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Title: "Fault Lines"
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/R range, mostly for language.
Notes/Summary: Part #27 of the "It'll End In Tears" cluster, and #28 on the table. Yep. Another mulligan. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sanginmychains for giving this the sweet, hot beta-fu.
Spoilers/Episode Info: References to 2x05 (Adam) through 2x08 (A Day in the Death), some more explicit than others.
Every quiet season ends.
For Andy, it ends with a fair bit of blue and white tape (and, joy of joys, the prolonged guarding thereof) when the massive pharmaceutical research operation on the edge of town suffers some sort of catastrophic failure. There’s a flurry of arrests and closed roads for everybody to deal with, and Andy spends a killer few days working double shifts.
By the time he gets a proper night off lined up, he’s tired down to his bones. He picks up a take-away (chicken with ginger again, prawn crackers, and extra rice, which he saves to fry with frozen veg and an egg for breakfast). Sad bastard that he is, he eats it alone in front of the telly before he stretches out on the settee. He must doze off at some point because he’s startled awake by his mobile buzzing harshly on the glass surface of his coffee table.
“Fuck’s sake,” he mutters as he fumbles sleepily for the phone. It’s a text from Gwen, and he’s got a mind to just erase the bloody thing outright, turn his mobile off, and roll over. His thumb is faster than his brain, though, and he opens the message out of reflex.
LOOK OUTSIDE
Andy glowers at the tiny screen. Anything this cryptic is probably the sort of thing to bite him in the ass if he ignores it. He hauls himself up with a groan and shuffles over to his front window.
The dull city sky is lashed with strips of brilliant purple light. They ripple like kites in the breeze, but they don’t look like any kites he’s ever seen. In fact, they don’t look like anything he’s ever seen. There’s no apparent source for them, so he shoves his feet into his trainers and goes outside. He turns in a slow circle in the back garden.
And then they’re gone.
He stares, dumbfounded. Probably it’s something to do with the Millennium Centre, some light show devised to draw in tourists. He tries to remember if he kept the What’s On booklet that came in the post. If he did, it’s probably in a drawer somewhere. If it’s not the WMC, it’s probably students. Students get up to things.
Andy goes back inside. He leaves his trainers by the door and strips off on the way to his bedroom. He’ll have an early night tonight, and then run some errands in the morning. If he feels up to dealing with her, maybe he’ll call Gwen as well. Satisfied, he gets into bed, nestles down under his duvet, and sleeps.
# # #
Owen Harper’s death (and subsequent undeath, possession by otherworldly beings, and transition back into work, etc.) cannot, on any level, be described as fortuitous or convenient. It’s hard and terrible and leaves Ianto desperate for something that doesn’t remind him of death.
That’s Torchwood for you. You live and breathe it until it kills you.
Owen…well, is Owen again, more or less. This is more of a relief than Ianto openly admits, though he suspects it’s fairly evident the moment they go back to trading snippy comebacks. They’ve quietly gotten closer over the last few months, albeit in a stunted sort of way. They take the piss out of each other, like they always have, but there’s a brotherliness to it that wasn’t there before.
At this particular moment, though, Ianto is flat on his back while Jack –
Jack who can’t die just like Owen can’t live. Jack who’ll tag me and bag me and put me in cold storage sooner rather than later. Jack who…
– lets his tongue trail up the inside of Ianto’s thigh. It’s not quite a free night, but it’s free enough for Jack to join him at his flat for a little while, and for him to get a full night’s sleep before coming back in to continue the work of collecting, transporting, and cataloging Parker’s collection. He digs his nails into Jack’s shoulder and makes a little pleading noise. Jack laughs against his skin, mouth tantalizingly close to Ianto’s cock, and murmurs something about patience.
“Fuck patience,” Ianto growls, and latches his fingers into Jack’s hair. It sets off a brief, sharp battle for dominance between them. They’re familiar enough with one another’s bodies to hurt without harm, and Jack grapples for purchase while Ianto twists and shoves at him. Their legs and arms lock in turns until Ianto has Jack literally by the throat.
Could I do it? If I had to, could I crush his windpipe here in my bed, watch him gasp and die, and…
“Ianto?”
He pulls away, dimly aware of the fact that he’s shaking.
Oh god. What’s wrong with me?
“Hey,” Jack says softly enough that Ianto barely hears. “What’s wrong?”
Ianto shakes his head and forces himself to lean into Jack’s touch rather than pull away. “I think the last few days are probably catching up with me is all.” It’s probably true. He’s overworked and overwrought and a little bit crazy tonight.
Jack kisses his forehead. “You want me to let you sleep?”
“Might not be a bad idea,” Ianto admits, and glances at his hands nervously. “Stay for a while?”
“Sure.”
He lies down and adjusts the pillows. He’s still tense, but he’s also dead tired, and Jack’s an excellent masseur. After a little while, Jack notices a dog-eared copy of The Gambler on Ianto’s bedside table and picks it up. He leafs through and laughs, low and dirty.
“You know, Dostoyevsky’s stenographer – he married her, by the way – used to do this amazing thing where she’d take her fingers and –“ He starts to gesture as if to demonstrate.
Ianto rolls his eyes. “Is there any literary or historical personage you haven’t bedded?”
“Winston Churchill,” Jack answers instantly, the grin more than evident in his voice.
“Well,” Ianto huffs into the pillow, and refuses to let that image fully form in his mind’s eye. “Thank fuck for that.”
They chat for a little longer. He listens to Jack’s impossible stories and makes noises in all the right places. Ianto is nearly asleep when Jack nudges him.
“Hey. Look outside.”
Ianto rolls over and peers muzzily at the window. The sky is full of dancing lavender tendrils. It takes him a minute to realize why. “The Pulse?” he asks.
“Yep.”
“S’pretty. What’s it mean?”
Jack shakes his head and smiles. “We won’t know until Toshiko’s finished with it what the message is. I just didn’t want you to miss it.”
Ianto makes a little sound of assent and then closes his eyes again.
# # #
Gwen knows she shouldn’t text Andy. She really shouldn’t. But she does anyway. If she can’t tell him about Torchwood, or about Ianto, or any of it, she can at least try to make sure Andy gets to see something fantastic. After all, it’s not like most of Cardiff can’t see it anyway. There’s no harm in it. Not really.
Thing is, she still feels guilty for hurting his feelings and for leaving him in the dark and fearful when she knows what happened to him. He deserves better in general, but from her as well. After all, they’re friends aren’t they? Now that Owen’s sorted, she should go back to trying to help him, or at least make it up to him somehow.
So really, texting him should be alright. More than alright. Maybe he’ll text her back and they’ll have a proper talk. She won’t push or pry or judge. She’ll just, you know, listen.
Other than the little chime that lets her know that the Pulse is active and sending data (which Toshiko is happily recording in hopes that she can translate it), the Hub is quiet. She puts her mobile down on the table and leans back into the sofa cushions to watch it. Any moment now he’ll call or reply, and they can sort this out.
She waits. The chime goes silent. Toshiko’s keystrokes ring staccato against the hard emptiness of the room.
“Was that it?” Gwen asks, eyes still fixed on her silent phone.
“Yep,” Toshiko tells her. “I got the whole data stream, too. I’m running it into the translator now. If we have the language on file, it’ll be relatively quick. Otherwise, we’ll probably have to wait until morning.”
She sounds like a kid on Christmas Eve, and Gwen tries to match that enthusiasm with a smile. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes, though. She’s too preoccupied thinking about that text, and how maybe it’s too little too late. “That’s great, Tosh.”
Tosh smiles and goes back to her work. Gwen stands and takes the walk over to Jack’s office.
Andy kept a notebook, Gwen knows. She also knows that Jack confiscated that notebook when he Retconned Andy. If the incident isn’t in Andy’s official file, that means the notebook probably isn’t either. Ianto’s entirely too fastidious for that, and if Jack wants to keep Ianto safe, that means he’ll be hiding things in the only place Jack ever hides things.
His safe.
Gwen glances out at Toshiko, who still looks deeply engrossed in her work. Owen is out doing whatever Owen does these nights. Jack and Ianto, likewise. There really is no one to catch her. Plus, taking the notebook doesn’t mean she has to give it to Andy, does it? She can just read it and figure out which bits to share. Nevermind that she has no idea what to say when he asks how she’s found it all out, but that’s a bridge she can cross later, isn’t it? Of course it is.
Quickly and quietly, Gwen keys into Jack’s safe. It only takes a little bit of digging before she finds the notebook, along with Andy’s organizer and a handful of random-looking items that she’s not all that worried about. She takes the notebook, returns the rest to the safe, and locks up behind her. When she enters the Hub again, Toshiko seems none the wiser.
“I’m beat,” Gwen tells her finally. “Rhys’ll probably be wondering where I am, too. Mind if I head out?”
Toshiko shakes her head. “Not at all. I can finish up here. Knowing Jack, he’ll be back soon to find out what we’ve got so far on the message. Go on. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yep,” Gwen tells her with a smile, and then hurries out through the cog door.
---
Prev (Pt #26) (Warnings: language)
-
Next (Pt #28) (Warnings: smut, language)
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/R range, mostly for language.
Notes/Summary: Part #27 of the "It'll End In Tears" cluster, and #28 on the table. Yep. Another mulligan. Thanks to
sanginmychains for giving this the sweet, hot beta-fu.Spoilers/Episode Info: References to 2x05 (Adam) through 2x08 (A Day in the Death), some more explicit than others.
Every quiet season ends.
For Andy, it ends with a fair bit of blue and white tape (and, joy of joys, the prolonged guarding thereof) when the massive pharmaceutical research operation on the edge of town suffers some sort of catastrophic failure. There’s a flurry of arrests and closed roads for everybody to deal with, and Andy spends a killer few days working double shifts.
By the time he gets a proper night off lined up, he’s tired down to his bones. He picks up a take-away (chicken with ginger again, prawn crackers, and extra rice, which he saves to fry with frozen veg and an egg for breakfast). Sad bastard that he is, he eats it alone in front of the telly before he stretches out on the settee. He must doze off at some point because he’s startled awake by his mobile buzzing harshly on the glass surface of his coffee table.
“Fuck’s sake,” he mutters as he fumbles sleepily for the phone. It’s a text from Gwen, and he’s got a mind to just erase the bloody thing outright, turn his mobile off, and roll over. His thumb is faster than his brain, though, and he opens the message out of reflex.
LOOK OUTSIDE
Andy glowers at the tiny screen. Anything this cryptic is probably the sort of thing to bite him in the ass if he ignores it. He hauls himself up with a groan and shuffles over to his front window.
The dull city sky is lashed with strips of brilliant purple light. They ripple like kites in the breeze, but they don’t look like any kites he’s ever seen. In fact, they don’t look like anything he’s ever seen. There’s no apparent source for them, so he shoves his feet into his trainers and goes outside. He turns in a slow circle in the back garden.
And then they’re gone.
He stares, dumbfounded. Probably it’s something to do with the Millennium Centre, some light show devised to draw in tourists. He tries to remember if he kept the What’s On booklet that came in the post. If he did, it’s probably in a drawer somewhere. If it’s not the WMC, it’s probably students. Students get up to things.
Andy goes back inside. He leaves his trainers by the door and strips off on the way to his bedroom. He’ll have an early night tonight, and then run some errands in the morning. If he feels up to dealing with her, maybe he’ll call Gwen as well. Satisfied, he gets into bed, nestles down under his duvet, and sleeps.
# # #
Owen Harper’s death (and subsequent undeath, possession by otherworldly beings, and transition back into work, etc.) cannot, on any level, be described as fortuitous or convenient. It’s hard and terrible and leaves Ianto desperate for something that doesn’t remind him of death.
That’s Torchwood for you. You live and breathe it until it kills you.
Owen…well, is Owen again, more or less. This is more of a relief than Ianto openly admits, though he suspects it’s fairly evident the moment they go back to trading snippy comebacks. They’ve quietly gotten closer over the last few months, albeit in a stunted sort of way. They take the piss out of each other, like they always have, but there’s a brotherliness to it that wasn’t there before.
At this particular moment, though, Ianto is flat on his back while Jack –
Jack who can’t die just like Owen can’t live. Jack who’ll tag me and bag me and put me in cold storage sooner rather than later. Jack who…
– lets his tongue trail up the inside of Ianto’s thigh. It’s not quite a free night, but it’s free enough for Jack to join him at his flat for a little while, and for him to get a full night’s sleep before coming back in to continue the work of collecting, transporting, and cataloging Parker’s collection. He digs his nails into Jack’s shoulder and makes a little pleading noise. Jack laughs against his skin, mouth tantalizingly close to Ianto’s cock, and murmurs something about patience.
“Fuck patience,” Ianto growls, and latches his fingers into Jack’s hair. It sets off a brief, sharp battle for dominance between them. They’re familiar enough with one another’s bodies to hurt without harm, and Jack grapples for purchase while Ianto twists and shoves at him. Their legs and arms lock in turns until Ianto has Jack literally by the throat.
Could I do it? If I had to, could I crush his windpipe here in my bed, watch him gasp and die, and…
“Ianto?”
He pulls away, dimly aware of the fact that he’s shaking.
Oh god. What’s wrong with me?
“Hey,” Jack says softly enough that Ianto barely hears. “What’s wrong?”
Ianto shakes his head and forces himself to lean into Jack’s touch rather than pull away. “I think the last few days are probably catching up with me is all.” It’s probably true. He’s overworked and overwrought and a little bit crazy tonight.
Jack kisses his forehead. “You want me to let you sleep?”
“Might not be a bad idea,” Ianto admits, and glances at his hands nervously. “Stay for a while?”
“Sure.”
He lies down and adjusts the pillows. He’s still tense, but he’s also dead tired, and Jack’s an excellent masseur. After a little while, Jack notices a dog-eared copy of The Gambler on Ianto’s bedside table and picks it up. He leafs through and laughs, low and dirty.
“You know, Dostoyevsky’s stenographer – he married her, by the way – used to do this amazing thing where she’d take her fingers and –“ He starts to gesture as if to demonstrate.
Ianto rolls his eyes. “Is there any literary or historical personage you haven’t bedded?”
“Winston Churchill,” Jack answers instantly, the grin more than evident in his voice.
“Well,” Ianto huffs into the pillow, and refuses to let that image fully form in his mind’s eye. “Thank fuck for that.”
They chat for a little longer. He listens to Jack’s impossible stories and makes noises in all the right places. Ianto is nearly asleep when Jack nudges him.
“Hey. Look outside.”
Ianto rolls over and peers muzzily at the window. The sky is full of dancing lavender tendrils. It takes him a minute to realize why. “The Pulse?” he asks.
“Yep.”
“S’pretty. What’s it mean?”
Jack shakes his head and smiles. “We won’t know until Toshiko’s finished with it what the message is. I just didn’t want you to miss it.”
Ianto makes a little sound of assent and then closes his eyes again.
# # #
Gwen knows she shouldn’t text Andy. She really shouldn’t. But she does anyway. If she can’t tell him about Torchwood, or about Ianto, or any of it, she can at least try to make sure Andy gets to see something fantastic. After all, it’s not like most of Cardiff can’t see it anyway. There’s no harm in it. Not really.
Thing is, she still feels guilty for hurting his feelings and for leaving him in the dark and fearful when she knows what happened to him. He deserves better in general, but from her as well. After all, they’re friends aren’t they? Now that Owen’s sorted, she should go back to trying to help him, or at least make it up to him somehow.
So really, texting him should be alright. More than alright. Maybe he’ll text her back and they’ll have a proper talk. She won’t push or pry or judge. She’ll just, you know, listen.
Other than the little chime that lets her know that the Pulse is active and sending data (which Toshiko is happily recording in hopes that she can translate it), the Hub is quiet. She puts her mobile down on the table and leans back into the sofa cushions to watch it. Any moment now he’ll call or reply, and they can sort this out.
She waits. The chime goes silent. Toshiko’s keystrokes ring staccato against the hard emptiness of the room.
“Was that it?” Gwen asks, eyes still fixed on her silent phone.
“Yep,” Toshiko tells her. “I got the whole data stream, too. I’m running it into the translator now. If we have the language on file, it’ll be relatively quick. Otherwise, we’ll probably have to wait until morning.”
She sounds like a kid on Christmas Eve, and Gwen tries to match that enthusiasm with a smile. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes, though. She’s too preoccupied thinking about that text, and how maybe it’s too little too late. “That’s great, Tosh.”
Tosh smiles and goes back to her work. Gwen stands and takes the walk over to Jack’s office.
Andy kept a notebook, Gwen knows. She also knows that Jack confiscated that notebook when he Retconned Andy. If the incident isn’t in Andy’s official file, that means the notebook probably isn’t either. Ianto’s entirely too fastidious for that, and if Jack wants to keep Ianto safe, that means he’ll be hiding things in the only place Jack ever hides things.
His safe.
Gwen glances out at Toshiko, who still looks deeply engrossed in her work. Owen is out doing whatever Owen does these nights. Jack and Ianto, likewise. There really is no one to catch her. Plus, taking the notebook doesn’t mean she has to give it to Andy, does it? She can just read it and figure out which bits to share. Nevermind that she has no idea what to say when he asks how she’s found it all out, but that’s a bridge she can cross later, isn’t it? Of course it is.
Quickly and quietly, Gwen keys into Jack’s safe. It only takes a little bit of digging before she finds the notebook, along with Andy’s organizer and a handful of random-looking items that she’s not all that worried about. She takes the notebook, returns the rest to the safe, and locks up behind her. When she enters the Hub again, Toshiko seems none the wiser.
“I’m beat,” Gwen tells her finally. “Rhys’ll probably be wondering where I am, too. Mind if I head out?”
Toshiko shakes her head. “Not at all. I can finish up here. Knowing Jack, he’ll be back soon to find out what we’ve got so far on the message. Go on. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yep,” Gwen tells her with a smile, and then hurries out through the cog door.
---
Prev (Pt #26) (Warnings: language)
-
Next (Pt #28) (Warnings: smut, language)