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antigwenallies Jul. 9th, 2008 09:11 pm)
adia313.livejournal.com posting in antigwenallies Jul. 9th, 2008 09:11 pm)Title: A Quiet Night at Work 3.2
Pairings: Gwen/Rhys; unrequited Jack/Gwen and Owen/Gwen
Spoilers: vague spoilers through series 2
Warnings: strong language, off-screen violence, and adult themes
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Gwen plots; Jack plans.
Word Count: ~3000
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3.1
It was nearly midnight when Gwen returned to her flat. Unsurprisingly, Rhys was reclining on the sofa, wrapped in an afghan, with a bag of crisps on the floor by his hand. Gwen collapsed by Rhys’s feet. “I had such a bad day,” she moaned.
Rhys switched off the television and turned toward Gwen. He looked even stupider than usual when he was drowsy, and Gwen longed for Jack’s lively blue eyes. “Tell me about it.”
“Jack made me go on a training exercise with Ianto and him. And Ianto got shot.”
“Oh, my God,” Rhys gasped. He swung his legs off the sofa so that he could sit next to Gwen and hug her. Gwen barely stopped herself from shuddering: he was so stifling, always trying to touch her, always ferreting for more information about her day. “Are you all right? What happened?” He kept an arm around his shoulder.
“It was his own fault. He started a second sweep of the perimeter without warning me, and I winged his shoulder. And everyone was blaming me. Well, Jack and Owen were, and I’m sure by tomorrow... It’s not fair!”
When Rhys pulled back, Gwen stood to avoid another hug. He stayed on the sofa and didn’t look at her. “What do you mean?”
“I thought he was a weevil—an alien. So I shot. He’s just lucky I didn’t hit something more vital than a shoulder.”
“God,” Rhys whispered. He was clearly too stupid to understand the dangers inherent in her job. Why did she even bother telling him the truth about her days? “Are you even sorry?”
Gwen gaped at her fiancé as tears welled in her widening eyes. The look Rhys was giving her was nowhere near the dumbly worshipful gaze she’d come to expect from him. Didn’t he know that? Was he so stupid that he would risk his only chance with a beautiful woman over some righteous indignation over her tiny mistake, only dangerous because it had been compounded by Ianto’s huge mistake?
She was having an awful day, the most recent in a series of awful days, and the two people she counted on for moral support were taking the other side. Why did she have to be so compassionate? Why was she doomed to care for people who didn’t care for her? She was just too kind for her own good. Well, that didn’t mean that she had to let lard pails like Rhys Williams walk all over her.
Squaring her shoulders, Gwen demanded, “Why should I be sorry? It wasn’t my fault.”
For a long time, Rhys didn’t speak. Then, he stood up. Gwen recoiled: she didn’t want another damn hug. But Rhys didn’t move toward Gwen. Instead, he folded the afghan and set it on the back of the sofa. He didn’t look at her when he finally spoke because he lacked the manners God gave farm animals. “You can spend the night on the sofa, then. I don’t feel like spending time with you just now.”
He stormed into the bedroom and slammed the door behind himself. Rhys’s blame, on top of Jack’s, was more than Gwen could stand. There was something wrong, really wrong here. She didn’t deserve this mistreatment. Rhys barely knew Ianto. He should take her side.
As she angrily made her way back to her car, Gwen decided to get back at Rhys. It had been a long time, but Gwen knew exactly where she could go to be distracted from the oddities of the night. Owen would welcome her into his flat because even when she was an emotional wreck, she was dead sexy, and Owen could never resist anyone as sexy as her. She’d forget about the strangeness of that night, at least.
When she knocked on Owen’s door, she could barely stifle her yawns. Quickly, Gwen let her hair down: it flowed around her shoulders, a perfect frame for her evocative eyes. She tugged on her shirt a little, to make sure the right amount of cleavage was showing. When the door opened, Gwen smiled enticingly, showing just enough of her perfectly spaced teeth. “Hi there, Doctor,” she purred.
“What the hell do you want?” Owen demanded. He stepped away from the door, and by the time Gwen was inside, he’d slumped in an easy chair.
Gwen perched on the edge of his chair. She ran her fingernails through Owen’s hair and lightly down his cheek. “It’s just been awhile, you know, since I visited you at night.”
Patting her knee, Owen said, “You shouldn’t have come tonight either.”
Gwen didn’t understand. Owen would never turn down her advances, especially not when she looked so hot. Sliding off the arm of the chair and onto Owen’s bony lap, Gwen pouted. “Why not?”
Owen held Gwen’s hands in his. For a doctor, his hands were warm and soft, and she reveled in the sensual way he touched her. It was a novelty to be touched by a man whose hands weren’t greasy with the residue of off-brand crisps. Owen’s words jarred Gwen out of her euphoria: “Seven hours ago, you shot that poor kid. You’re not in a great place mentally, and I’m not going to take advantage of that. Come back in a couple weeks if you’re still interested.”
Gwen snarled, “What the hell’s going on? Has the whole world joined the Ianto Jones fan club?” She flung herself off Owen’s lap. There was no stopping herself now. She needed to vent. “What’s wrong with you? You know I’m good in bed! Everyone’s acting like I screwed up because the boss’s part-time shag walked in front of a bullet that happened to come from my gun!”
“Listen,” Owen said, sounding so surprisingly firm that Gwen stopped her circuit of his great room. “This has nothing to do with how much I like Ianto, or how much I want you. I know what it feels like to shoot someone you care about. I don’t think you’re in a place to make any sort of serious decision right now. Why don’t you crash on the sofa?”
“I don’t want to crash. Not yet.” She slid her hands beneath the band of the track bottoms that Owen had worn to bed.
He grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands away. “Then you’d better go home to your fiancé.”
“Screw you,” Gwen growled. She slapped him across the face as hard as she could. How dare he speak to her like that, like Rhys would ever really be enough for her? He was the first person who had acknowledged aloud that Rhys was a fraction of what Gwen needed or deserved. Had he forgotten their chemistry? What was wrong?
When Owen’s only response was a small smile, Gwen’s blood boiled over. She rushed at him, screaming and slapping for all she was worth. “You’re a bastard! I hate you! I hate all of you!”
“Then you definitely shouldn’t have come,” Owen said. “If you want to sleep on the sofa, you know where the extra blankets are. If not, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
On her way out of Owen’s flat, Gwen slammed the door with all her might. Everyone was being so cruel to her. She only had one place left to turn. Toshiko would be so grateful that Gwen was paying attention to her that the nerdy older woman wouldn’t dare to complain about the hour. Anyway, she lived near Owen: Toshiko’s flat would be the most convenient place to spend the night.
Fifteen minutes later, Gwen pounded on Tosh’s door for the third time. Tosh finally opened it. Gwen could see right away that she’d been right about Tosh’s reaction. Her coworker didn’t even seem a little angry to have been wakened. “Hey, Tosh! Fancy some company?” Gwen asked brightly.
“It’s after two in the morning,” Tosh said dozily.
“I thought we’d have a slumber party. We never do anything, just us girls. What do you say?”
“Extra blankets are under the coffee table,” Tosh mumbled, immune to Gwen’s bubbliness. She locked the door behind Gwen before wordlessly padding into the bedroom.
Alone in Tosh’s sitting room, Gwen dug into a drawer beneath the coffee table. She set up a makeshift bed on the sofa and collapsed onto it. It had been a long, hectic night, and all the confusion stemmed from one person: Ianto Jones. Rhys, who had only met Ianto a handful of times, seemed to think that Gwen should share the blame for Ianto’s getting shot, when it was clearly all his fault. Rhys wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box, so she might have let something like that slide if it hadn’t been sandwiched by Jack and Owen’s strange behavior, too. Something was seriously wrong with her coworkers. Why had Jack chosen Ianto over her? If Jack needed anyone, it was her: she kept him human despite his immortality and his powerful role in Torchwood. Owen seemed to have chosen Ianto over her, too. He’d kicked her out of his flat, just because he thought she wasn’t behaving rationally.
Gwen remembered all too clearly the night, just over a year ago, when she’d seen her first Cyberman. For months, Ianto had hidden that monster in the archives; not even Jack had known the sort of danger they were in. Even after she’d almost been converted, even after they’d all almost died, Ianto had gotten away with a slap on the wrist—because he seemed harmless, or because Jack was attracted to him, or because Owen felt so sorry for him that he just mumbled something about “post-traumatic stress” instead of about betrayal, or because Tosh was too spineless and Gwen had been too naïve to do anything effective about it.
But now it was obvious that Ianto had something else up his sleeve. He must have done something to Jack, Owen—and God, probably even Rhys! He must have drugged them or brainwashed them to convince the three men in Gwen’s life that he mattered more than she did. She knew these things were possible—look at what properly administered retcon could do to a person without her natural defenses. Maybe he hadn’t gotten to Tosh yet, or maybe he had, and Tosh was just so pathetic that she welcomed any attention, even from someone she’d been brainwashed to hate. Either way, Gwen couldn’t count on Tosh as an ally. She had to save Torchwood from Ianto, but she had to do it alone. Lying on Tosh’s sofa as headlights bounced through the tall windows, Gwen started to plan a way to stop Ianto from destroying Torchwood once and for all.
*
Jack had watched his fair share of people sleep in his day, but it had been awhile since he’d enjoyed it as much as he loved watching Ianto Jones sleep. If he’d been prone to cliché, he might have said that it was because Ianto looked his age in his sleep—and he did. The worry lines fell away, and the contented smile that had come when Jack murmured words of affection (not love, but Jack honestly wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to hold those back) was still there. Usually, Ianto clung to Jack like a limpet, but that night, the injured arm lay between them. Jack enjoyed that, too, for obvious reasons. He was a tactile person, and Ianto was worth touching—as often as possible.
No, he loved to watch Ianto sleep because when Ianto was sleeping, there was nothing to distract Jack from imagining that Ianto would stay healthy and twenty-four and madly in love with him for as long as Jack wanted him—for forever.
It was less than an hour after they usually woke when Ianto shifted and shivered himself awake. Ianto grinned dozily as his eyes focused, and Jack felt himself smiling back. “How’s your arm?” Jack asked.
“Doesn’t really hurt. And I’m not seeing little blue phone boxes everywhere I look, either,” Ianto said, referencing Jack’s most recent experience with Owen’s experimental alien medicine. “We might have finally found something that works.”
“If you make it through the day without thinking I’m your mam, we’ll call it a success,” Jack said. Not that it hadn’t been good for a few laughs, but that wasn’t really his thing.
When Ianto blushed, Jack brushed a quick kiss across the reddening cheek. “Are you up to talking about what Gwen said? I’m guessing you heard it all.”
“She didn’t really go to pains to keep her voice down, did she?”
“Guess not. Are you able to talk about it?”
Ianto shrugged awkwardly. “There’s not really anything to talk about. I know you’re not going to retcon me.”
“And you don’t feel like we should talk about the fact that Gwen thinks I should have—or would have?”
“Gwen misunderstands a lot about our relationship.”
“Oh?” Jack asked. He’d never really spoken to Gwen about his relationship with Ianto, but apparently Gwen spoke to Ianto about it. He knew that his team gossiped about his trysts, but for a while, he had assumed that the gossip had died down. After all, he might not mind other people’s knowing the particulars of his sex life, but Ianto certainly wasn’t keen to share. There were certain things that Owen had to know, in his capacity as Torchwood’s medical officer, and Tosh respected others’ privacy more than her teammates. He had assumed that Gwen was aware enough of Ianto’s feelings to keep well out of his relationship with Jack. “What doesn’t she understand?”
Sighing heavily, Ianto said, “She thinks you’re using me for sex, and that I let you have your wicked way with me so that you don’t punish me for Lisa.”
Jack barely resisted the urge to curse. “And you know that’s a load of crap, right?”
“Yes, Jack, of course,” Ianto whispered. “I know you like me.”
A few quick kisses later, Jack murmured, “I do like you.”
“I like you, too,” Ianto offered shyly.
“Good,” Jack murmured, but he was seething. How could Gwen say those things to Ianto? They were hurtful, cruel, and almost certainly unprovoked. It was just the latest in a series of occurrences that made him wonder if he hadn’t been brain-addled when he’d hired Gwen. She’d forgotten her weapon at the hub, shot Ianto, and then tried to make Ianto into the bad guy. She’d proven incompetent in the last two strikes they’d run. Maybe Ianto wasn’t the person who needed retcon.
No. That was extreme. It would be more appropriate to make her retraining official—to let her start from scratch, like he’d done with Ianto. No more leading missions, no more senior partner. Ianto was probably ready to work with Owen. It would be good for Ianto. Jack knew that he’d probably been too patient with Ianto in the field, coddled him when he should have pushed. Owen wouldn’t do that. So, Ianto could take a couple trips into the field with Owen, and Jack could focus on getting Gwen up to par, even if it meant reassigning her to admin for a couple months. And if she didn’t, or if her attitude didn’t improve, then he would reconsider his decision on retcon.
It would take a lot of paperwork to bring Ianto up to a fulltime field agent, and even more to transfer Gwen to admin. Then again, he was pretty sure that Ianto could forge his signature. Jack sure as hell hadn’t requisitioned a cappuccino machine. Two HR-2801a forms would be perfect punishment for Ianto’s carelessness the night before. He’d certainly have time to think things out. That was decided, then.
“…Sir?” Ianto whispered, surprisingly tentative.
The word started Jack out of his thoughts more than the tone. Trying to sound reassuring, Jack murmured, “What’s my name?”
“You didn’t answer when I used your name,” Ianto said apologetically. “You’ve got that look on your face.”
“What look?”
“The look that says I’m going to work standing up today.”
Jack threw back his head and laughed. “You’re not working at all today,” he murmured. Leave it to Ianto. “But if you mean that I look devious, then you’re right.”
“Gwen hasn’t been doing this for very long. She still reacts like a civilian to some things—especially the idea of retcon. She doesn’t really understand why it can be useful; she sees it as a weapon. She just needs time. Please, don’t be too hard on her.”
Gently, Jack said, “I have to be. She needs to start retraining before she gets someone hurt more seriously than this-” He kissed Ianto’s shoulder just below the bandage. “-Or she gets hurt herself. Couple months retraining will do her a world of good.”
“R-Retraining?” Ianto repeated. He’d gone pale, and Jack wanted to hit himself. This pallor had nothing to do with Ianto’s arm.
“Hey, hey, stop. Stop. I don’t mean—I’m not sending her to some wilderness camp to get brainwashed. I’m not Yvonne Hartman. I mean literally, I’m going to retrain her. She’s going to be spending a lot of time in the hub until I’ve got her through firearms training again.
Ianto’s next few breaths were audible. In fact, Jack could almost hear him counting out: five beats in, five beats held, five beats out. “Of course. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Ianto sighed after a few moments of quiet. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re hurt and drugged. It’s okay to be a little blurry.” Jack spoke gently, trying to hide his disappointment. He really wanted to hash this out, and Ianto was the best sounding board he had. It would have to wait. “How about I move the television and DVD player in here? We don’t have to talk about this right now. Anything you want to watch?”
Ianto shrugged. “I’ll probably fall back asleep. It’s up to you.”
When Jack got back to their room, Ianto had moved to Jack’s side of the bed, wrapped up in Jack’s blankets. After Jack had switched on the television, he got into Ianto’s side of the bed and let Ianto snuggle against him. Ianto fell back asleep ten minutes into a movie, and Jack entertained himself through the trite film by tracing words and symbols in every language he knew across Ianto’s back. It was going to be a good day.
*
Thanks for reading! I’ll appreciate any feedback you have a chance to offer.
Pairings: Gwen/Rhys; unrequited Jack/Gwen and Owen/Gwen
Spoilers: vague spoilers through series 2
Warnings: strong language, off-screen violence, and adult themes
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Gwen plots; Jack plans.
Word Count: ~3000
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3.1
It was nearly midnight when Gwen returned to her flat. Unsurprisingly, Rhys was reclining on the sofa, wrapped in an afghan, with a bag of crisps on the floor by his hand. Gwen collapsed by Rhys’s feet. “I had such a bad day,” she moaned.
Rhys switched off the television and turned toward Gwen. He looked even stupider than usual when he was drowsy, and Gwen longed for Jack’s lively blue eyes. “Tell me about it.”
“Jack made me go on a training exercise with Ianto and him. And Ianto got shot.”
“Oh, my God,” Rhys gasped. He swung his legs off the sofa so that he could sit next to Gwen and hug her. Gwen barely stopped herself from shuddering: he was so stifling, always trying to touch her, always ferreting for more information about her day. “Are you all right? What happened?” He kept an arm around his shoulder.
“It was his own fault. He started a second sweep of the perimeter without warning me, and I winged his shoulder. And everyone was blaming me. Well, Jack and Owen were, and I’m sure by tomorrow... It’s not fair!”
When Rhys pulled back, Gwen stood to avoid another hug. He stayed on the sofa and didn’t look at her. “What do you mean?”
“I thought he was a weevil—an alien. So I shot. He’s just lucky I didn’t hit something more vital than a shoulder.”
“God,” Rhys whispered. He was clearly too stupid to understand the dangers inherent in her job. Why did she even bother telling him the truth about her days? “Are you even sorry?”
Gwen gaped at her fiancé as tears welled in her widening eyes. The look Rhys was giving her was nowhere near the dumbly worshipful gaze she’d come to expect from him. Didn’t he know that? Was he so stupid that he would risk his only chance with a beautiful woman over some righteous indignation over her tiny mistake, only dangerous because it had been compounded by Ianto’s huge mistake?
She was having an awful day, the most recent in a series of awful days, and the two people she counted on for moral support were taking the other side. Why did she have to be so compassionate? Why was she doomed to care for people who didn’t care for her? She was just too kind for her own good. Well, that didn’t mean that she had to let lard pails like Rhys Williams walk all over her.
Squaring her shoulders, Gwen demanded, “Why should I be sorry? It wasn’t my fault.”
For a long time, Rhys didn’t speak. Then, he stood up. Gwen recoiled: she didn’t want another damn hug. But Rhys didn’t move toward Gwen. Instead, he folded the afghan and set it on the back of the sofa. He didn’t look at her when he finally spoke because he lacked the manners God gave farm animals. “You can spend the night on the sofa, then. I don’t feel like spending time with you just now.”
He stormed into the bedroom and slammed the door behind himself. Rhys’s blame, on top of Jack’s, was more than Gwen could stand. There was something wrong, really wrong here. She didn’t deserve this mistreatment. Rhys barely knew Ianto. He should take her side.
As she angrily made her way back to her car, Gwen decided to get back at Rhys. It had been a long time, but Gwen knew exactly where she could go to be distracted from the oddities of the night. Owen would welcome her into his flat because even when she was an emotional wreck, she was dead sexy, and Owen could never resist anyone as sexy as her. She’d forget about the strangeness of that night, at least.
When she knocked on Owen’s door, she could barely stifle her yawns. Quickly, Gwen let her hair down: it flowed around her shoulders, a perfect frame for her evocative eyes. She tugged on her shirt a little, to make sure the right amount of cleavage was showing. When the door opened, Gwen smiled enticingly, showing just enough of her perfectly spaced teeth. “Hi there, Doctor,” she purred.
“What the hell do you want?” Owen demanded. He stepped away from the door, and by the time Gwen was inside, he’d slumped in an easy chair.
Gwen perched on the edge of his chair. She ran her fingernails through Owen’s hair and lightly down his cheek. “It’s just been awhile, you know, since I visited you at night.”
Patting her knee, Owen said, “You shouldn’t have come tonight either.”
Gwen didn’t understand. Owen would never turn down her advances, especially not when she looked so hot. Sliding off the arm of the chair and onto Owen’s bony lap, Gwen pouted. “Why not?”
Owen held Gwen’s hands in his. For a doctor, his hands were warm and soft, and she reveled in the sensual way he touched her. It was a novelty to be touched by a man whose hands weren’t greasy with the residue of off-brand crisps. Owen’s words jarred Gwen out of her euphoria: “Seven hours ago, you shot that poor kid. You’re not in a great place mentally, and I’m not going to take advantage of that. Come back in a couple weeks if you’re still interested.”
Gwen snarled, “What the hell’s going on? Has the whole world joined the Ianto Jones fan club?” She flung herself off Owen’s lap. There was no stopping herself now. She needed to vent. “What’s wrong with you? You know I’m good in bed! Everyone’s acting like I screwed up because the boss’s part-time shag walked in front of a bullet that happened to come from my gun!”
“Listen,” Owen said, sounding so surprisingly firm that Gwen stopped her circuit of his great room. “This has nothing to do with how much I like Ianto, or how much I want you. I know what it feels like to shoot someone you care about. I don’t think you’re in a place to make any sort of serious decision right now. Why don’t you crash on the sofa?”
“I don’t want to crash. Not yet.” She slid her hands beneath the band of the track bottoms that Owen had worn to bed.
He grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands away. “Then you’d better go home to your fiancé.”
“Screw you,” Gwen growled. She slapped him across the face as hard as she could. How dare he speak to her like that, like Rhys would ever really be enough for her? He was the first person who had acknowledged aloud that Rhys was a fraction of what Gwen needed or deserved. Had he forgotten their chemistry? What was wrong?
When Owen’s only response was a small smile, Gwen’s blood boiled over. She rushed at him, screaming and slapping for all she was worth. “You’re a bastard! I hate you! I hate all of you!”
“Then you definitely shouldn’t have come,” Owen said. “If you want to sleep on the sofa, you know where the extra blankets are. If not, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
On her way out of Owen’s flat, Gwen slammed the door with all her might. Everyone was being so cruel to her. She only had one place left to turn. Toshiko would be so grateful that Gwen was paying attention to her that the nerdy older woman wouldn’t dare to complain about the hour. Anyway, she lived near Owen: Toshiko’s flat would be the most convenient place to spend the night.
Fifteen minutes later, Gwen pounded on Tosh’s door for the third time. Tosh finally opened it. Gwen could see right away that she’d been right about Tosh’s reaction. Her coworker didn’t even seem a little angry to have been wakened. “Hey, Tosh! Fancy some company?” Gwen asked brightly.
“It’s after two in the morning,” Tosh said dozily.
“I thought we’d have a slumber party. We never do anything, just us girls. What do you say?”
“Extra blankets are under the coffee table,” Tosh mumbled, immune to Gwen’s bubbliness. She locked the door behind Gwen before wordlessly padding into the bedroom.
Alone in Tosh’s sitting room, Gwen dug into a drawer beneath the coffee table. She set up a makeshift bed on the sofa and collapsed onto it. It had been a long, hectic night, and all the confusion stemmed from one person: Ianto Jones. Rhys, who had only met Ianto a handful of times, seemed to think that Gwen should share the blame for Ianto’s getting shot, when it was clearly all his fault. Rhys wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box, so she might have let something like that slide if it hadn’t been sandwiched by Jack and Owen’s strange behavior, too. Something was seriously wrong with her coworkers. Why had Jack chosen Ianto over her? If Jack needed anyone, it was her: she kept him human despite his immortality and his powerful role in Torchwood. Owen seemed to have chosen Ianto over her, too. He’d kicked her out of his flat, just because he thought she wasn’t behaving rationally.
Gwen remembered all too clearly the night, just over a year ago, when she’d seen her first Cyberman. For months, Ianto had hidden that monster in the archives; not even Jack had known the sort of danger they were in. Even after she’d almost been converted, even after they’d all almost died, Ianto had gotten away with a slap on the wrist—because he seemed harmless, or because Jack was attracted to him, or because Owen felt so sorry for him that he just mumbled something about “post-traumatic stress” instead of about betrayal, or because Tosh was too spineless and Gwen had been too naïve to do anything effective about it.
But now it was obvious that Ianto had something else up his sleeve. He must have done something to Jack, Owen—and God, probably even Rhys! He must have drugged them or brainwashed them to convince the three men in Gwen’s life that he mattered more than she did. She knew these things were possible—look at what properly administered retcon could do to a person without her natural defenses. Maybe he hadn’t gotten to Tosh yet, or maybe he had, and Tosh was just so pathetic that she welcomed any attention, even from someone she’d been brainwashed to hate. Either way, Gwen couldn’t count on Tosh as an ally. She had to save Torchwood from Ianto, but she had to do it alone. Lying on Tosh’s sofa as headlights bounced through the tall windows, Gwen started to plan a way to stop Ianto from destroying Torchwood once and for all.
*
Jack had watched his fair share of people sleep in his day, but it had been awhile since he’d enjoyed it as much as he loved watching Ianto Jones sleep. If he’d been prone to cliché, he might have said that it was because Ianto looked his age in his sleep—and he did. The worry lines fell away, and the contented smile that had come when Jack murmured words of affection (not love, but Jack honestly wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to hold those back) was still there. Usually, Ianto clung to Jack like a limpet, but that night, the injured arm lay between them. Jack enjoyed that, too, for obvious reasons. He was a tactile person, and Ianto was worth touching—as often as possible.
No, he loved to watch Ianto sleep because when Ianto was sleeping, there was nothing to distract Jack from imagining that Ianto would stay healthy and twenty-four and madly in love with him for as long as Jack wanted him—for forever.
It was less than an hour after they usually woke when Ianto shifted and shivered himself awake. Ianto grinned dozily as his eyes focused, and Jack felt himself smiling back. “How’s your arm?” Jack asked.
“Doesn’t really hurt. And I’m not seeing little blue phone boxes everywhere I look, either,” Ianto said, referencing Jack’s most recent experience with Owen’s experimental alien medicine. “We might have finally found something that works.”
“If you make it through the day without thinking I’m your mam, we’ll call it a success,” Jack said. Not that it hadn’t been good for a few laughs, but that wasn’t really his thing.
When Ianto blushed, Jack brushed a quick kiss across the reddening cheek. “Are you up to talking about what Gwen said? I’m guessing you heard it all.”
“She didn’t really go to pains to keep her voice down, did she?”
“Guess not. Are you able to talk about it?”
Ianto shrugged awkwardly. “There’s not really anything to talk about. I know you’re not going to retcon me.”
“And you don’t feel like we should talk about the fact that Gwen thinks I should have—or would have?”
“Gwen misunderstands a lot about our relationship.”
“Oh?” Jack asked. He’d never really spoken to Gwen about his relationship with Ianto, but apparently Gwen spoke to Ianto about it. He knew that his team gossiped about his trysts, but for a while, he had assumed that the gossip had died down. After all, he might not mind other people’s knowing the particulars of his sex life, but Ianto certainly wasn’t keen to share. There were certain things that Owen had to know, in his capacity as Torchwood’s medical officer, and Tosh respected others’ privacy more than her teammates. He had assumed that Gwen was aware enough of Ianto’s feelings to keep well out of his relationship with Jack. “What doesn’t she understand?”
Sighing heavily, Ianto said, “She thinks you’re using me for sex, and that I let you have your wicked way with me so that you don’t punish me for Lisa.”
Jack barely resisted the urge to curse. “And you know that’s a load of crap, right?”
“Yes, Jack, of course,” Ianto whispered. “I know you like me.”
A few quick kisses later, Jack murmured, “I do like you.”
“I like you, too,” Ianto offered shyly.
“Good,” Jack murmured, but he was seething. How could Gwen say those things to Ianto? They were hurtful, cruel, and almost certainly unprovoked. It was just the latest in a series of occurrences that made him wonder if he hadn’t been brain-addled when he’d hired Gwen. She’d forgotten her weapon at the hub, shot Ianto, and then tried to make Ianto into the bad guy. She’d proven incompetent in the last two strikes they’d run. Maybe Ianto wasn’t the person who needed retcon.
No. That was extreme. It would be more appropriate to make her retraining official—to let her start from scratch, like he’d done with Ianto. No more leading missions, no more senior partner. Ianto was probably ready to work with Owen. It would be good for Ianto. Jack knew that he’d probably been too patient with Ianto in the field, coddled him when he should have pushed. Owen wouldn’t do that. So, Ianto could take a couple trips into the field with Owen, and Jack could focus on getting Gwen up to par, even if it meant reassigning her to admin for a couple months. And if she didn’t, or if her attitude didn’t improve, then he would reconsider his decision on retcon.
It would take a lot of paperwork to bring Ianto up to a fulltime field agent, and even more to transfer Gwen to admin. Then again, he was pretty sure that Ianto could forge his signature. Jack sure as hell hadn’t requisitioned a cappuccino machine. Two HR-2801a forms would be perfect punishment for Ianto’s carelessness the night before. He’d certainly have time to think things out. That was decided, then.
“…Sir?” Ianto whispered, surprisingly tentative.
The word started Jack out of his thoughts more than the tone. Trying to sound reassuring, Jack murmured, “What’s my name?”
“You didn’t answer when I used your name,” Ianto said apologetically. “You’ve got that look on your face.”
“What look?”
“The look that says I’m going to work standing up today.”
Jack threw back his head and laughed. “You’re not working at all today,” he murmured. Leave it to Ianto. “But if you mean that I look devious, then you’re right.”
“Gwen hasn’t been doing this for very long. She still reacts like a civilian to some things—especially the idea of retcon. She doesn’t really understand why it can be useful; she sees it as a weapon. She just needs time. Please, don’t be too hard on her.”
Gently, Jack said, “I have to be. She needs to start retraining before she gets someone hurt more seriously than this-” He kissed Ianto’s shoulder just below the bandage. “-Or she gets hurt herself. Couple months retraining will do her a world of good.”
“R-Retraining?” Ianto repeated. He’d gone pale, and Jack wanted to hit himself. This pallor had nothing to do with Ianto’s arm.
“Hey, hey, stop. Stop. I don’t mean—I’m not sending her to some wilderness camp to get brainwashed. I’m not Yvonne Hartman. I mean literally, I’m going to retrain her. She’s going to be spending a lot of time in the hub until I’ve got her through firearms training again.
Ianto’s next few breaths were audible. In fact, Jack could almost hear him counting out: five beats in, five beats held, five beats out. “Of course. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Ianto sighed after a few moments of quiet. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re hurt and drugged. It’s okay to be a little blurry.” Jack spoke gently, trying to hide his disappointment. He really wanted to hash this out, and Ianto was the best sounding board he had. It would have to wait. “How about I move the television and DVD player in here? We don’t have to talk about this right now. Anything you want to watch?”
Ianto shrugged. “I’ll probably fall back asleep. It’s up to you.”
When Jack got back to their room, Ianto had moved to Jack’s side of the bed, wrapped up in Jack’s blankets. After Jack had switched on the television, he got into Ianto’s side of the bed and let Ianto snuggle against him. Ianto fell back asleep ten minutes into a movie, and Jack entertained himself through the trite film by tracing words and symbols in every language he knew across Ianto’s back. It was going to be a good day.
*
Thanks for reading! I’ll appreciate any feedback you have a chance to offer.
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Thank you for continuing this, and I sure to hell hope Gwen gets some sense knocked into her before she does irreversible damage.
And I agree with
I'm anxiously awaiting more.
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:)
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I'm not worried about Gwen getting 'revenge' she's not intelligent enough for that. As long as they keep all firearms away from her they'll be fine.
Looking forward to more :)
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I completely agree with
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Thank you!
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Yep! Hehe! This is great
:-)
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I foresee more gunshot wounds, lots of misfiling, a scared Myfanwy, and a cappuccino machine that will never be the same again.
(But the make-up sex between Jack and Ianto should be fabulous!)
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Is it just me or does Gwen retraining sounds like she should be on a leash being taught to sit and stay at heel,,,,,actually that sounds good
love your stories so much I want to mate with them
Jack 'likes' Ianto that bit was so cute.
I can't get rid of the image of sleepy Tosh (NM was always the female appeal for me) and Owen being sorta nice
best thing about Gwen as always was Rhys
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I was waiting for an update to this! I love it.
Really looking forward to the next part.
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can't wait until the next installment!