![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: "And We Chose to Continue"
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: Overall: Ianto/Andy, Jack/Ianto, Jack/Ianto/Andy, with occasional guest cameos.
Rating: Series ranges from relatively safe to hard NC-17. This installment is in the PG-13 range, mostly for language.
Notes/Summary: Part #26 of the "It'll End In Tears" cluster, and #23 on the table. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sanginmychains and resourceress for giving this the sweet, hot beta-fu.
Andy has no one to tell when he resolves (oddly enough, over drinks at Fantasy Lounge with Trav) that he wants to try it with a bloke. Maybe not sex, exactly, but something. Just to see. It’s a funny thought, mainly since the evidence basically says he actually has done it with a bloke. He just drinks his beer and smiles while he watches a dark haired girl spin around the nearest pole. She’s pretty, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate the show, which only makes the whole thing funnier.
Trav elbows him and then waves a couple of notes at the girl onstage. Andy rolls his eyes and rubs his arm. “Twat.”
“Your mother’s a twat.”
“No, your mam’s a twat. My mam’s a saint,” Andy says with a smirk and leans back into his chair.
“You remind me of me cousin Aeron,” Trav tells him over the din as the dancer comes over to sway in front of them. “Gets weird when he’s pissed, he does.”
Andy finishes his beer and sets his glass on the table with a thunk. “I’m not pissed, Trav.” He watches with a detached sort of interest as the girl puts a note in between Trav’s teeth and then retrieves it with her cleavage. It’s a lie mostly, because the world already sort of feels like it’s happening on television.
“Well you ain’t properly festive, then,” Trav says, and holds up another fiver for the dancer in front of him. He doesn’t quite tease, but he skirts it and waves the note almost close enough to her skin to touch. She takes it from him with impossibly manicured fingers and slides it into the band of her g-string.
Andy shakes his head. “Yeah, sorry. Headache.” Another lie, but watching a stripper flirt with his partner while trying to figure out how to cop off with another man probably ought to make his head hurt.
“Another couple of pints, you’ll be right as rain.”
“Another pair of pints and you’ll have to carry me out,” Andy tells Trav with a snort. “Sorry, mate. I’m off.”
Trav waves absently, and Andy shuffles out into the comparative quiet of the street. He’s definitely drunk, but not so much as to be troubled by it. The lights of the city feel bright and inviting, like signposts for warmth in the nighttime chill. He zips up his jacket, shoves his hands in his pockets, and goes walking.
Being in law enforcement, he knows a few things about the social logistics of getting off. Mostly, that you’re not meant to do it in public, or with a minor, and definitely not without permission. Those things are givens, and they’re good givens, more or less. Problem is, when he starts thinking about the logistics of trying to pull a bloke, Andy keeps coming back to things he never thinks about when he’s off pulling for women. When to use gloves in first aid. What to do when someone spits blood in your face. It’s unsettling. Men feel dangerous and bizarrely unfamiliar.
It’s probably a good thing he’s been drinking.
When he gets home, he puts on some music and starts writing. It isn’t a specific thought or memory this time so much as an overall feeling, so he’s eager just to put everything down. He feels like he’s teetering at a weird point between hope and dread, and it’s the details that will lead him one way or another. When his fear of blood veers off into his fear of needles he has to stop for a few ticks and get a glass of water just to clear his head. There’s something there, so he tries to make a list – the color blue, marks on a forearm, getting his Hepatitis and Tetanus jabs last February, a terrible feeling of regret – but there’s no sense in it. Mostly, it just makes him queasy.
When he finishes, he still isn’t sure how he feels. He wants to be excited because he wants to be close to knowing what he’s lost, but needles and drugs and waking up in a park can’t be anything but bad. Not for the first time, he wonders if maybe he shouldn’t stop and let things lie.
Andy takes a hot shower, goes to bed, and dreams of nothing in particular.
# # #
“You sick bastard.”
Jack raises an eyebrow as Gwen drops the CCTV print-out on his desk. She glares at him expectantly, arms crossed, and frankly, it’s a good look for her. Nice view of her cleavage aside, though, Jack can’t say he’s pleased at being called out for something which is absolutely none of her business.
He picks up the sheet. It’s blurry and not a close shot – he’d been careful to disable the obvious cameras – but somehow she’s found a shot of him standing over Andy in Hamadryad Park with a mobile phone pressed to his ear.
At the very least, he has to admire her persistence.
“Interesting,” he says, eyes still on the page. “Who else knows about this?”
“No one,” she tells him sharply. “It’s not an official investigation. I kept it off the record for Andy’s sake.”
Jack nods and holds it up as if to hand it back to her. “Good. Let’s keep it that way. Now, was there something you actually needed, or –“
The slap in the face is, admittedly, a bit of a shock.
“Do you realize – do you have any idea of what he’s going through? Have you any concept of the position you’ve put him in? The risk to his career?” She’s positively livid and punctuates her words with broad gestures.
Jack scowls. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’ve seen the police reports and the hospital records, Jack. I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”
“Oh?” He steeples his fingers. “Let’s hear it then.”
Gwen sputters. “Well, you – I mean, clearly you were – look, he isn’t even gay. Just because you’ll fuck anything that moves doesn’t mean that you can just go around –”
“Having perfectly consensual sex with people? Actually, Gwen, that’s exactly what it means,” he says and puts his feet up on his desk. At the very least, it puts him out of easy striking range.
“Oh, and I’m supposed to believe he just agreed to the bit where you drugged him and left him on a bloody jogging path?”
He raises his eyebrows. “If I told you I gave him a choice would you believe me?”
“What? No!” Gwen shouts. “No way. He’d never –”
A little cough from the doorway sends her spinning around.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Ianto says, and enters with a thick manila folder. “The file you asked for. I’d wait, but you mentioned you wanted time to look it over before the 9 AM conference call.”
Jack motions him in. “Yeah, thanks Ianto. Gwen was just leaving to do some real work now that she’s finished assassinating my character.”
“Oh?” Ianto passes the folder across the desk.
“Yep,” Jack answers as he hands Gwen’s print-out over to Ianto and then starts thumbing through the file. He notes with some amusement that about half of it is in his own handwriting. “Mm. Nostalgia.”
Ianto, meanwhile, studies Gwen’s print-out, seemingly oblivious to her discomfort. “This isn’t your best side.”
“I don’t have a bad side!”
“Of course. My mistake,” Ianto replies mildly. After a second he offers the page back to Jack, but Gwen snatches it out of his hand.
“I can’t believe this. Ianto, doesn’t this bother you?”
He gives her a blank look. “Which bit should I be bothered by?”
Gwen puts her hand on Ianto’s arm and gives him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, love, but I think Jack’s been, ah –“ She hesitates, trying to find the right words.
“Having it on with Andy Davidson?” Ianto ventures.
“Er. Well, yes.”
“Ah.” He seems to consider it for a moment before giving her a tight smile. “I appreciate your concern, Gwen, but I think you’ll find it’s misplaced.”
She frowns. “What do you mean?”
Ianto glances over at Jack and then eases the print out from Gwen’s fingers. He folds it into quarters and tucks it into his inside jacket pocket. “Jack wasn’t seeing Andy. I was. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a few things I promised Tosh I’d find for her before she comes in.”
Gwen stares at Ianto, dumbstruck. Her eyes follow him as he leaves. “I don’t understand.”
“No,” Jack tells her. “You don’t.”
“But Andy –“
“Was Retconned for security reasons, not personal ones,” he tells her and sits up, then stands. “Based on the nature of the situation, though, I opted to omit the details from his official file until such time as Ianto feels comfortable including it. Off the record. And that, by the way, is the extent to which I’m willing to violate Ianto’s privacy, so unless you had anything else to add, Gwen, I suggest you find something else to work on.”
Before she can argue, Jack picks up the file and brushes past her on his way to the boardroom. If he’s lucky, Owen will get in early enough Jack can brief him before the conference call, or at least tell him not to mention the singularity scalpel. The last time UNIT had got wind that they’d found something truly useful – something they could weaponize – Jack had spent months sorting it out. Frankly, there’s no way Jack wants Mace to get his hands on this thing. Not that Owen is much better…
# # #
Ianto glances up, surprised by the sound of footsteps. The others avoid the deep corridors, and aside from Jack, Ianto is probably the only man living who knows the archives well. It makes for an excellent refuge most of the time, though the emphasis today is apparently on ‘most.’
When he sees that it’s Gwen, Ianto looks back to his work. She joins him anyway, though, and looks like she’s about to say something about being terribly sorry for the morning’s misunderstanding.
He preempts her.
“It isn’t up for discussion,” Ianto says flatly, and scans an old label with his PDA. It beeps twice to confirm that there’s an entry for it in the system, so Ianto slides the box from its place on the shelf to verify the contents. He’s in no mood to rehash the whole business yet again, and especially not with someone who wasn’t involved.
Gwen, though, seems undeterred. “He isn’t clueless, you know.”
“No, of course he isn’t.” Ianto lifts something that looks like a fist-sized agate egg out of the box. Even through his gloves he can feel fine ridges along its smooth surface. He strokes it gently, and it lights up with a gentle hum. “Look, whatever I feel – felt – for Andy, what’s done is done. Andy’s bright. He’ll manage.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? He’ll manage?! Did you know they’re ostracizing him at work over this? He’s terrified, Ianto. He deserves –“
“He deserves a fair number of things, none of which I can give him,” Ianto snaps and returns the artifact to its box. “Not all of us are above the rules.”
Her jaw drops at him as he fastens the lid and updates its coding.
“Don’t worry,” Ianto tells her as he scans the next box. “I understand the nuance that separates our circumstances. Andy and I weren’t like you and Rhys. You did what you needed to, and for what it’s worth, I agreed with you.”
Gwen shakes her head. “But honestly, you can’t believe that Andy’s better off not knowing.”
He scans the code on the next box and is rewarded with another double beep. Ianto can see her in his peripheral vision as she waits for his response. He sighs, puts the box down unopened on his work table, and turns to face her. “About what? The last few months or about Torchwood?”
“Both! Either!” Gwen shouts, hands on hips. “Andy’s my friend. I’m not just going to stand by and watch him come apart.”
“Neither was I,” Ianto tells her. “And I don’t expect you to. But Gwen, it was for his own safety. I had a choice between trusting Jack and being Suzie, and I like to think I made the right decision.”
She looks at him, confused. “Suzie?”
“The obvious solution to a partial or slow trigger is an additional low dose coupled with hypnotic suggestion,” Ianto explains, eyes fixed on the texture of the smooth cement floor. “It can be incredibly helpful from a preventive standpoint, but only if the object causing the trigger is also removed.”
“Meaning you,” Gwen guesses.
He nods and looks away, more pointedly this time. “I waited too long. I wanted to be sure. I couldn’t…I mean…most people never trigger, even with the right stimuli. It should never have happened. I never wanted –”
Gwen reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. He swallows and his eyes dart up.
“I think you’re a lot more like me and Rhys than you’d like to believe,” she tells him softly and lets go. “And you could have told me, you know. I mean, really. You and Andy? It’s sort of sweet.”
Ianto laughs in spite of himself. “Sweet?”
“Yeah, sweet. And bloody weird, but I was ignoring that bit,” she says with a little bit of a smile. “I sort of wish things had worked out now. Might have liked to see that. You two could have come to the wedding as a couple and fought over who got to be whose ‘plus one.’”
He rolls his eyes and picks up his PDA. “Right, because that certainly wouldn’t be weird for anyone.”
“No weirder than anything else Torchwood deals with.” Her eyes widen. “Hang on, what if he sees you at the wedding? Or at a scene of crime? You’re not going to have to drug him every time, are you?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so. Limited contact should be fine. I mean, think about it. If Retcon never worked, or if one run-in made someone remember, there’d hardly be any point in using it, would there? People like Andy – and you, actually – are unusual, or unlucky, or both. Just don’t put us at the same table. That might get awkward.”
“I’ll bet.” Gwen gave him one last looking-over. “I guess I’d better leave you to it, then. And I am sorry.”
Ianto shakes his head and lifts the lid from the new box to reveal three short, luminescent rods. “Don’t worry about it. You were concerned for Andy. I’m pretty sympathetic on that point, oddly enough.”
“Yeah,” she says, a little sadly. “I just wish I knew what I could do for him.”
He fits the top back onto the box, updates its designation, then sets it back on its shelf. “Set him up with a nice bridesmaid?”
“Oh god,” Gwen says with a groan. “You haven’t met my bridesmaids. They’d break him, poor thing.”
“He’s actually quite resilient,” Ianto tells her lightly as he takes off his gloves. He’s reached the end of a block, which is as good a stopping point as any.
The look of shock she gives him is priceless. “Too much information,” she tells him as he joins her on the way to the corridor. “I swear, you’re as bad as Jack sometimes.”
“Only sometimes?” He turns the lights back to motion-only as they leave. He’ll tell Jack about this later, but for now everything seems to be more in order than it’s been in ages. He touches the leather band in his pocket. He’s been thinking of throwing it out into the Bay as a symbolic gesture. Maybe in a few days.
Gwen takes his arm and they walk up the stairs.
# # #
“Do we Retcon her?” Ianto asks. He’s in his shirtsleeves, and the Hub is dark. He’s sat against Jack’s desk, beer bottle in hand, twirling the CCTV print-out between his fingers like a large, flat coin.
“No,” Jack answers, and shakes his head. “I want to see where this goes.”
Ianto drops the print-out onto the desk. “Easy enough. I’ve just put enough surveillance on her that I’ll know which side of the bed she gets out of tomorrow.” He takes a drink of his beer and then lets out a long breath.
“You okay with this?” Jack asks, an edge of concern clear in his voice.
“Yeah,” Ianto says. “Yeah, of course I am.”
---
Prev (Pt #25) (Warnings: language)
-
Next (Pt #27) (Warnings: language, light smut)
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: Overall: Ianto/Andy, Jack/Ianto, Jack/Ianto/Andy, with occasional guest cameos.
Rating: Series ranges from relatively safe to hard NC-17. This installment is in the PG-13 range, mostly for language.
Notes/Summary: Part #26 of the "It'll End In Tears" cluster, and #23 on the table. Thanks to
sanginmychains and resourceress for giving this the sweet, hot beta-fu.Andy has no one to tell when he resolves (oddly enough, over drinks at Fantasy Lounge with Trav) that he wants to try it with a bloke. Maybe not sex, exactly, but something. Just to see. It’s a funny thought, mainly since the evidence basically says he actually has done it with a bloke. He just drinks his beer and smiles while he watches a dark haired girl spin around the nearest pole. She’s pretty, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate the show, which only makes the whole thing funnier.
Trav elbows him and then waves a couple of notes at the girl onstage. Andy rolls his eyes and rubs his arm. “Twat.”
“Your mother’s a twat.”
“No, your mam’s a twat. My mam’s a saint,” Andy says with a smirk and leans back into his chair.
“You remind me of me cousin Aeron,” Trav tells him over the din as the dancer comes over to sway in front of them. “Gets weird when he’s pissed, he does.”
Andy finishes his beer and sets his glass on the table with a thunk. “I’m not pissed, Trav.” He watches with a detached sort of interest as the girl puts a note in between Trav’s teeth and then retrieves it with her cleavage. It’s a lie mostly, because the world already sort of feels like it’s happening on television.
“Well you ain’t properly festive, then,” Trav says, and holds up another fiver for the dancer in front of him. He doesn’t quite tease, but he skirts it and waves the note almost close enough to her skin to touch. She takes it from him with impossibly manicured fingers and slides it into the band of her g-string.
Andy shakes his head. “Yeah, sorry. Headache.” Another lie, but watching a stripper flirt with his partner while trying to figure out how to cop off with another man probably ought to make his head hurt.
“Another couple of pints, you’ll be right as rain.”
“Another pair of pints and you’ll have to carry me out,” Andy tells Trav with a snort. “Sorry, mate. I’m off.”
Trav waves absently, and Andy shuffles out into the comparative quiet of the street. He’s definitely drunk, but not so much as to be troubled by it. The lights of the city feel bright and inviting, like signposts for warmth in the nighttime chill. He zips up his jacket, shoves his hands in his pockets, and goes walking.
Being in law enforcement, he knows a few things about the social logistics of getting off. Mostly, that you’re not meant to do it in public, or with a minor, and definitely not without permission. Those things are givens, and they’re good givens, more or less. Problem is, when he starts thinking about the logistics of trying to pull a bloke, Andy keeps coming back to things he never thinks about when he’s off pulling for women. When to use gloves in first aid. What to do when someone spits blood in your face. It’s unsettling. Men feel dangerous and bizarrely unfamiliar.
It’s probably a good thing he’s been drinking.
When he gets home, he puts on some music and starts writing. It isn’t a specific thought or memory this time so much as an overall feeling, so he’s eager just to put everything down. He feels like he’s teetering at a weird point between hope and dread, and it’s the details that will lead him one way or another. When his fear of blood veers off into his fear of needles he has to stop for a few ticks and get a glass of water just to clear his head. There’s something there, so he tries to make a list – the color blue, marks on a forearm, getting his Hepatitis and Tetanus jabs last February, a terrible feeling of regret – but there’s no sense in it. Mostly, it just makes him queasy.
When he finishes, he still isn’t sure how he feels. He wants to be excited because he wants to be close to knowing what he’s lost, but needles and drugs and waking up in a park can’t be anything but bad. Not for the first time, he wonders if maybe he shouldn’t stop and let things lie.
Andy takes a hot shower, goes to bed, and dreams of nothing in particular.
# # #
“You sick bastard.”
Jack raises an eyebrow as Gwen drops the CCTV print-out on his desk. She glares at him expectantly, arms crossed, and frankly, it’s a good look for her. Nice view of her cleavage aside, though, Jack can’t say he’s pleased at being called out for something which is absolutely none of her business.
He picks up the sheet. It’s blurry and not a close shot – he’d been careful to disable the obvious cameras – but somehow she’s found a shot of him standing over Andy in Hamadryad Park with a mobile phone pressed to his ear.
At the very least, he has to admire her persistence.
“Interesting,” he says, eyes still on the page. “Who else knows about this?”
“No one,” she tells him sharply. “It’s not an official investigation. I kept it off the record for Andy’s sake.”
Jack nods and holds it up as if to hand it back to her. “Good. Let’s keep it that way. Now, was there something you actually needed, or –“
The slap in the face is, admittedly, a bit of a shock.
“Do you realize – do you have any idea of what he’s going through? Have you any concept of the position you’ve put him in? The risk to his career?” She’s positively livid and punctuates her words with broad gestures.
Jack scowls. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’ve seen the police reports and the hospital records, Jack. I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”
“Oh?” He steeples his fingers. “Let’s hear it then.”
Gwen sputters. “Well, you – I mean, clearly you were – look, he isn’t even gay. Just because you’ll fuck anything that moves doesn’t mean that you can just go around –”
“Having perfectly consensual sex with people? Actually, Gwen, that’s exactly what it means,” he says and puts his feet up on his desk. At the very least, it puts him out of easy striking range.
“Oh, and I’m supposed to believe he just agreed to the bit where you drugged him and left him on a bloody jogging path?”
He raises his eyebrows. “If I told you I gave him a choice would you believe me?”
“What? No!” Gwen shouts. “No way. He’d never –”
A little cough from the doorway sends her spinning around.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Ianto says, and enters with a thick manila folder. “The file you asked for. I’d wait, but you mentioned you wanted time to look it over before the 9 AM conference call.”
Jack motions him in. “Yeah, thanks Ianto. Gwen was just leaving to do some real work now that she’s finished assassinating my character.”
“Oh?” Ianto passes the folder across the desk.
“Yep,” Jack answers as he hands Gwen’s print-out over to Ianto and then starts thumbing through the file. He notes with some amusement that about half of it is in his own handwriting. “Mm. Nostalgia.”
Ianto, meanwhile, studies Gwen’s print-out, seemingly oblivious to her discomfort. “This isn’t your best side.”
“I don’t have a bad side!”
“Of course. My mistake,” Ianto replies mildly. After a second he offers the page back to Jack, but Gwen snatches it out of his hand.
“I can’t believe this. Ianto, doesn’t this bother you?”
He gives her a blank look. “Which bit should I be bothered by?”
Gwen puts her hand on Ianto’s arm and gives him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, love, but I think Jack’s been, ah –“ She hesitates, trying to find the right words.
“Having it on with Andy Davidson?” Ianto ventures.
“Er. Well, yes.”
“Ah.” He seems to consider it for a moment before giving her a tight smile. “I appreciate your concern, Gwen, but I think you’ll find it’s misplaced.”
She frowns. “What do you mean?”
Ianto glances over at Jack and then eases the print out from Gwen’s fingers. He folds it into quarters and tucks it into his inside jacket pocket. “Jack wasn’t seeing Andy. I was. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a few things I promised Tosh I’d find for her before she comes in.”
Gwen stares at Ianto, dumbstruck. Her eyes follow him as he leaves. “I don’t understand.”
“No,” Jack tells her. “You don’t.”
“But Andy –“
“Was Retconned for security reasons, not personal ones,” he tells her and sits up, then stands. “Based on the nature of the situation, though, I opted to omit the details from his official file until such time as Ianto feels comfortable including it. Off the record. And that, by the way, is the extent to which I’m willing to violate Ianto’s privacy, so unless you had anything else to add, Gwen, I suggest you find something else to work on.”
Before she can argue, Jack picks up the file and brushes past her on his way to the boardroom. If he’s lucky, Owen will get in early enough Jack can brief him before the conference call, or at least tell him not to mention the singularity scalpel. The last time UNIT had got wind that they’d found something truly useful – something they could weaponize – Jack had spent months sorting it out. Frankly, there’s no way Jack wants Mace to get his hands on this thing. Not that Owen is much better…
# # #
Ianto glances up, surprised by the sound of footsteps. The others avoid the deep corridors, and aside from Jack, Ianto is probably the only man living who knows the archives well. It makes for an excellent refuge most of the time, though the emphasis today is apparently on ‘most.’
When he sees that it’s Gwen, Ianto looks back to his work. She joins him anyway, though, and looks like she’s about to say something about being terribly sorry for the morning’s misunderstanding.
He preempts her.
“It isn’t up for discussion,” Ianto says flatly, and scans an old label with his PDA. It beeps twice to confirm that there’s an entry for it in the system, so Ianto slides the box from its place on the shelf to verify the contents. He’s in no mood to rehash the whole business yet again, and especially not with someone who wasn’t involved.
Gwen, though, seems undeterred. “He isn’t clueless, you know.”
“No, of course he isn’t.” Ianto lifts something that looks like a fist-sized agate egg out of the box. Even through his gloves he can feel fine ridges along its smooth surface. He strokes it gently, and it lights up with a gentle hum. “Look, whatever I feel – felt – for Andy, what’s done is done. Andy’s bright. He’ll manage.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? He’ll manage?! Did you know they’re ostracizing him at work over this? He’s terrified, Ianto. He deserves –“
“He deserves a fair number of things, none of which I can give him,” Ianto snaps and returns the artifact to its box. “Not all of us are above the rules.”
Her jaw drops at him as he fastens the lid and updates its coding.
“Don’t worry,” Ianto tells her as he scans the next box. “I understand the nuance that separates our circumstances. Andy and I weren’t like you and Rhys. You did what you needed to, and for what it’s worth, I agreed with you.”
Gwen shakes her head. “But honestly, you can’t believe that Andy’s better off not knowing.”
He scans the code on the next box and is rewarded with another double beep. Ianto can see her in his peripheral vision as she waits for his response. He sighs, puts the box down unopened on his work table, and turns to face her. “About what? The last few months or about Torchwood?”
“Both! Either!” Gwen shouts, hands on hips. “Andy’s my friend. I’m not just going to stand by and watch him come apart.”
“Neither was I,” Ianto tells her. “And I don’t expect you to. But Gwen, it was for his own safety. I had a choice between trusting Jack and being Suzie, and I like to think I made the right decision.”
She looks at him, confused. “Suzie?”
“The obvious solution to a partial or slow trigger is an additional low dose coupled with hypnotic suggestion,” Ianto explains, eyes fixed on the texture of the smooth cement floor. “It can be incredibly helpful from a preventive standpoint, but only if the object causing the trigger is also removed.”
“Meaning you,” Gwen guesses.
He nods and looks away, more pointedly this time. “I waited too long. I wanted to be sure. I couldn’t…I mean…most people never trigger, even with the right stimuli. It should never have happened. I never wanted –”
Gwen reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. He swallows and his eyes dart up.
“I think you’re a lot more like me and Rhys than you’d like to believe,” she tells him softly and lets go. “And you could have told me, you know. I mean, really. You and Andy? It’s sort of sweet.”
Ianto laughs in spite of himself. “Sweet?”
“Yeah, sweet. And bloody weird, but I was ignoring that bit,” she says with a little bit of a smile. “I sort of wish things had worked out now. Might have liked to see that. You two could have come to the wedding as a couple and fought over who got to be whose ‘plus one.’”
He rolls his eyes and picks up his PDA. “Right, because that certainly wouldn’t be weird for anyone.”
“No weirder than anything else Torchwood deals with.” Her eyes widen. “Hang on, what if he sees you at the wedding? Or at a scene of crime? You’re not going to have to drug him every time, are you?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so. Limited contact should be fine. I mean, think about it. If Retcon never worked, or if one run-in made someone remember, there’d hardly be any point in using it, would there? People like Andy – and you, actually – are unusual, or unlucky, or both. Just don’t put us at the same table. That might get awkward.”
“I’ll bet.” Gwen gave him one last looking-over. “I guess I’d better leave you to it, then. And I am sorry.”
Ianto shakes his head and lifts the lid from the new box to reveal three short, luminescent rods. “Don’t worry about it. You were concerned for Andy. I’m pretty sympathetic on that point, oddly enough.”
“Yeah,” she says, a little sadly. “I just wish I knew what I could do for him.”
He fits the top back onto the box, updates its designation, then sets it back on its shelf. “Set him up with a nice bridesmaid?”
“Oh god,” Gwen says with a groan. “You haven’t met my bridesmaids. They’d break him, poor thing.”
“He’s actually quite resilient,” Ianto tells her lightly as he takes off his gloves. He’s reached the end of a block, which is as good a stopping point as any.
The look of shock she gives him is priceless. “Too much information,” she tells him as he joins her on the way to the corridor. “I swear, you’re as bad as Jack sometimes.”
“Only sometimes?” He turns the lights back to motion-only as they leave. He’ll tell Jack about this later, but for now everything seems to be more in order than it’s been in ages. He touches the leather band in his pocket. He’s been thinking of throwing it out into the Bay as a symbolic gesture. Maybe in a few days.
Gwen takes his arm and they walk up the stairs.
# # #
“Do we Retcon her?” Ianto asks. He’s in his shirtsleeves, and the Hub is dark. He’s sat against Jack’s desk, beer bottle in hand, twirling the CCTV print-out between his fingers like a large, flat coin.
“No,” Jack answers, and shakes his head. “I want to see where this goes.”
Ianto drops the print-out onto the desk. “Easy enough. I’ve just put enough surveillance on her that I’ll know which side of the bed she gets out of tomorrow.” He takes a drink of his beer and then lets out a long breath.
“You okay with this?” Jack asks, an edge of concern clear in his voice.
“Yeah,” Ianto says. “Yeah, of course I am.”
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