchwood ]

2007-10-24T16:39:34Z

Title: The Secret Life of Ianto Jones (pt 5 of x)
Characters: Ianto Jones, OCs
Rating: All ages
Warning(s): Implied slash; mention of guns; death of an alien.
Spoiler(s): No — set (very) pre-series
Summary: The pre-Torchwood life of Ianto Jones.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I am not affiliated with the television series Torchwood, nor any of the cast and crew. No harm is intended. It's all just for fun.

Part One / ?format=light
Part Two / ?format=light
Part Three / ?format=light
Part Four / ?format=light

Francis found them together one night when he returned earlier than expected from an assignment. They were asleep in Ianto's bed. Angrily, Francis shook them awake and ordered them to get dressed.

Marcus cried. He fell to his knees and begged Francis not to tell his father. "He'll kill me. Please, mister Happ, don't tell him. I'll promise you anything. He can't find out."

Ianto stood beside Marcus, helpless, hands folded repentantly behind his back.

Francis glowered. He threw a damp towel at the boy. "Clean yourself up. Go back to your room. Tell your father we've checked out."

"Papa!" Ianto interjected.

"We would have been leaving for Italy in the morning regardless. This just hastens things." Francis' eyes were so cold Ianto thought his blood might freeze. Then, inexplicably, he turned his back on Ianto. "Say your goodbyes. I'll give you ten minutes."

The moment Marcus left, Francis slapped his son hard across his face. "Stupid. Stupid boy." Tears welled up in Francis' eyes and he hugged his son tightly. "Discretion, Ianto. Be discreet."

"I didn't know. I didn't know it was wrong."

"It's wrong to some people. That's why you must be discreet."

Six months in Italy were followed by six months in Colorado. His father was away almost continuously during that time, and Ianto had little to do. He tried learning to ski, but somehow never caught on. There seemed to be a lot of work for very little payoff. Cross-country skiiing was even worse.

He learned to drive on the Air Force base where they were staying. He wasn't old enough to get a license, but as long as he stayed on-base and didn't damage anything, no one minded. Ianto was discreet about driving.

Ianto was also discreet about the fact that he was seeing an eighteen-year-old girl from a nearby university.

They broke up when his father said it was time to move again.

Things began to change in China.

Ianto was no longer Ianto. His father declared him too old for pet names and addressed him only as Ieuan. "You're a man now," he said. "You need responsibility. You need to define yourself."

Ianto's free time was severely limited. He spent hours in their hotel room studying. When he wasn't in the hotel he was with his father, practicing unarmed combat, practicing with firearms, practicing running for his life.

He was eighteen when they returned to London, and his father took him to Canary Wharf. Ianto was fingerprinted. His retinal scan and DNA were put on file. He was photographed, examined, studied, and tested.

"Ieuan's an exceptional boy, Francis," Howar d Torres said as he reviewed Ianto's scores. "Brilliant, competent, capable... but his psychiatric evaluation doesn't make him a suitable candidate for field work."

Francis and Howard sat in Howard's office. It was cool, dimly lit, and the walls were lined with glass cases containing various artefacts and scale models of the creatures that had created them. Many of the artefacts were marked with tags that bore Francis' name; he had been the agent responsible for finding (or at least retrieving) them.

Francis frowned and considered Howard's words. "What's wrong with my boy?"

"Nothing! Nothing at all. He just doesn't have the killing instinct. He's likely to get himself hurt or worse if a retrieval goes wrong." He shook his head sadly. "Too much of his mother in him, perhaps."

Francis' eyes grew dark. "My son is not soft."

Howard reached over and laid a hand on Francis' arm. "No. He isn't. He just doesn't have the natural inclination for field work, but he's young. It's possible that he can learn. I'll make the recommendation that you take him on as a trainee. You can let him see what assignments are really like. Then we can re-evaluate him in a year."

Francis nodded grimly, somewhat mollified. Nineteen was the Torchwood average for interns in the field, but Ieuan was meant to be different. Better than average.

Kazakhstan was hot and sticky. Ianto peeled his tee-shirt away from his chest and fanned himself with it. Somehow, despite the fact that he was dressed in a well-tailored suit and a tie, Francis didn't look warm or even slightly uncomfortable. Ianto envied his father.

His father tucked his gun in his sholder holster and Ianto raised an eyebrow. He'd always assumed his father's assignments were little more than business meetings. Two men in suits discussing an artefact and then making an exchange. He'd never noticed his father carrying his ancient Mauser HSc before. Although once Francis' suit jacket was buttoned the gun was almost invisible.

Ianto struggled into his shirt, tie, and jacket and followed his father to the lift, out of the hotel, and into the car that waited for them. The car was air-conditioned almost to the point of freezing and the man already in the back seat wore gloves against the chill.

"Who is he?" He asked Francis in Russian.

"My assistant. A trainee."

"Should I be insulted that you bring a child to our meeting?"

"He's fully qualified. You should be honored that I'd bring him. I think so highly of you, Diemchuk, that I want you to meet my son."

Diemchuk laughed, rich and deep, and clapped his hands together. "Your son . I see now. You're teaching him the family business. I suppose Happ the younger will be your replacement when you're gone."

Francis nodded politely. "Hopefully not for many years to come, but yes."

"Hopefully not, indeed!" Diemchuk took a briefcase from the floor and handed it to Francis. "A Gyrospatial Level. Non-toxic, non-threatening. Just a simple household repair tool."

"How does he know what it is?" Ianto asked his father.

Diemchuk laughed and said in heavily accented English, "You might say I'm not from around here."

Ianto stared, wide-eyed.

He was an alien, Diemchuk explained, and he owned and operated a quarry. Artefacts were continually turning up during their excavations. Torchwood considered him harmless and allowed him to live his life as a free man as long as he turned over anything he found.

Francis sat quietly between the two of them, letting them speak freely for several minutes before he whispered "enough" in Welsh. Ianto fell silent and looked to his father.

He leaned across Ianto and opened the door, ushering him out. "Diemchuk, I thank you for your help and for your hospitality. Torchwood thanks you for your contribution."

"I thank you for introducing me to your son, Happ. May it be a long time before he fills your shoes."

Francis slid from the car and bowed low, respectfully. "May it be a long time before someone fills yours." He took the gun from under his jacket and shot Diemchuk in the head.

Ianto stood there, gaping and trembling. "F-francis... father... what? Why?"

Francis holstered the gun and gave his son a freezing look. "Diemchuk was becoming a threat. He's found twenty-six alien weapons in the past four months and reported none of them. A response team will be searching his home right about now." He glanced at his watch, then looked at his son again. "This is how it works, Ieuan. Sometimes elimination is necessary for the safety of the Earth."

to be continued

Four Things Jack Never Would Have Guessed About Ianto [ Torchwood ]

2007-10-19T17:37:28Z

Title: Four Things Jack Never Would Have Guessed About Ianto, and One Thing He Suspected.
Word Count: 1550ish
Rating: 13 and up
Warnings: A little angst, a little fluff, a little kissing
Spoilers: Through Countrycide
Characters: Team, implied Jack/Ianto
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I am not affiliated with the television series Torchwood, nor any of the cast and crew. No harm is intended. It's all just for fun.

Summary: Four Things Jack Never Would Have Guessed About Ianto, and One Thing He Suspected.

1. Ianto sleeps with a plush bunny.

Jack found out accidentally. He'd gone over to Ianto's on a whim, out of restless boredom. It was three in the morning and Ianto would be home and asleep. Jack knew Ianto probably wouldn't appreciate him just showing up like that, but he also knew Ianto wouldn't turn him away.

So he let himself in, and crept through the house, up the stairs (carefully avoiding the seventh one because it squeaked) and stopped at Ianto's bedroom door. He'd never been in Ianto's bedroom before and it looked much like he thought it would: clean and stark. Bare, white walls and blond wood and not a thing out of place. Ianto was asleep on top of the blankets, wearing only soft cotton pyjama bottoms. He was on his right side and his left hand was curled around the belly of a toy bunny.

Jack decided it was best if Ianto didn't know he knew this. He sneaked back downstairs and proceeded to stomp around the first floor, bellowing Ianto's name to make him wake up.

2. Ianto hates the taste of mint.

The first time Jack kissed Ianto (properly, not in the "I'm saving your life" way), Ianto tasted like coffee. This made sense, since he'd just finished drinking a cup. Other times he'd tasted of the last thing he'd eaten, or something faintly herbal (sometimes he could taste himself on Ianto's lips, and god did he love that).

He never seemed to taste of toothpaste, which was strange because he knew he'd seen Ianto cleaning his teeth. When Jack thought about it, Ianto always dodged him when his teeth were just-brushed, and he tended to avoid him if Jack popped a mint, thinking maybe his breath wasn't so great after all.

Slowly, it all started to come together for Jack.

"You could have just said something," he said as he made a point to show Ianto the new propolis and tea tree toothpaste (the package boasted "a unique family-favourite formulation with a mild liquorice flavour.") he'd picked up.

Ianto just smiled and went about his filing.

Jack wondered if this wasn't all some sort of complicated game to Ianto, and if it was, where Jack could go to download the rules.

3. Ianto is afraid of water.

Jack called it "team building" but what it really was, was just an excuse to get out of the Hub and have a little fun. He booked the group on a boat tour of Cardiff Bay.

"Oh, come on!" he said when everyone protested. "How long have you lived here? Have any of you ever played tourist in your home town? It's fun."

Tosh relented first. "I probably could use a day away from staring at monitors," she said, reluctantly.

Gwen nodded in agreement. "It's been so quiet lately. It'll be good to get out and get some sun and fresh air."

"It's Cardiff Bay," Owen grumbled. "There's no such thing as fresh air and sun."

"Don't be a spoil sport, Owen. Even Ianto's going!" Jack threw an arm around Owen's shoulders and shook him playfully.

"Ianto is not going, sir. Ianto is staying behind to mind the Hub in case anything should happen." He spoke with bored indifference, and a hint of something that suggested he was hurt that Jack thought Ianto would even consider shirking his duties.

"Fine," Jack sighed and wondered why his team was so dead set against ever doing anything fun. "Owen, you can stay and babysit the Rift. Ianto, you can come with us."

"Can't we both stay?" Owen suggested. "I mean, what if something big happens and I can't handle it alone? I mean, because I might need... you know. Someone to hold a torch for me or something." He didn't look at all pleased to admit he might need help, even in theory.

Jack narrowed his eyes and flicked his gaze between the two men. There was something fishy going on. "One of you stays. The other has to go. No calling out sick. No 'forgetting'. No showing up after the boat's gone claiming you overslept. You will have fun, dammit!"

Jack did not miss the look Owen and Ianto exchanged just before Owen let out a sigh. "Fine. I'll go. Ianto can stay."

Later, after everyone had gone home, Jack took a walk. He found Ianto staring out over the water, standing with his hands clenched into fists and his shoulders visibly tight, even through his jacket.

Ianto was aware of Jack's approach. He recognised the sound of his footsteps and the scent of his cologne. "It's a completely irrational fear and it's not based on anything specific. At least not that I can remember," Ianto said without turning.

Jack stepped up beside Ianto and adopted a similar pose. "Still, you could have told me. I wouldn't have mocked you. Well, not as much as Owen probably mocked you."

"Owen's never mocked me about my fear of water."

"No?" Jack was genuinely surprised.

"He can't." Ianto looked sideways at Jack and gave him a sly smile. "I know what Owen's afraid of."

4. Ianto plays billiards.

It cost him nearly a hundred pounds, two promised dinners, and four rounds of drinks before Jack finally admitted that Ianto has an almost supernatural ability at billiards.

Jack made a silent vow to practice in secret until he was good enough to beat Ianto.

(and one thing he suspected)
5. Ianto is much less fragile and passive than he presents himself.

Jack suspected this about Ianto, and was more than a little relieved when he found out it was true. They were back from the Beacons -- had only been back a few hours.

Jack saw to Gwen, making sure she was safely home, and when he returned, he was surprised to find Ianto still in the Hub. He'd taken a shower and was wearing a clean shirt (just a tee-shirt, Jack noted) but the jeans still bore the dirt and blood of their "adventure".

"Ianto. I'm glad you're here."

"The rift never sleeps, sir." He sipped his coffee and reviewed the CCTV footage that had accumulated while they were gone.

"Apparently you don't sleep either." Jack leaned against the edge of Ianto's desk and looked down at him, studying him.

Ianto raised his eyes to meet Jack's. "Hello, Pot."

Jack laughed and put his hand on Ianto's shoulder. "Are you okay with everything?"

"Which everything would that be, sir?" Ianto returned to watching the images flicker across the screen, sped up so the people almost seemed to jump from position to position like a crude stop-animation film.

"The everything everything. Are you okay. Are we okay?"

Ianto arched an eyebrow.

"We, like Torchwood we." Jack explained a little too hastily, hands nervously gesturing. "Like, everyone. Are you okay with everyone and is everyone okay with you? No residual weirdness after... y'know."

"Lisa," Ianto said plainly. "Yes, I think so. Owen looks like he wants to kill me most of the time, but that's not unusual."

Jack slid down to the floor and rested his back against the desk. He looked up at Ianto, studying his profile, watching the shadowed movement of his eyes as they moved from screen to screen, observing the slight changes in posture and muscles as Ianto typed or used the mouse, and noticing the tight set of Ianto's jaw.

Jack leaned over and rested his head against Ianto's thigh. Ianto's right hand dropped down and the backs of his fingers lightly brushed across Jack's cheek. Then his fingertips traced the curve of Jack's ear.

"Ianto," he whispered.

Ianto jerked his hand away as if he'd been burnt. "Sorry. Sorry. I -"

Jack was shaking, drawing in great gulps of air like a drowning man. "Captain? Sir?" Ianto dropped next to him and held Jack's face between his palms. "Jack!"

Jack threw his arms around Ianto and held tight. "Sorry. I'm sorry, Ianto. Just a ... nightmare I guess. Does that ever happen to you? When you're so tired you start dreaming while you're still awake?"

"I think it happens to everyone on occasion," Ianto said as he managed to position himself between Jack and the desk so that Jack's back was against his chest. He wrapped his arms around Jack and spoke soothingly. "Want to talk about the nightmare?"

"Just a replay of what happened. How close we came to losing Gwen, Tosh, you... and that guy! That creepy fucking guy who did that because it made him happy. You know I've done some pretty disgusting things in my life. I've done things I'm not proud of, and I've taken more lives than I could even count, but never has it made me happy." He thought of the Daleks. "Not to kill an innocent person, at least." Even the Slitheen had been spared.

"You saved us, though. All of us." Ianto's voice was a warm buzz in his ear. "We're all right. We're okay." There was a subtle difference in the way he said "we're" the second time. Jack didn't think anything of it until he felt Ianto's fingers gently turning his head and Ianto's mouth pressed against his own.

Keeping it Fictional [ Torchwood ]

2007-10-15T14:00:12Z

Title: Keeping it Fictional
Word Count: 810
Rating: All Ages
Warnings: AU
Spoilers: None
Characters: Ianto, Jack (established relationship)
Disclaimer: This is fanfiction. I don't have anything to do with the BBC or the cast and crew of Torchwood.

Author's Notes: For alanafish, who said "I think there should be a fic in which Ianto is a writer. Either complete AU or 'Ianto-is-retconned-but-Jack-doesn't-make-him-come-back', I'm not fussy."

Summary: ... Ianto is a writer. It's completely AU.

Jack stretched slowly, sliding down in the sofa until his head and shoulders were on the cushion, his legs were draped over the coffee table, and his arse was suspended in the empty space between the two. A black-and-white cat passed under him, arching his back to make contact. The cat flicked his tail and thumped Jack on the arm, then hopped up to sit next to him, yellow eyes wide, pupils nearly invisible slits in the bright morning light.

Ianto came in from the kitchen and stood there, staring. "I'm not putting this coffee down until you sit up."

"Put the coffee down and I might be able to sit up." Jack yawned and turned to face the cat. The cat responded with a gentle headbutt and a loud purr that was audible even to Ianto.

"Sit up first. I'm not putting this down and then having you kick it over. Defeats the whole purpose of me fetching you a coffee."

"Actually, it doesn't. It just means you'll have to get me another one." Jack grinned and winked, but sat up slowly. The cat hopped to the back of the sofa and rubbed his face against Jack's cheek.

"Owen loves you a little too much," Ianto said as he put the coffee down on a coaster. Using only his eyebrows he managed to convey the message "if you do not use this coaster I will break your fingers." At least that was the message Jack got from Ianto's expression. He rubbed his fingers in some kind of precognitive, phantom pain.

"He gets it from my side of the family. I love me a little too much." he said as he reached for the coffee and took a sip. "Perfect as always. Are you ever going to tell me the secret?"

"No," Ianto said and crossed the small room to his desk. The computer was already on, the fan was humming softly, and the blue and white screen saver was swirling hypnotically. Ianto nudged the mouse and the screen clicked to life.

"Email from Tosh," he called over his shoulder. "She and Mary are in France. They're doing the great museum tour and Mary's getting a sketchbook filled with jewelry design ideas." He skimmed a little further. "They both send their love."

"To you, maybe." Jack scoffed. "Mary knows I don't like her."

"You just don't like her because she took your Karaoke partner away. Shut up and be happy for them."

"I'm happy!" He insisted. "I am happy. If Tosh is happy, I'm happy. You know, you could always be my new Karaoke partner?"

Ianto didn't even bother turning around. "We've been over this. There is no way in Hell you're going to get me to sing 'I Got You, Babe.'"

"I'll let you be Sonny?"

"Ah, therein lies the problem, Jack. You always insist on being Cher and you always insist on wearing that wig. It was cute when it was you and Tosh. If it were you and me it would just look -"

"Incredibly camp?" Jack interrupted.

"Incredibly. Gwen wants to know if we're going back to Cardiff for Christmas."

Jack stood, put his mug on the table (on the coaster) and scratched his stomach lazily. "I think we can do it. How long do you want to go for?"

"Ten days? Maybe two weeks. Just long enough to see everyone. You know my sister and her kids will be upset if we don't spend at least a few days with them."

"Two weeks sounds good. I'll put in my vacation request when I get to work. Which," he glanced at the clock over the door, "should be soon. DC Metro's only unreliable when you're late, and the FBI hates it when I'm late." He leaned over and slid one arm under Ianto's and across his chest to rest on Ianto's left shoulder. He planted a kiss behind Ianto's left ear. "Let me see what you've been working on before I go?"

Ianto didn't blush, but Jack could feel the heat rise in his cheeks and did his best not to laugh while Ianto brought up the document. He skimmed the words, his grin growing broader by the second until he had no choice but to straighten up and laugh out loud. Ianto covered his face with his hands and pretended to be mortified, but he was laughing too.

Jack leaned in again and read aloud. "Captain James Harper stood on top of Cardiff's Millenium Centre and surveyed the streets and buildings below him." He kissed Ianto on thecheek and gave him a tight hug. "Looks like another best-seller already."

Two Weeks [ Torchwood ]

2007-10-11T00:30:11Z

Title: Two Weeks
Characters: Ianto, Jack, Tosh, Owen, Gwen
Rating: Teen and up (language)
Warning(s): The f-bomb.
Spoiler(s): End of S1 of Torchwood and end of S3 of Doctor Who

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I am not affiliated with the television series Torchwood, nor any of the cast and crew. No harm is intended. It's all just for fun.

Author's Note: At the end of the story, to avoid spoilers. Written in a hurry and unbeataed; this was never meant to be serious.

Captain Jack Harkness walked away from the Doctor and Martha Jones. He didn't look back. He had his answers. He knew where he belonged. He knew where he was needed. He knew who needed him.

Jack walked into the tourist information centre and stared at Ianto Jones for several minutes before he was noticed.

"Jack?" Ianto hesitated. He closed the magazine he'd been paging through and stepped around the counter. "Captain?"

Jack threw his arms open wide and grinned. "Did you miss me?"

Ianto punched the captain in the stomach, then in the jaw when the blow made him double up. "No," he said in his usual, unnervingly placid voice. He locked up the centre and went straight to the lift. Jack shuffled after him, one hand on the wall for support.

"Not even a little bit?" Jack asked once they were in the lift. He gave Ianto his best "hurt puppy" expression, which, considering the throbbing in his stomach, wasn't difficult to fake.

Ianto's eyes flicked to the side and quickly scanned Jack. "Maybe," he said.

Jack discovered that grinning was exceptionally painful.

As soon as he stepped onto the main floor of the Hub, Toshiko dropped her work and ran to him. "Jack!" She cried. Then she kicked him square in the shin with the very pointy toe of her boot. "That's for not bothering to tell us where you'd gone. We wasted almost two weeks looking for you! You could have at least called."

"Wait, two weeks? How long was I gone?"

"Two weeks." Gwen said. "We've just got back from the Himalayas just yesterday. We were certain you were there, but there was nothing... just an empty cave with some sort of weird beacon in it."

"The what now? Oh, right... the... no, you wouldn't remember that." Jack said, mostly to himself.

Gwen wrapped her arms around Jack and gave him a tight hug. "We were all so worried about you! You'd been dead and then you just vanished and we had no idea what happened to you." She snuffled and swiped at her eyes, clearly fighting back tears.

"Normal people don't go out for a jog after they've been dead for three days. Sir." Ianto added.

"Hey! Don't you dare call me 'normal'. It's insulting. Normal people don't do anything after being dead for three days, thank you." He stretched his jaw to make sure it was working, and then beamed at Ianto, who gave him a lopsided, tight-lipped smile in return. Which, for Ianto, was about the same as giddy laughter for anyone else.

Gwen hugged Jack again and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "We're just glad you're safely back."

Owen appeared in the doorway to Jack's office. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the frame. "Well fuck me," he said. "I guess this means I've got to clear my shit out of here now, huh."

Author's Note: Based on a conversation in torchwood_meta, where I said "Now I want to write one where he comes back and Ianto decks him again, Gwen cries, and Tosh kicks him in the shin. And then Owen asks if this means he has to get his shit out of Jack's office." Then donutsweeper and bibliotech had to go and encourage me.

Home [ Torchwood ]

2007-10-03T18:41:26Z

Title: Home
Characters: Ianto
Rating: All Ages
Warning(s): None
Spoiler(s): None
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I am not affiliated with the television series Torchwood, nor any of the cast and crew. No harm is intended. It's all just for fun.

There's a routine to going home.

You stop in the doorway, untie your shoes, and remove them, putting them on the rectangular mat just inside. Socks off next. (pinned together with the safety pin kept on the calf of your left sock. Lisa hated the pin thing and joked that she'd never live with you as long as you did that.) You pad quietly across the floor and onto the pale carpet and then through to the bathroom, where the socks go in the laundry basket.

Trousers and jacket off, onto a hanger on the back of the bathroom door. Today they're not bad and a quick going-over with a steam iron will freshen them. Tie is hung carefully in the closet. Shirt goes in the laundry.

(He laughed the first time he saw you undress, though not in an unkind way. "Meticulous as always," he said, "although I never thought you'd be the boxer-brief type.")

Suit, shirt, and tie for the next day are hung on the back of the bedroom door.

There's a bruise on your right knee where you barked it against a desk getting out of the way of Tosh on a mission (head down, eyes closed, brain whirling so fast you could almost hear it). You poke it and there's only a slight twinge of pain. Not enough to make you want to touch it again and just enough to make you regret touching it in the first place.

You find a pair of jeans (the only clothing you'll wear more than twice before washing), button them up, and still barefoot head for the kitchen to make a sandwich. (you can cook, but why bother? It's only fun if you're cooking for someone else.)

Eat, clean up, sit on the sofa with a book for a while until it's time for bed. You won't sleep, but you'll lie there and stare at the ceiling and pretend (and possibly have a dozen ten-minute naps) until the alarm goes off.

Shower. Shave. Dress. Return to the Hub because it's the only place that feels safe and normal.

Lovers [ Torchwood ]

2007-09-17T19:39:18Z

Title: Lovers
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Ianto (Jack/Ianto)
Rating: 13+
Warning(s): Mentions of homosexuality
Spoiler(s): Series 1
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I am not affiliated with the television series Torchwood, nor any of the cast and crew. No harm is intended. It's all just for fun.

There's at least a dozen points between "partner" as defined as "working relationship" and partner in the "lifetime" sense. Over the course of time, I think Jack and I have passed through them all. Some of them several times.

We started with the working relationship, obviously. I transferred from Canary Wharf just slightly ahead of his arrival and my interview with him was cursory. Because of my history with Torchwood I was essentially guaranteed a position somewhere and it was just a matter of whether or not he would agree to have me work with him. I suppose if we hadn't reached an accord I would have moved on to Torchwood Two, which really is just an archive.

I think they thought they were doing me a service by offering me a post in Cardiff. Of course they had no way of knowing that I wasn't interested at all in being back in Wales. Still, the Rift promised at least something more interesting than wasting hours upon hours dusting relics (such as the caretaker of Torchwood Two).

I assisted him in the background checks of possible employees. I arranged interviews. I served coffee containing a dose of Jack's special amnesia drug to the ones that didn't make the cut. Fortunately I was never called upon to do that often. Our screening process was so intense that Jack only saw the people who would be best suited for the job and the interview was really just to test their nerve.

Suzie was hired almost immediately after me. Someone with skills for technology was sorely needed. The Hub was in a state of disrepair, we had a pterodactyl nesting in the water tower, and very poor control of the rift itself.

Owen was next, hired because of his skill and his attitude. Tosh was another Canary Wharf refugee like myself, although between the incident at Downing Street and then Canary Wharf, she took a few months off to compose herself. She also said she would not come to work if she had to do anything medical and cited Downing Street as her reason. The call to her was made after Owen had been in place for about a month and we were sure he'd remain.

And that was it for the longest time. We lived, worked, slept, played, and breathed Torchwood. Most of us lived near the office and later we would find out that Jack actually lived in the office.

Jack flirted with everyone and everyone flirted with Jack and we maintained a working relationship. Professional partners with a side of casual friendship. And all was well and all was well and then things got horribly bad for a while. I refer, of course, to the trouble with Lisa. That tale's been told and I feel no need to re-open those particular wounds.

After Lisa, there was a rift in our friendship that rivaled the Rift we babysat. I couldn't look at him. I couldn't look at myself. I didn't know why he kept me on and I didn't know why he let me live and I wasn't entirely sure why I let myself live. I thought it must have been Jack's version of punishment. Death would have been a mercy, but letting me live and letting me keep working (in my tidy suits and my forced smile) was absolute torture.

Especially because he continued to be nice to me. The flirting kept on. He saved my life in Brecon Beacons. He didn't need to.

Then, back at the Hub, he asked me to stay after he sent everyone home. I expected to be fired. I ended up in his bed. I went willingly, but at the same time I went because I owed him. I owed him for saving my life several times over by that point. I owed him for everything and I felt like I couldn't refuse.

Jack was good. He was careful and attentive and patient and mildly surprised to find out that it wasn't my first time with another man. "So many levels to you, Ianto Jones," he murmured against the nape of my neck. "So much to discover about you."

In the morning, I felt hollow. I'd paid my debts and slept with my boss and I wanted nothing more to do with Torchwood but I couldn't leave. Some sick part of me was waiting for something. For someone to acknowledge me. Realise that I was there and I was worth something and I wasn't just there to pick up after them, even though that was exactly what I was doing. Despite everything. Despite besting them all by hiding Lisa for so long. Despite holding my own against cannibals. I was still nothing to them.

With a little prompting from Tosh, Jack came to me and spoke with me. With me. Not to me. Not at me. Not demanding answers or explanations like so many have done in the past. We talked as equals. I again ended up in his bed, but this time it was Jack who went willingly, grinning like a boy at a festival.

He died. He died and was dead for three days before rising... I know the common cliche would be to say "like Christ" but our joke was that it was more like Aslan. Gwen-as-Lucy staying devotedly beside him, not wanting anything further to happen to him. Wanting to protect his body. Owen-as-Edmund, warmly embraced upon Jack's return.

And then he left again, only to return looking tired, thinner, harder, and darker. Aged noticeably in what amounted to a few days.

This time he found his way into my bed. He slept for twenty hours punctuated by nightmares and shouts. When he woke he gave me his familiar grin (too large, too many teeth, so very predatory) and another ten hours were spent in my bed. Many of those hours were not spent in sleep.

Children [ Torchwood ]

2007-09-15T00:14:46Z

Title: Children
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Ianto, Suzie, Owen, and Tosh
Rating: All Ages
Warning(s): None.
Spoiler(s): None. Set pre-series.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I am not affiliated with the television series Torchwood, nor any of the cast and crew. No harm is intended. It's all just for fun.

"Oh my God. Have we been invaded?" Tosh stood at the top of the steps and surveyed the Hub. There were boxes stacked haphazardly. An empty desk had been upended. There was what looked to be bedsheets hanging from random points in the second level supports, and somehow or another there was (please God, let that be) ketchup on her chair.

Suzie came in behind her and also stopped. This was not what Torchwood looked like when they went home for the night. Cautiously, the two women made their way to the middle of the Hub.

A pool of dark blue fabric turned out to be Ianto's jacket. The lining of the right sleeve had come unstitched. The lapel pocket was torn.

They found his waistcoat thrown across Owen's desk. Three buttons from Owen's shirt were on the floor nearby.

One of Owen's trainers bobbed cheerfully in the pool that collected under the water tower.

Suzie picked up a screwdriver as a weapon. Tosh grabbed her scanner and checked for life signs. Back-to-back, they circled slowly.

"Over there, behind those boxes," Tosh said softly. "I think it's human."

The screwdriver in Suzie's hand trembled with the shaking of her hand. "Right, you! I don't know who you are, but I demand that you show yourself right now. I'm armed and I will shoot you."

They heard Owen's unmistakable laugh come from behind the boxes. "Oh get off, Suz. You wouldn't know what to do with a gun if you had one." He stood up with his hands raised anyhow. Just in case. His shirt was untucked, half unbuttoned, and streaked with ketchup. One foot was (as expected) bare, and he was holding a bright orange, plastic, child's toy gun in his right hand. There were suction-cup darts in his shirt pocket.

Suzie didn't bother hiding her laughter. Tosh raised an eyebrow. "So that means the man behind the curtain is...".

"Ianto," Ianto sighed and stepped from behind it. He was the most dishevelled any of them could remember seeing him. His shirt was untucked, torn, and filthy. His tie was actually around his head and there were feathers stuck in it, hanging down his back. He was clutching a tiny, plastic bow and a handful of the suction cup darts. Ketchup was streaked like warpaint across his face. He looked down at his shoes and looked incredibly repentant.

Suzie was laughing so hard she had to sit down. Tosh leaned against the wall for support, giggling madly. Owen threw his hands up in the air. "What. What is so strange about two grown men playing cowboys and indians in an empty office?"

Ianto shrugged and smiled crookedly. "Women," he said.

Colourless [ Torchwood ]

2007-09-07T18:02:35Z

Title: Colourless
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack
Rating: 13+
Warning(s): Bloodshed
Spoiler(s): None - Set pre-series.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I am not affiliated with the television series Torchwood, nor any of the cast and crew. No harm is intended. It's all just for fun.

A/N: for a friend who wanted "Something Noir".

London. June, 1948. The war was over and things were being rebuilt. Including my life. My haircut was still military though I'd given up wearing the uniform. Stopped calling myself Captain. Stopped calling myself Jack Harkness. I wanted to distance myself from that life. At least for the time being. Who knew what the future had in store for me? Well. What it had in store for me this time around.

The city was awash with reds and whites and blues and greens and golds. The Olympic games were coming in just a month. Heathrow Airport was officially opened to international traffic, probably because of the games. The city was alive.

I was alive, but I was colourless. A monochrome man in a Technicolor world. The glitter and the spectacle had no appeal for me. Not after everything I'd seen and done.

The bar under my arms gleamed in the thin, evening light that filtered through the smoked glass. The shot of vodka burned through me. I felt it. Felt the alcohol worm its way into my bloodstream. Felt it pulse, spreading a relaxing warmth. Felt it burn off just as fast, leaving an empty feeling that didn't even have the comfort of numbness.

"I should be dead, Will," I said to the bartender as I tapped my glass on the smooth wood.

"Keep drinking like this and you will be," he cautioned. He poured me another shot anyhow.

"I mean it! I was shot through the chest. Twice! It didn't even leave a scar."

Will's hand covered my glass and moved it away before I had a chance to touch it. "I believe you, mister Haines. But I think you've had enough tonight."

Right. Probably a good idea to quit while I was ahead. I played up the drunk and stood slowly, swaying a little. I counted out enough notes to cover my bill and one more drink. "Buy a round for yourself, Will."

I staggered out to the street and turned left. Once I was clear of the pub I straightened up.

There was a flash of movement in front of me. Someone stepped out of an alley, grabbed my coat, and shoved me up against the wall. A gloved hand covered my face, obscuring my vision and filling my nose with the sick smell of ether. It wasn't enough to knock me out, but it slowed me down. I flailed uselessly, trying to fight off my attacker.

The knife went into my stomach with a muffled pop. I slumped to the ground. The man grabbed my wallet, took the money, and tossed the empty notecase into my lap.

Blood that should have been red pooled dark grey in my cupped hands.

Dinner [ Torchwood ]

2007-09-05T16:13:53Z

Title: Dinner
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack, Suzie, Owen, and Tosh
Rating: All Ages
Warning(s): None.
Spoiler(s): None. Set pre-series.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I am not affiliated with the television series Torchwood, nor any of the cast and crew. No harm is intended. It's all just for fun.

The first time they saw a Weevil they didn't quite know what to make of it.

"Christ," breathed Owen. "It looks like something off that television show."

"Buffy the Vampire Slayer?" Suzie murmured.

"Big Brother," Owen replied. Neither of them spoke above a whisper.

They stood as still as possible in the mouth of the alley, watching this thing tearing through bags of rubbish, sampling everything it was finding, and apparently really enjoying rotting meat, banana peels, and one heavily-soiled disposable nappy. The stench was overwhelming.

"Fuck me," Owen gagged. The sound caused it to look up, snarl, and crouch protectively over the refuse.

"We've been spotted," Suzie said into her headset. "No idea if it's going to attack or flee. Suggestions?"

Back at the Hub, Tosh entered the information that Owen and Suzie had been relaying, and Jack stood behind her chair, reading over her shoulder.

"Nothing like it in the database already," Tosh said. "What do we tell them?"

"Running might be bad. We don't know anything about it, how fast it moves, if it's alone... and we don't want it running out into the streets where it could attack anyone. Suzie! Does it look like it's about to attack you?"

"No movement from it yet, Jack. It's just sort of ... sniffing. I don't think it sees that well."

"Probably trying to decide if we're family or food," Owen added and clicked off his gun's safety.

"Take it down," Jack said. "Bring it in. Alive if it's possible and dead if it isn't." He added brightly, "Time for your first alien autopsy, Doctor Harper!"

"Lovely. You know this is exactly how I thought I'd be spending my dinner hour tonight? It's amazing how well that worked out."

Butterflies [ Stargate Atlantis ]

2007-08-31T15:44:10Z

Title: Butterflies
Word count: 100
Characters: McKay, Ronon, Sheppard, Teyla
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Nope
Summary: Just a drabble.

"I like butterflies," McKay said. "Theoretically."

Sheppard scrunched. "How can you like theoretical butterflies?"

"The butterflies are real. The like is theoretical."

Teyla raised her eyebrows. "I still do not understand."

"Butterflies are pretty, yes." He said, compartmentalizing the words with his hands. "I like to see them flying. But I don't need to see them up close, and I do not want them on me."

Ronon laughed. "You're going to love this planet." Then he pushed McKay through the 'gate.

"Next time," Sheppard said, "let me go first so I can see the expression on his face."

The Secret Life of Ianto Jones ( pt 4 of x ) [ Torchwood ]

2007-08-30T19:39:42Z

Title: The Secret Life of Ianto Jones (pt 4 of x)
Characters: Ianto Jones, OCs
Rating: All ages
Warning(s): Very mild slash (kissing); mention of guns
Spoiler(s): No — set (very) pre-series
Summary: The childhood of Ianto Jones.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I am not affiliated with the television series Torchwood, nor any of the cast and crew. No harm is intended. It's all just for fun.

Part One / ?format=light
Part Two / ?format=light
Part Three / ?format=light

On his eleventh birthday, his father gave him a gun. A COP 357 Derringer that was almost too heavy for Ianto to handle.

Francis Happ taught Ianto to shoot without goggles or ear protection. "You need full command of your senses. You need to hear everything around you over the sound of the gun. It will also teach you to respect the weapon and how to protect yourself with yourself.

"Always assume it's loaded," he said. "Even when it's in pieces in front of you, assume it's still deadly. Do not ever point it at someone unless you're fully prepared to shoot. If you draw it and aim it, use it. A gun is meant to be a last resort."

"Brains, body, ballistics," Ianto yawned. Think your way out first, fight your way out if you can't, and only rely on a weapon when all else fails.

"Are you bored with your lessons?"

"No. But I would like to go shoot things now."

Ianto's first targets were waxy boxes of juice and plastic bottles of jam. The resulting mess was more than pleasing for a pre-teen boy, even a clever one.

They lived in Cairo, Egypt for three years. There were occasional trips to outlying areas, and sometimes Ianto was left behind at the hotel. The manager and his family lived in the hotel, and Ianto formed a friendship with the manager's son, Marcus.

Marcus was a year older than Ianto, tall, athletic, sharp-tongued and a prankster. Combined with Ianto's knowledge, their troublemaking reached new levels and frustrated the hotel staff. They would find kitchen machinery had been disassembled in the night, vacant rooms would have the furniture re-arranged, and towels and sheets would go missing (only to turn up later in the form of a tent, usually in the middle of the lobby).

Most of the time their pranks were harmless, but when the guests started complaining they heard rats in the ventilation system, the manager put a stop to their games.

Francis was not pleased, but he convinced the manager that the boys were just restless and that neither should be punished if they promised to behave themselves. Ianto and Marcus just had to find other ways to occupy their time.

Marcus didn't have as much patience for museums and would often get bored and complain while Ianto stared at art and artifacts. They explored the Cities of the Dead, the monuments, and the streets. As they got older, they learned how to sneak into clubs, though they reserved that misbehaviour for times when Francis was out of the city.

When Ianto wasn't with Marcus, his father was continuing to teach him to shoot. Ianto became familiar with several rifles, and a selection of handguns. By the time he was twelve he had perfected his disabling shot. By thirteen, his kill shot was impeccable.

At the same time, Ianto was taught unarmed combat. His father taught him how to take a punch, how to fall to the ground safely and in a way that would enable him to regain his footing quickly, and how to deliver a blow that would render his attacker helpless long enough for Ianto to run.

"The smart man survives," his father said. "The weak man kills."

Ianto had just turned fourteen when Marcus kissed him.

"What was that for?" He asked.

Marcus shrugged. "Your birthday."

"I've had two other birthdays here," he replied casually.

Marcus kissed him twice more.

"I've had fourteen birthdays total."

Marcus stared at him for a few seconds.

"Eleven more," Ianto said with a slightly exasperated sigh.

Marcus counted each kiss out loud.

The fourteenth kiss lingered and grew, and turned sloppy with inexperienced tongues and noses and hands getting in the way, and got noisy with stifled laughter and snorted breaths. It ended with Ianto pinned under Marcus, red-faced and laughing and without a single thought or care that snogging your best friend might be considered "wrong".

Continued here