(![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
invisible_lift Jan. 14th, 2009 09:30 pm)
invisible_lift Jan. 14th, 2009 09:30 pm)Title: "Broken Promises For Broken Hearts"
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 one is in the PG-13 range for language.
Notes/Summary: Part #31 of the "It'll End In Tears" cluster, and who knows where it goes on the table, really. 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.
FYI: As noted in a meta post, I'm breaking up the ending a little more than originally planned. We're now looking at 33 or 34 installments. Sorry about that.
The vicious, man-eating alien is not, in Ianto’s view at least, the most remarkable thing about Gwen’s wedding. It’s the reception, and the fact that it goes on in spite of a murder, an unwanted pregnancy, some seriously awkward mistakes in identity, and massive property damage to a listed building.
Actually, he thinks, maybe it’s not so far off from the usual after all.
Between the two of them, he and Owen manage to get the late Mervyn, Minister of Sound’s equipment set up and working. Neither of them comments on how the other might have come by such extensive knowledge of professional sound equipment, but it doesn’t escape Ianto’s notice how nimbly Owen can haul things out of the back of a van.
“Jack had better let us take this into evidence,” Owen mutters as he flips through a CD wallet. “Mervyn here’s got a Bouncing Souls I don’t.”
Ianto fiddles with the sound board. “It must be difficult being so altruistic.”
“Yep.” Owen zips the CDs up and tucks the wallet under his arm. “Have fun playing DJ.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Funnily enough, though, he really does enjoy it. It’s easy to keep one ear in the headphones and use the DJ table as a buffer. He can watch the party rather than participate, which he likes just fine. From this vantage he can see clearly the awkward truce between Gwen and Rhys’ parents play out at the head table, and the way Gwen and Jack keep glancing at one another, subtle possibly only to themselves (or at least anyone drinking).
It also puts him in a position not so much to notice Andy’s absence but to feel it properly. It’s been writ large since the moment the guns and havoc came out – Ianto doesn’t believe even for a second they’d have been able to keep him out of the fray any more than they could Rhys – but here on his island he can see the smaller omission, too. He thinks of what Gwen said in the basement about fighting over who had to be whose ‘plus one’ and has to look away from the dance floor.
Early evening eases into night as Gwen makes her rounds, dancing with anyone who’d like to wish her well, while Rhys seizes the opportunity and moves his and Gwen’s drinks down to Torchwood’s table. It’s where they belong, Ianto thinks. In spite of all their efforts to keep him out of the loop over the last year, he’s managed to earn his place on the edge of their dysfunctional family. Ianto hopes that neither Rhys nor Gwen live to regret that.
Maybe that’s what prompts him after a while to put on that particular Paul Weller song. The words feel a little jinxy for a wedding, but they’re right. Not for Gwen and Rhys of course, but for Gwen and Jack. Especially for Jack, since he’s been busy staring at her all night while she plays the happy bride. Ianto finds himself a little enamored of their mutual dissatisfaction, but Jack’s in particular appeals to him the way an attractively shattered glass might. Dangerous and useless, but the light tricks you into wanting it, at least for a little while.
And really, Gwen should be happy. Rhys, bless him, is going to be one hell of a husband. There’s no point, Ianto knows, in denying the jealousy that writhes in his gut like eels in a plastic sack when Jack cuts in, but if today has proved anything at all it’s that even Jack has boundaries. Still, glad as he is for that, he’s smart enough to know when his sense of being pleasantly aloof has started to turn into something more like being left out. He downs the rest of his drink and walks across the dance floor wishing he was more of a lightweight.
Oh god, look at them, he thinks, and rolls his eyes. Still, no turning back now.
“May I, um –“ Ianto says before pausing to clear his throat. It takes the pair of them a second to twig that there he is, very much right next to them. Gwen catches herself and laughs a little nervous ‘yes,’ and then steps back as if to start dancing with him instead of Jack. The look on her face when she realizes her mistake is sort of classic in its way, but it’s Jack’s expression that he hopes he’ll remember for a long, long time. A flash of confusion, and then a little Oh, and then there they are, dancing.
In front of everyone.
“Does this mean we’re done with secrets, then?” Jack murmurs against his cheek as Paul Weller gives way to the Postal Service.
Ianto lets out a little huff. “Hardly,” he says, but thinks: You really have no idea.
Jack chuckles and traces Ianto’s side with his thumb. “The others are never gonna let us live this down, you know.”
“Careful. If you remind me I’m meant to be mortified I’ll have to go back to getting hammered and pilfering a dead man’s CD collection.”
“As opposed to…?”
“Dancing with my boss in front of God and everyone while giving thanks that Gwen’s family is paying for an open bar.”
“Just as well,” Jack tells him and nods toward the DJ booth where Gwen’s blonde bridesmaid Trina has started picking through the selections. “Looks like you’ve been replaced.”
“I suppose it was bound to happen eventually.”
They sway together in silence for a while longer before Ianto squeezes Jack’s hip and eases back. “Want anything to drink?”
Jack smiles. “Just a glass of water. See you at the table?”
He nods, a little awkward, and glances over Jack’s shoulder to see Tosh and Owen doing their best to pretend they aren’t watching. “Yeah, sure.”
It could just be the drugs Jack’s been slipping into the booze all evening, but everyone seems relaxed and happy. They’ve forgotten the monsters, at least for now, and if anyone’s given any thought to the way poor Mervyn’s remains are bagged up awaiting transport, they certainly aren’t showing it.
Really, it’s only after midnight, when the buildings and grounds have gone almost silent and Ianto is sorting delivery details out with an off-duty ambulance driver, that he gets properly maudlin. It’s the Battenburg markings on the side of the van that catch his eye, and he thinks of Andy, dashing down a corridor to bash a Nostrovite over the head with a vase or something.
God’s sake. He’d probably have got himself killed.
Ianto shakes that thought off, claps the driver on the shoulder, and slips him a handful of notes. “Right. Thanks again for this.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Not a problem, he thinks, and trudges back up the driveway.
# # #
Over the years Andy has learned well enough to tell a difference between day-to-day and something nice. It’s a lesson he’s learned more through error than anything else, and he instinctively sits up a little straighter when he notices that Nikki Bevan has put her hair up with some of those little stick things, and she’s wearing a shirt he hasn’t seen before. He wonders if she’s going out later.
They’re sat at a little table in her kitchen having tea, this visit’s fresh collection of tapes already unloaded in the lounge.
“How was the wedding?” she asks as she passes him a little plate with a couple of biscuits on it.
He looks down, shifts in his seat. “Didn’t go.”
"Oh." She gives him a sympathetic look from behind her cuppa.
"I sort of –" he pokes at his teabag, and wonders how to explain. Wonders if he should. "It’s stupid, really."
She puts a sympathetic hand on his and smiles. For a second their eyes meet, and Andy thinks of Trav’s unhealthy interest in the two of them. He wonders what would happen if he kissed her. Would it make him happy? Her? Would it make things better or worse?
Nikki pats his hand and the moment passes. "She'll come around, and if she doesn't, well. Her loss, isn't it?"
"Yeah. Sure. Right." Andy lets out a little laugh, takes his hand back to pick up a biscuit. "I wouldn’t much hold out hope for the bride, though. I mean, she did go through with the wedding. And the other one –”
He stops.
“Two at the same wedding?” she asks, giggling.
“Oi!” he answers, laughing too but managing to look a little scandalized. “Excuse me, but I’m trying to feel sorry for myself here!”
She shakes her head, “You can’t be feeling that sorry if you’ve got two girls to be awkward over at a wedding.”
Andy’s eyes go straight down and he reaches for his tea. Nikki is practically grinning, though.
“Well, stop teasing. Go on and tell me about her.”
He gives his tea a pleading look, like it might somehow burst into flames or start talking. When no miracle appears to distract her, though, he peers up at her. “His name’s Ianto.”
"Oh." Nikki says, before her eyes go wide and round. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn't realize you were --"
"I'm not –" Andy says quickly and raises his hands, palms out. "I mean, I guess maybe I am a bit, because I suppose I’d have to be, but, um." He lets out a nervous little laugh. "I'm not helping my case here, am I?"
Nikki just smiles and shakes her head. “You're sweet, Andy. I don't care what you are or who you fancy. You've done so much to help me find my Jonah. Seems only right I can be an ear for you now and again."
"Right.” He picks up another biscuit and turns it over in his fingers, “Yeah, okay. Alright.”
# # #
It’s two days later when Hutchins catches up with him on his way out for the night.
"Davidson!” he calls out, and Andy turns to see him dart across the tiled lobby. “I've got that disc for you. Old CCTV from the Barrage," he says, panting a little. Andy’s eyes flit toward the stairwell, then back at Hutchins as he accepts the slim plastic case.
“Can’t imagine what you need with it, mind. Seven months on? What, are you off playing CID again, Andy?”
Andy drops the case into his bag and shakes his head. “It’s that Bevan thing still. I’ve been pursuing it a little. Call it a special project.”
Hutchins whistles. “Well, you’d best be careful with that. You know how Temple feels about ‘special projects.’”
“Yeah, I’ll keep it in mind.” Andy turns away from the outside doors and heads instead for the workstation he shares with a couple of other constables. The room is quiet and half-dark, and there’s no one to notice him as he pops the disc into the tray and starts the footage. He’s not sure what he’s looking for, and Hutchins has given him a fair amount of data, so he grabs a folder and takes a stab at finishing up a bit of paperwork while it plays.
He’s midway through his third incident report when Jonah vanishes in a flash of light. Andy drops his pen and stares, then rewinds the footage and watches it again. He watches the frames tick past, his brows knitted in disbelief when he rewinds and watches it a third time. He scribbles notes on a Post-It – Barrage lights? Which way is the road? Try to pull CID file? – and leaves it playing while he scowls at the paper and tries to figure out what it all means.
Which is how he sees the SUV pull up, and a certain Captain Jack Harkness, recorded in fuzzy, low-light pixels. Andy’s mouth goes acid at the sight of him, and he snaps his pencil lead when his hand tenses into an involuntary fist.
Oh fuck this, he thinks at the sheer invasiveness of it all. That the image before him is seven months old – before Andy had even properly laid eyes on Ianto Jones – and that Harkness is cropping up now feels like a calculated affront. He ejects the disc, and the video application stalls then errors out. He has to remind himself that Hutchins won’t make him another if he snaps this one in two. Frustrated, Andy drops it into its case with as much prejudice as he dares, then storms out into the night.
He makes two calls from his mobile on his way home. One is to Nikki Bevan’s voicemail to let her know he might have an expert who can have a look at her case. The other is to Gwen Cooper, telling her to meet him out on the Barrage tomorrow morning. She’s going to come to him for once, and by God, he’s going to get some bloody answers.
---
Prev (Pt #30) (Warnings: language.)
-
Next (Pt #32) (Warnings: language and 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 one is in the PG-13 range for language.
Notes/Summary: Part #31 of the "It'll End In Tears" cluster, and who knows where it goes on the table, really. Thanks to
sanginmychains and resourceress for giving this the sweet, hot beta-fu.FYI: As noted in a meta post, I'm breaking up the ending a little more than originally planned. We're now looking at 33 or 34 installments. Sorry about that.
The vicious, man-eating alien is not, in Ianto’s view at least, the most remarkable thing about Gwen’s wedding. It’s the reception, and the fact that it goes on in spite of a murder, an unwanted pregnancy, some seriously awkward mistakes in identity, and massive property damage to a listed building.
Actually, he thinks, maybe it’s not so far off from the usual after all.
Between the two of them, he and Owen manage to get the late Mervyn, Minister of Sound’s equipment set up and working. Neither of them comments on how the other might have come by such extensive knowledge of professional sound equipment, but it doesn’t escape Ianto’s notice how nimbly Owen can haul things out of the back of a van.
“Jack had better let us take this into evidence,” Owen mutters as he flips through a CD wallet. “Mervyn here’s got a Bouncing Souls I don’t.”
Ianto fiddles with the sound board. “It must be difficult being so altruistic.”
“Yep.” Owen zips the CDs up and tucks the wallet under his arm. “Have fun playing DJ.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Funnily enough, though, he really does enjoy it. It’s easy to keep one ear in the headphones and use the DJ table as a buffer. He can watch the party rather than participate, which he likes just fine. From this vantage he can see clearly the awkward truce between Gwen and Rhys’ parents play out at the head table, and the way Gwen and Jack keep glancing at one another, subtle possibly only to themselves (or at least anyone drinking).
It also puts him in a position not so much to notice Andy’s absence but to feel it properly. It’s been writ large since the moment the guns and havoc came out – Ianto doesn’t believe even for a second they’d have been able to keep him out of the fray any more than they could Rhys – but here on his island he can see the smaller omission, too. He thinks of what Gwen said in the basement about fighting over who had to be whose ‘plus one’ and has to look away from the dance floor.
Early evening eases into night as Gwen makes her rounds, dancing with anyone who’d like to wish her well, while Rhys seizes the opportunity and moves his and Gwen’s drinks down to Torchwood’s table. It’s where they belong, Ianto thinks. In spite of all their efforts to keep him out of the loop over the last year, he’s managed to earn his place on the edge of their dysfunctional family. Ianto hopes that neither Rhys nor Gwen live to regret that.
Maybe that’s what prompts him after a while to put on that particular Paul Weller song. The words feel a little jinxy for a wedding, but they’re right. Not for Gwen and Rhys of course, but for Gwen and Jack. Especially for Jack, since he’s been busy staring at her all night while she plays the happy bride. Ianto finds himself a little enamored of their mutual dissatisfaction, but Jack’s in particular appeals to him the way an attractively shattered glass might. Dangerous and useless, but the light tricks you into wanting it, at least for a little while.
And really, Gwen should be happy. Rhys, bless him, is going to be one hell of a husband. There’s no point, Ianto knows, in denying the jealousy that writhes in his gut like eels in a plastic sack when Jack cuts in, but if today has proved anything at all it’s that even Jack has boundaries. Still, glad as he is for that, he’s smart enough to know when his sense of being pleasantly aloof has started to turn into something more like being left out. He downs the rest of his drink and walks across the dance floor wishing he was more of a lightweight.
Oh god, look at them, he thinks, and rolls his eyes. Still, no turning back now.
“May I, um –“ Ianto says before pausing to clear his throat. It takes the pair of them a second to twig that there he is, very much right next to them. Gwen catches herself and laughs a little nervous ‘yes,’ and then steps back as if to start dancing with him instead of Jack. The look on her face when she realizes her mistake is sort of classic in its way, but it’s Jack’s expression that he hopes he’ll remember for a long, long time. A flash of confusion, and then a little Oh, and then there they are, dancing.
In front of everyone.
“Does this mean we’re done with secrets, then?” Jack murmurs against his cheek as Paul Weller gives way to the Postal Service.
Ianto lets out a little huff. “Hardly,” he says, but thinks: You really have no idea.
Jack chuckles and traces Ianto’s side with his thumb. “The others are never gonna let us live this down, you know.”
“Careful. If you remind me I’m meant to be mortified I’ll have to go back to getting hammered and pilfering a dead man’s CD collection.”
“As opposed to…?”
“Dancing with my boss in front of God and everyone while giving thanks that Gwen’s family is paying for an open bar.”
“Just as well,” Jack tells him and nods toward the DJ booth where Gwen’s blonde bridesmaid Trina has started picking through the selections. “Looks like you’ve been replaced.”
“I suppose it was bound to happen eventually.”
They sway together in silence for a while longer before Ianto squeezes Jack’s hip and eases back. “Want anything to drink?”
Jack smiles. “Just a glass of water. See you at the table?”
He nods, a little awkward, and glances over Jack’s shoulder to see Tosh and Owen doing their best to pretend they aren’t watching. “Yeah, sure.”
It could just be the drugs Jack’s been slipping into the booze all evening, but everyone seems relaxed and happy. They’ve forgotten the monsters, at least for now, and if anyone’s given any thought to the way poor Mervyn’s remains are bagged up awaiting transport, they certainly aren’t showing it.
Really, it’s only after midnight, when the buildings and grounds have gone almost silent and Ianto is sorting delivery details out with an off-duty ambulance driver, that he gets properly maudlin. It’s the Battenburg markings on the side of the van that catch his eye, and he thinks of Andy, dashing down a corridor to bash a Nostrovite over the head with a vase or something.
God’s sake. He’d probably have got himself killed.
Ianto shakes that thought off, claps the driver on the shoulder, and slips him a handful of notes. “Right. Thanks again for this.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Not a problem, he thinks, and trudges back up the driveway.
# # #
Over the years Andy has learned well enough to tell a difference between day-to-day and something nice. It’s a lesson he’s learned more through error than anything else, and he instinctively sits up a little straighter when he notices that Nikki Bevan has put her hair up with some of those little stick things, and she’s wearing a shirt he hasn’t seen before. He wonders if she’s going out later.
They’re sat at a little table in her kitchen having tea, this visit’s fresh collection of tapes already unloaded in the lounge.
“How was the wedding?” she asks as she passes him a little plate with a couple of biscuits on it.
He looks down, shifts in his seat. “Didn’t go.”
"Oh." She gives him a sympathetic look from behind her cuppa.
"I sort of –" he pokes at his teabag, and wonders how to explain. Wonders if he should. "It’s stupid, really."
She puts a sympathetic hand on his and smiles. For a second their eyes meet, and Andy thinks of Trav’s unhealthy interest in the two of them. He wonders what would happen if he kissed her. Would it make him happy? Her? Would it make things better or worse?
Nikki pats his hand and the moment passes. "She'll come around, and if she doesn't, well. Her loss, isn't it?"
"Yeah. Sure. Right." Andy lets out a little laugh, takes his hand back to pick up a biscuit. "I wouldn’t much hold out hope for the bride, though. I mean, she did go through with the wedding. And the other one –”
He stops.
“Two at the same wedding?” she asks, giggling.
“Oi!” he answers, laughing too but managing to look a little scandalized. “Excuse me, but I’m trying to feel sorry for myself here!”
She shakes her head, “You can’t be feeling that sorry if you’ve got two girls to be awkward over at a wedding.”
Andy’s eyes go straight down and he reaches for his tea. Nikki is practically grinning, though.
“Well, stop teasing. Go on and tell me about her.”
He gives his tea a pleading look, like it might somehow burst into flames or start talking. When no miracle appears to distract her, though, he peers up at her. “His name’s Ianto.”
"Oh." Nikki says, before her eyes go wide and round. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn't realize you were --"
"I'm not –" Andy says quickly and raises his hands, palms out. "I mean, I guess maybe I am a bit, because I suppose I’d have to be, but, um." He lets out a nervous little laugh. "I'm not helping my case here, am I?"
Nikki just smiles and shakes her head. “You're sweet, Andy. I don't care what you are or who you fancy. You've done so much to help me find my Jonah. Seems only right I can be an ear for you now and again."
"Right.” He picks up another biscuit and turns it over in his fingers, “Yeah, okay. Alright.”
# # #
It’s two days later when Hutchins catches up with him on his way out for the night.
"Davidson!” he calls out, and Andy turns to see him dart across the tiled lobby. “I've got that disc for you. Old CCTV from the Barrage," he says, panting a little. Andy’s eyes flit toward the stairwell, then back at Hutchins as he accepts the slim plastic case.
“Can’t imagine what you need with it, mind. Seven months on? What, are you off playing CID again, Andy?”
Andy drops the case into his bag and shakes his head. “It’s that Bevan thing still. I’ve been pursuing it a little. Call it a special project.”
Hutchins whistles. “Well, you’d best be careful with that. You know how Temple feels about ‘special projects.’”
“Yeah, I’ll keep it in mind.” Andy turns away from the outside doors and heads instead for the workstation he shares with a couple of other constables. The room is quiet and half-dark, and there’s no one to notice him as he pops the disc into the tray and starts the footage. He’s not sure what he’s looking for, and Hutchins has given him a fair amount of data, so he grabs a folder and takes a stab at finishing up a bit of paperwork while it plays.
He’s midway through his third incident report when Jonah vanishes in a flash of light. Andy drops his pen and stares, then rewinds the footage and watches it again. He watches the frames tick past, his brows knitted in disbelief when he rewinds and watches it a third time. He scribbles notes on a Post-It – Barrage lights? Which way is the road? Try to pull CID file? – and leaves it playing while he scowls at the paper and tries to figure out what it all means.
Which is how he sees the SUV pull up, and a certain Captain Jack Harkness, recorded in fuzzy, low-light pixels. Andy’s mouth goes acid at the sight of him, and he snaps his pencil lead when his hand tenses into an involuntary fist.
Oh fuck this, he thinks at the sheer invasiveness of it all. That the image before him is seven months old – before Andy had even properly laid eyes on Ianto Jones – and that Harkness is cropping up now feels like a calculated affront. He ejects the disc, and the video application stalls then errors out. He has to remind himself that Hutchins won’t make him another if he snaps this one in two. Frustrated, Andy drops it into its case with as much prejudice as he dares, then storms out into the night.
He makes two calls from his mobile on his way home. One is to Nikki Bevan’s voicemail to let her know he might have an expert who can have a look at her case. The other is to Gwen Cooper, telling her to meet him out on the Barrage tomorrow morning. She’s going to come to him for once, and by God, he’s going to get some bloody answers.
---
Prev (Pt #30) (Warnings: language.)
-
Next (Pt #32) (Warnings: language and smut)