Look What You've Done to Me

My girl in Detroit rights sweet Torchwood fanfiction.  You can catch her stuff at A03 under the name "HippyChick1964".  Enjoy!

Chapter 1

Hope they never end this song

This could take us all night long

I looked at the moon and I felt blue

Then I looked again and I saw you

-          “Look What You’ve Done to Me” as sung by Boz Scaggs

“That’s what I love about Torchwood,” Ianto said sarcastically nodding his head, as he and the others dutifully followed Jack’s instructions to conduct the “retcon” clean-up of Gwen’s wedding reception.  “By day, chasing the scum of the universe.  Come the night, you’re the wedding fairy.”  While Owen swept up the last alien remnants and Toshiko prepared then place party favors before each guest – Jack’s idea of leaving them thinking that they’d passed out due to too much champagne – Ianto took care of the caterers and their crew.  Although it was a wedding, a typically festive occasion or, at least with some booze, a tolerable one, but Ianto Jones was irritated.

No, actually he was jealous.  Ianto’s eyes didn’t miss the way Jack looked at Gwen while they danced together.  Ianto’s ears, as he had very good hearing, heard how Jack convinced Gwen that she was making the best choice, to the sadness of both of them.  And Ianto’s heart did not miss Jack’s reluctance to let go of Gwen when Ianto got enough guts to cut in.  Knowing that you were someone’s second choice, after pizza, was painful, even if he wasn’t in love.

No, actually he was in love.  Ianto had gone to therapy and learned this – that he had fallen in love with the man who murdered his Lisa, his first real love.  Ianto had spoken his heart to Jack’s friend from the Time Agency, Rabbi Aliyah Teelbaulm from Torchwood Tel Aviv.  The good rabbi told him that Jack’s relationship with Gwen had no future.  For Gwen the excitement Captain Jack Harkness promised was a lustful illusion tied to galaxy dust floating between solar systems.  Rhys Williams was real life.  But then again, that was of little comfort because it still meant that Ianto was a second choice, even if the good rabbi always added lovingly, “and the best choice”.

“No, really mate, you gotta move those ladies over there onto the serving table.”  Owen interrupted Ianto’s musing.  “There were passing out the cake pieces.”

“Right, sorry,” mumbled Ianto as he forced himself back to the matter-at-hand. 

A half-hour later, guests were rousing themselves imagining that they’d had a marvelous time but “wow the bride and groom snuck out”, while the Torchwood team exited out the back door into the SUV.  Jack dropped off Owen and Tosh at a local club, where they could do one of the few things Owen still enjoyed, dancing.  Although he did it badly, Tosh relished in pretending that they were having a proper date.

Jack assumed Ianto wanted to be left at his flat.  “Here you go!” Jack said as if accenting his desire to be alone.  “Big day tomorrow.  Got to clean out those transversal coils and demagnetize the computer hard drives.  No rest for the wicked!”

“It’s demagnetize coils and conduct a transversal analysis of the hard drives,” Ianto said, not hiding his disappointment as he got out of the car. 

Jack tried to offer an apology or explanation but Ianto was not listening, as the slam of the van door indicated.  Jack shrugged, reckoning the Welshman would get over it, as always.

Truthfully, Jack wanted to be alone anyway.  If anyone was jealous and longing for “hearth and home”, it was Jack Harkness.  He wanted to get back to the Hub, a poor substitute for a home but home nevertheless.  And what was home anyway, a place where one stores one’s memories and he had tons of them tucked away.  He came in through the tourist entrance for he enjoyed the dramatic even when no one was watching.  He grinned after blowing a handful of wedding confetti from his hand. Then, tearing off his long coat and dropping it on the floor (Ianto will pick it up in the morning, likely sniffing it as he hung it on a hanger and placed it on the coat rack), Jack bounced up the spiral staircase to his office.  At his desk, he retrieved a worn yellow metal box.  Inside was a set of pictures of Jack at various lifetimes – in WWII RAF uniform, in smashing 1920’s white tie wear, and a few more photos from varying time periods.  They made him smile.   Skipping a few more, he found the one that explained why he looked at Gwen so longingly during their dance.  Wrapped inside a yellowed paper was a special piece – taken in 1939 – a wedding photo of Jack and another Gwen, Gwen Richards.  It was the first time he had tried to settle down, to get married.  He sighed wistfully, flooded with snippets of joyous moments, gleeful excitement, and horrid tragedy.  This Gwen knew nothing of his Torchwood work for he’d led her to believe he worked at the Home Office, for the military.  Jack was too much in love to figure out how to explain his late night absences let alone his immortality.  They were only supposed to be in London for a couple months and had rented a flat near Torchwood’s London Hub.  He was there to following up on intelligence rumors that Hitler’s recent successes were due to the use of alien tech.  Gwen had just told him she was pregnant and he couldn’t have been happier.

Jack put the photo back in its wrapping and carefully place it with the others back in the tin can.  He put the lid back on with slow, melancholy movements.  He closed his eyes and leaned back in his swivel chair wondering what to do with the rest of this long night – get drunk, stare at the city from the roof of the Millennium Center, drive around hunting down wayward Weevils?  “Speaking of Weevils”, thought Jack, “I wonder if Ianto is still mad at me?”

Jack knew how Ianto felt and knew that he was treating Ianto shabbily for it.  And it wasn’t that Jack didn’t have feelings for him, feelings besides lust and boyish adventurism.  Rabbi Aliyah, one of the few who had easily brushed aside his charms for friendship, had convinced him that this growing “thing between you two boys” was worth exploring.  Jack was exploring alright – roleplay, light bondage, threesomes with aliens, and then there was that time Ianto was a girl.  “But the good rabbi is right,” he said again aloud, forcing himself to sit up in the chair, “My amusing diversions are cruel.  I best break things off.  It’s gone too far.”  And just as he’d bounced into the Hub, he bounced out to the SUV, and off to Ianto’s flat to end things.

Ianto, on the other hand, had found solace in Winterfell, in the world of Game of Thrones.  He was in his red pajamas curled up in his auburn leather high chair, sipping a hot totty of Glenlivet and Glengettie, a full bodied and rich flavored Welsh tea.  A tall lamp with faux stained glass Victorian shade next to him hung like a vulture reading over his shoulder and was the only illumination in the living room.  Outside of the book’s larger than life characters and sweeping landscapes, Ianto’s mood was unchanged from before. 

Then his doorbell rang.  It was likely Jack for he often came over this late, assuming Ianto would be up and ready for whatever sexualized adventure Jack had come up with then expecting Ianto to come to work the next morning at nine sharp.  This time Ianto hoped that Jack’s dismissal earlier and the lack of light shining from the flat’s windows would keep Jack away.

None such luck.

After four sets of irritatingly long rings from the buzzer, Ianto slammed the book down and reluctantly got up from his cramped position – it was his cramped position damn it, he thought.  Before Ianto could open it, Jack was already in his doorway.  Ianto didn’t realize his loud, hostile groan was what changed the typical frolicsome expression on Jack’s face.

“What’s wrong?” asked a now concerned Jack.

Ianto scratched his head absent-mindedly, a nervous habit from childhood that would arise whenever he was furious.  “What do you want Jack?”

Ianto stood at the doorway as if he wasn’t going to let Jack in and this shocked the Captain.  He wasn’t used to Ianto pushing him away and found that a strange panic was growing in his belly.  “I thought, eh, um, well, that maybe we could talk,” Jack stuttered.

“It’s late.  Unless it’s an imminent alien invasion of epic proportions, I suggest talking in the morning, at the Hub.” replied a defiant Ianto Jones.

Ianto started to close the door until he felt the force of Jack’s hand resisting.  “Okay, again, what’s wrong?”

Ianto, not wanting to have some screaming, hysterical scene within his neighbor’s earshot, whispered between his teeth, “Listen, I don’t want to have sex with you tonight.   I don’t want to have sex with you any night in the future.  And, now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t want you coming by my flat unannounced either.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” asked Jack, who was overcome with the shock of his feelings of being overcome with sadness.

Ianto, however, was having none of it.  “To break up with someone would mean we were dating, now wouldn’t it?  I don’t thing shagging whenever you get the urge counts as a real relationship.”

Jack shook his head, wondering how things had gotten this bad and when Ianto had started feeling bitterness toward him.  Jack couldn’t say that he loved this young Welshman but he could admit, finally, to feeling that he needed him.  Something was shaken within Jack by the possibility that Ianto would end things.  “Have I led you on?  I’m sorry.”

Ianto looked at him quizzically.  “If not for some screw, why are you here then?”

Jack leaned against the doorpost, looked at Ianto pleadingly.  Other that needing to see Ianto, his real reason for coming was no longer clear.  “Share a story.  All this wedding stuff has gotten me feeling nostalgic.”

Ianto didn’t know what to do now.  He scratched the back of his head some more then just gave in and opened the door fully. 

Jack came in and immediately noticed how gloomy the living room felt.  Usually, when he came by, this was his second favorite room in Ianto’s flat.  It was typically lush with a mixture of hardwoods, warm off-white paint accented with maple colored trim and matching leather furniture.  Oh, and the scent of wildflowers from the dining room or Ianto’s stellar gourmet cooking if they had something planned.  But in this early evening, a dark, dank air replaced warmth and pleasantry and the room seemed more like a funeral parlor than a cozy place for a cuddle.  Despite still having his coat on, Jack shivered.

“I’m having Glenlivet and Glengettie,” Ianto shouted back to Jack from the kitchen. “Do you want anything?”

“Just a beer, thanks!”

Jack took off his coat and neatly hung it on the rack next to the door.  He removed his shoes too, all in an unusual demonstration of respect for Ianto’s affectations.  Jack couldn’t understand why he was being such an ass, why he treated Ianto so badly, took him for granted. 

Jack was stuck facing the shoe rack when Ianto came out of the kitchen.  He walked over to the couch and put on the lights – the complexion of the whole room changed, returning a bit to its normal warmth.  “Did you forget something?” Ianto asked as he efficiently moved magazines to their proper storage space and set out coasters to prepare the coffee table.  “Or did you get notification of an alien invasion?”

“Something like that,” Jack threw out before coming to have a seat.

Ianto went back to the kitchen then returned again with a tray of his tea concoction, Jack’s beer (Old Speck’s Hen), a chaser (hypervodka that Ianto kept at the flat just for Jack), and a bowl of pretzel chip with dip.  Once everything was set out, Ianto looked around, trying to find an appropriate place to sit – Jack scent made Ianto want to sit on the couch, close to him while Ianto’s mind said to go to the chair on the other side where his hurt heart could be safe.  Jack’s pretty blue eyes forced a compromise and Ianto sat at the farthest end of the couch.

Chapter 2

Eyes like fire in the night

Bridges burning with their light

Now I'll have to spend the whole night through

And honey, yes, I’m gonna spend it all on you

-          “Look What You’ve Done to Me” as sung by Boz Scaggs

“You noticed my dancing with Gwen,” Jack finally said after a long sip of beer and the quick downing of the hypervodka.  “I wanted to explain what happened, what it meant.”

Ianto shrugged.  “Yep,” he replied without much conviction, looking down.

Jack ignored this, betting, no hoping that he would get the Welshman to at least smile.  Ianto did not know it but that smile of his was a real turn on.  “I have another Gwen in my life, in my past.  She was my wife, my wife during the War . . .. “   Jack proceeded to tell Ianto about this Gwen, how they met at a local coffee shop in Liverpool, how her father was suspicious of him but was able to impress the future father-in-law with his “military position”, his dreams of being a father himself, and the horror of finding her body in the rubble of their flat after the start of the Luftwaffe’s Blitz, 57 consecutive nights of bombing that killed tens of thousands of London civilians. 

Usually, Ianto eagerly soaked in stories of Jack’s past but this time the mournful recollections did nothing for Ianto’s jealousy.  “Why are you telling me this?”

“I am capable of being in love, of loving someone.”

Ianto considered this for a moment.  “This makes a difference?’

Jack looked at him sideways, like he did when considering a person, “It should.”

Ianto moved forward and grabbed the finished beer and empty shot glass then started to get up.  “I’ll get you another one.”

Jack grabbed Ianto’s bicep, held it firmly and said, “Listen, I originally came here to break things off, keep everything professional again.  But I changed my mind.”

“It’s the red pajamas,” Ianto said, shaking his arm free.  “They always turn on the guys.”  He walked back to the kitchen more defiant than he really felt.

“Seeing many other guys, eh?”

“With a face like this too, I have hundreds!”

Jack found comfort in Ianto’s joke – maybe the ice was melting.  Jack felt better talking about it and in some ways, being honest with Ianto, sharing this piece of his life was relieving.  Freud’s “talking cure” was real.  “Hey, do you have any more of that Sriracha dipping sauce?”

Ianto came out with more sauce and more pretzels that he poured into the bowl Jack had, in a short period of time, nearly emptied – lanto had noted long ago noted that, like many an American, Jack often talked with his mouth full, even during sex.  Jack looked at the young Welshman, admired his cute profile as Ianto bent down to put everything on the tray.  Ianto tried not to grin for he had always like when Jack looked at him that way, lust mixed in gratitude.   “I’ll get you another drink.”

Back in the kitchen, Ianto took in some liquid courage straight from his Glenlivet bottle before pouring a double in a glass and giving Jack the same amount in his.  Ianto was chastising himself for weakening, for giving into Jack’s worldly charm and erotic scent – it got Ianto every time.  He was now figuring that he’d have to leave Torchwood to escape it, to escape him.  Maybe he could plan a trip away, clear his head.  “In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose,” Ianto said to himself before returning to the living room.

Ianto served the drinks, conspicuously nervous, then sat down.  Jack, noticing Ianto’s continued unease, rubbed the back of his own neck and observed, “Things between us are confusing, even for me.”

“How do you feel about me?”

“What do you mean?”

“It is a fairly simple question.  How do you feel about me, about us?”

It was Jack’s turn to scratch his head again.  “You know how it is with Torchwood.  It’s crazy, dangerous work.”

“You don’t die.”

“But you could and I couldn’t stand that.”

They came to a silence, a sort of stand-off where they exchanged glances and bashful smiles like two school boys coming out to each other.  Ianto finally said, “This is a lousy excuse for an apology.”

“I’m not known for those.”

“So Rabbi Aliyah says.”

“How often do you talk to her?”

“Weekly, usually when I’m pissed at you,” said Ianto as he downed the last of the scotch, feeling it warm his melting heart just a little further.  “She has a good ear.”

“Am I that hard to deal with?”

“Yep.”

Jack moved closer to Ianto on the couch, “Really? Does that make me more attractive?”

“Jack.”

“What?  Did I tell you about the time The Doctor and met General Robert E. Lee?  Now that is a man who can down a few!”

“Jack!”

“Although I heard Jefferson Davis threw a great party too.”

Ianto’s irritation was coming back.  He stood up, face so red that it matched his pajamas.  “Get out,” he said with threat lingering behind his words.

Jack remained seated, “I haven’t finished eating let alone my drink.”

“Get out!”

“No, I won’t,” Jack said remaining firmly planted on the couch.  “Now sit down.  You don’t want to disturb the neighbors.”

“Like our banging against the headboards doesn’t drop plaster from my neighbor’s ceiling!”  Ianto feared he was looking silly with his continued protestation.

“Do you like that banging?” asked Jack in a bashful manner that was unusual for him.

Ianto flopped down at the edge of the couch, defeated and somewhat exhausted.  “You know I do.”

“So do I,” confessed Jack.  “I like it a lot, frankly.”  He moved closure again and took Ianto’s hand.  “I’d like to continue doing it, at least until you say you don’t want to.”  Jack waited a moment until Ianto nodded then continued, “I will be faithful, that has always been my role – I believe in that quite strongly actually.  And I’ll try to be more thoughtful, even grateful for all your small kindnesses.”  He inched close enough that their thighs touch and Ianto was surprised by the instantaneous response his body and senses had to this touch.  “I assure you, you’re not here alone.”  Jack kissed Ianto’s forehead then pulled back a bit hoping Ianto would raise his face so he could kiss him deeply, show Ianto how he felt – much easier for him than saying three small words.

Interrupting that kiss was a call from Tosh on Jack’s mobile.  He put it on speaker, “Jack, are you with Ianto?”

“Yes,” said Jack with much disappointment.

“Rift activity, and from what I can tell, it isn’t far from Ianto’s flat.”

“Damn aliens,” mumbled Ianto.

Chapter 3

We might fade and turn to stone

Let's get crazy all alone

Hold me closer than you'd ever dare

Close your eyes and I'll be there

-          “Look What You’ve Done to Me” as sung by Boz Scaggs

“Are you sure you two want to take this on alone?” asked a concerned Toshiko.

“Send the coordinates to Ianto’s tablet,” Jack replied.  He smiled as he glanced over at a frustrated Ianto fumbling with the device.  “One of us is dressed, so it shouldn’t take long to get there.”  He could hear Tosh blush against the backdrop of the dance club’s thumping.  “Besides, it sounds like you and Owen are having a good time.”

“Something like that,” she half sighed through a mixture of unanswered prayers and hope.  “Call back though if you need anything.”

“Sure,” Jack signed off.

Ianto finished transferring the coordinates to the SUV’s GPS. “Reckon I should changed,” he said as he absentmindedly started unbuttoning his top while still in the living room.

Jack looked at him with his typical sideways grin and said, “Yeah, but do that in the bedroom.  We’ve no time for shenanigans!”

Ianto grinned as well and shook his head but quickly walked away as Jack had a point.

10 minutes later, Jack was barreling the SUV through dampened streets to the Norwegian Church Arts Centre off Cardiff bay.  Tourists know this historical church for its iconic status that dated to the industrial revolution when the Cardiff Docks were the world's greatest exporter of coal.  Torchwood knew it at as a hiding place for wayward ghosts – primarily sailors whose souls were trying desperately to return home.  Many of them slept inside the church walls, waiting for mothers, wives, sweethearts long dead to come greet them from some extended voyage.  Sometimes, as this incident was likely, a prankster would come through the rift to stir up these poor men, creating havoc all over the area. 

Ianto was monitoring the readings on a device Tosh and Owen invented – the Alien Rater was Owen’s tag name for it. To the untrained eye, it was a plain wooden box with two latches.  But flip the top latch and you got a computer screen display with odometer-like biophysic readings, drop down boxes for data input, and “action buttons” all wirelessly but directly connected to an operating system that would have given Bill Gates an orgasm.  At the bottom was another latch which, once opened, connected to several gadgets and whatchamacallits to instantaneously analyze anything semi-organic, from soil and air quality to spegma and Dalek brain tissue.  One wore it around your neck by a black leather strap, like one of George Eastman’s first handheld cameras.

Ianto’s colorful promotion of the Alien Rater in quarterly HQ memos had earned his colleagues a workshop in this year’s Torchwood Annual Convention – Tosh was grateful for the time with the love of her life and Owen always looked forward to showing off.  Jack typically scoffed at such obvious brown-nosing but this time was proud his team was being so prominently featured at what was considered as the event of the year for Torchwood teams and affiliates who were often ignored by the governments and countries they protected.  It was also known as one of the imminent parties in the Milky Way Galaxy – aliens with the proper passports and intergalactic dignitaries attended – and the even some of The Doctor’s incarnations were known to make an appearance, especially when he traveled with River Song.

Right now the Alien Rater was indicating a raucous group of at least a dozen frenzied ghosts doing some kind of dance within the church’s walls.  “They’ve created some dimensional entrance way and have intoxicated the souls, encouraging them to come over,” Ianto read from the machine.

“Over to where?” asked Jack.

“Not clear.  I’d have to go inside.”

“No problem!” Jack retrieved a key and opened the front door then readily disabled the alarm.  Ianto gave him a questioning look.  Jack shrugged and said, “I donated to the Norwegian Church Preservation Trust back in ’87 – Princess Martha Louise and I were ‘friends’, of sorts.  She always made sure I had a key.”

Ianto rolled his eyes – who hadn’t Jack slept with?  The device started vibrating again, churning up more information for Ianto to follow.  “This way.”

 Jack pulled out his Webley and Ianto gave him a strange look.  “Sorry, habit I guess.”

“I doubt that’ll work on ghosts.”  Ianto returned to the device.  “Everything is going on in that room.”

Jack put his gun down briefly and started to open a door to a walk-in storage closet but Ianto grabbed his shoulder.  “Don’t you wanna make sure of what’s behind that door?”

“Since when have you known me to be cautious?”

As Ianto began to search his mind for at least one time, Jack was already inside pointing his gun with a small flashlight in his top hand around the room like some overwrought Los Angeles police detective.  “Nothing here,” Jack said, dropping his weapon but waving his flashlight as if proving his point.

Ianto stared closer at the screen.  “That’s not what this thing is saying.  According to this, . . . ..”  Just then, a disconnected arm reached from within the wood paneling, grabbed Jack by the neck and proceeded to force him through the wall.  At first, Ianto tried to pull Jack back but quickly realized that Jack was too solid to come through anyway – it was obvious that the apparition did not realize Jack was not one of the undead and could not cross over.  Once it did, the arm stopped and easily slipped back within the building’s structure.

Jack, now freed, shook his head and rubbed the spot that had hit the wall.  “That hurt!” 

Ianto ignored his complaints and went back to his readings, “We need to find out what their planning in there.  I am analyzing for any weak points, see if there is some way we can get in.”

Jack started to tap along the wall and found a weak spot with an echo.  “Sometimes tech is unnecessary,” he said as he pushed in and a secret door opened to a set of stairs.

Ianto started to raise a flashlight but Jack pushed down his arm.  There were sounds of chanting in a language neither recognized.  They made their way down while hugging a wall, as there was no railing, to what must have been a basement not listed in the building’s original architectural plans.  “This shouldn’t be here,” whispered Jack.

“It does smell freshly dug,” replied Ianto.  Feeling the wet dirt that easily crumbled in his fingers and the uneven steps, he added, “This couldn’t have been made more than a few days ago.”

“And why would ghosts need a stair case anyway?”

The answer to that question was clear once they got to the bottom and peeked into a room ahead of them.  Three or four dozen half ghost, half male figures in various naval uniforms spanning from the Great War through the 1950s stood in a semi-circle around a humanoid figure in an 11th Century monk’s robe.  It was then that Ianto recognized that the language being chanted was a very old form of Latin.  He went back to his box for more information then whispered to Jack, “He’s a ghost too, but for some reason has gone through some sort of metamorphosis.”

“Is it corporal yet?  ‘Cuz if it is, I can shoot it,” Jack said pulling up his Webley again.

“Not quite,” but before Ianto could finish, one of the semi-ghost creatures realized their presence and signaled to the leader, the monk in the center.

As the figure turned to the Torchwood partners, Jack screamed, “Hold still or I’ll shoot damn it!”

“You may shoot all you want to, Captain Harkness,” the creature said.  “Your bullets will do you no good here.”  When it turned toward them fully, one could see it’s browning teeth and patchy skin, more reminiscent of a smallpox or plague victim than a poltergeist.  “Besides, you are welcome Jack Harkness as you are one of the most famous of us.”

“What do you mean?” Jack snarled.

“Why you are a banshee as well, are you not?”  It walked over to Jack while the figures who hadn’t quite returned to human form were still floating.  “Not quite alive and definitely not dead.  You should join us, join us on our mighty quest.”

“What quest?”

“Why the 9th Crusade, the final crusade to destroy the Muslim menace that has polluted our pristine Christian world,” the creature proclaimed.  “I called your name through the ages so you could join us.  You can be our champion and end the scourge once and for all.”

“You came through the rift?” asked Jack.

“I have been waiting there for millennium, waiting to raise my brethren in a noble cause.  Now that the Islamist have revealed their true faces once again, it is time to end their presence on this planet and return the rule of the Christian Church to its proper place.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Ianto said.  “I’m guessing that you haven’t read the papers lately or don’t get the Internet inside the rift.  The Catholic Church hasn’t ruled anything in ages.”

The ghostly creature swirled toward Ianto and spit out, “Be gone nonbeliever!  You shall be smitted amongst the others, the Jews, Protestants, and pagans.”

Ianto waved away his centuries-old bad breath, “Well, at least you know about the Reformation.”

“I am Abbot Cywald, and yes, I have watched the so-called development of man from beyond the veil of death.  The Lord has kept me from heaven all this time, readying me for my holy destiny and now I will emerge and lead this army of His soldiers to fulfill Revelation – end Satan’s rule and bring paradise and righteousness to the lands and seas!”

Ianto interrupted Jack’s potentially useless atheist rant, “I think your consideration of Captain Harkness is mistaken, sir.”  The zombie priest had previously given the Welshman little regard.  “Ianto, Ianto Jones sir and, if I may interrupt your quest, I think you should reconsider and take my humble self.”

“I beg your pardon?” Cywald said.

“Ianto!” exclaimed Jack.  “What are you doing?”

Ianto waved his boss off by taking off the Alien Rater and handing it to him.  “Jack Harkness is not only inhuman but, more importantly, he has not been confirmed – has not been blessed in the Holy Mother Church,” proclaimed Ianto.  “I have not only been baptized but attended confirmation classes as a child and speak flawless Latin.” 

“Ianto!  What are you doing!”

“Shut up, Harkness!” Ianto had already walked fully into candle illuminated room.  He presented himself as an initiate before the abbot and tossed over his shoulder to Jack, “Absorb what you’re about to experience.”  Cywald was still cautious of Ianto, so he added, “I have immortal blood as well – previously, Harkness gave me some of his in an effort to save my life.  And you can be certain that my soul is sufficiently tormented.”

“We here are already dead,” challenged the skeptical priest.

Ianto looked around then took a knife from one of the sailors, “I can join you now if you’d like?”  Ianto took the blade and positioned it like a defeated Japanese warrior preparing for seppuku. 

“Stop!  Ianto, please!” cried Jack.

“Be quiet, heretic!  Absorb the truth!  Push for absorption and take in the faithful.”

Finally, Jack realized what Ianto was alluding to and pressed the “absorb” button Ianto left available on the screen within the box.  A whistling sound echoed throughout the room and the semi-ghosts started losing their poltergeist and without it could not sustain what human skin they had reincorporated.  It didn’t take long for the small box to absorb all of the souls, including Abbot Cywald, whose “no” reverberated throughout the now empty room, bouncing off of swathes of dead skin droppings on the floor.  Ianto just stood there with a blade still pointed at his gut.

Jack looked at him and was pissed, though he wasn’t quite sure why.  “What in the hell was that?”

“Clever field work?”

“How did you know for sure that this box would have worked?”

He wasn’t.  “Tosh showed me,” he said as he dropped the knife on the floor then walked past Jack and up the stairs.   “We’d better get this box back to the Hub where they can be transferred to a larger unit.  Owen will be able to send the good abbot and his legion back through the rift in the morning.” 

Jack Harkness was left standing in the middle of a secret basement holding a box full of alien smoke and a pit in his stomach.

Chapter 4

After all is said and done

After all you are the one

Take me up your stairs and through the door

Take me where we don't care anymore

-          “Look What You’ve Done to Me” as sung by Boz Scaggs

Jack’s mood did not improve on the drive back to the Hub.  Ianto, on the other hand, was quite proud of himself.  Once they got inside, Ianto said, “Better take this down to the sealed cells just in case Owen’s extraction calculations are off.”  He chuckled a bit at the thought of the Weevils bugged out reaction to a gaggle of ghosts swirling around across from them.  Jack watched him bounce off while trying to determine why he was so irritated at such a clever move on the part of his partner.

Partner?  Such an old-fashion term in the age of civil unions and marriage equality.  What really did that word mean now?  He took off his coat, the smell of which got him in this situation in the first place – was it the coat or him?  Oh, it was him alright.  That night, chasing the pterodactyl – it wasn’t the only thing that got caught.  Lying on the warehouse’s cold concrete, following Ianto’s eyes so tempted, so drawn to kiss Jack.  Jack tried to signal that it was okay, that he’d welcome those lips on his but Ianto got frightened.  It wasn’t until much later that Jack understood the reluctance had little to do with Lisa or some homophobic prohibition – Ianto didn’t kiss him that night because he was afraid of him.  Old lovers, men and women, even Rabbi Aliyah talked about Jack’s “web of sensual allusions” and how “once caught, there was no real way out” – get close enough and you’d just had to at least taste.  And few left with just one.  Ianto was no fool.  He’d resisted Jack’s charms from the beginning and only encouraged them to distract Jack while in the final desperate efforts to save Lisa.   Unfortunately, Jack’s “resuscitation” of Ianto during the battle with the Cyberwoman, before Jack knew of Ianto’s betrayal, caught them both off guard.  Truth be told, Jack was not as angry with Ianto for hiding a menace of the universe within his Hub as he was that Ianto loved someone more than him.  “Shit,” Jack said aloud to himself as he plopped on the ragged couch by the computer stations, “here I go again!  Pull yourself together Harkness!” –  as if repeating a false name would reclaim his sanity.

Just then, Ianto came back in the room, still pleased with himself.  For the life of him, Ianto couldn’t figure what was bothering Jack – after all, didn’t this mean he was more useful, more than just some errand boy.  “Are you still in a foul mood?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Ianto said flatly, “Right, I’ll leave you to it then.”  He turned to go.  “I’ll catch a cab back to the flat and see you in the morning.  Considering the hour, I’ll be in later than usual.  Do you want me to put the coffee maker on automatic?”

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.  Where are you going?”  Jack got up and walked determinately toward Ianto in such a manner that the young man stepped back a bit, uncertain if Jack was going to slug him.  “There are reports to fill out.  When there any alien contact is made, reports have to be completed and sent to HQ – in triplicate!”

“What are you talking about?  I’ve never seen Gwen and the others complete their reports anywhere close to the 24-hour policy window?  And triplicate?  Jack, this isn’t 1944.”  Ianto realized that Jack wasn’t so much mad but unreasonable.  “You forget, I am the one who checks the reports for grammar and accuracy before they go to HQ – via something called the Internet.  What is wrong with you?!”

“I’m your boss,” now Jack was shouting loudly, freaking out the pterodactyl and likely waking the Weevils in the basement, “and you’re going to do what you’re told!”

Instead of getting mad himself, Ianto was concerned.  He’d never seen Jack this hysterical.  Jack was nearly shaking and his hands were balled up so tight that his skin was turning red.  “Okay, Jack.  I’ll get on that right away,” Ianto said in a low, calm voice.  “Before I do that, though, would you like me to make you a hypervodka or get you a beer?”  Ianto then took a chance and gently touched Jack’s left hand, “I’m thinking this has been a long night, monster’s nearly ruining Gwen and Rhys’s wedding and all.”

The warmth from Ianto’s fingertips made Jack realize how tense his body was, which returned the judgment centers of his frontal lobes back into play.  “Yes, yes.  I think that would be a good idea.”

Jack went back to the couch while Ianto got two double shots and three beers.  He put them on the cocktail table in front of them then sat down.  Watching Jack down one shot then another, Ianto opened his beer and asked quietly, “Did I do something wrong?”

Jack instantly felt like a heel.  This reaction was not only uncalled for, it was making Ianto uncomfortable.  He should be proud of and praise this team member for his cleverness.  He should be slapping him on the back and toasting him not yelling at him to make out some stupid report.  Jack should be giving him a big hug then kissing him.   Yes, kissing sounded nice – sexual distraction, something he was good at but quickly now realized would be inappropriate.  “I was just worried about you, that’s all,” he said in almost a whisper.

Ianto was stunned.  “The others do stuff like that all the time.  You don’t get this upset.”  Ianto wasn’t buying it, “And since Paris, since you revived me with some of your blood, you said I’d get a few immortal do-overs.  You said The Doctor confirmed it.”

Jack ignored the reference to another desperate situation that dotted their relationship. “You aren’t the others now, are you?”

The two of them looked at each other, both accepting what couldn’t be spoken – not now and maybe not ever.  After a few moments, what was between them became so clear that the force of it led them to simultaneously look away, like two teenagers trying to decide who was going to make the first move at the end of a dinner date.

Ianto decided to let Jack off the hook.  “Come on.  I’m hungry and I think there’s some leftover pizza in the frig.”

Jack appreciated the offer of an easy out.  “Sure.”

Both of them stood up but before moving further, Ianto paused, “After that and a few more beers, though, I’m not going to want to go home.”

“Really?  Why, Ianto Jones, what do you have in mind?”

Ianto started toward the kitchen.  “Tellie.  Graham Norton’s on!”

Three pieces of pizza, several beer-hypervodka combinations, and a two-hour special left Jack drunk as well as irritated for an entirely different reason.  He hated Graham Norton, thought him a sickening past-time, an excuse for how the Brits dealt with homosexuality in their midst – the American Black church had their choir directors while the UK relegated their gay males to slapstick talk shows where any celebrity hawking anything from a new movie to some so-called progressive cause withstood insipid jokes and audience pranks so they could use up another 3 seconds of their 15 minutes of fame.  And, as far as, Jack was concerned, Ellen DeGeneres was only an ½ a step better.

But Ianto laughed and laughed, practically ignoring Jack – that was the real rub.  Who ignores Jack Harkness?  “I mean, really?!” he mumbled.

Ianto knew exactly what he was doing and what he was going to do next – he liked to make Jack stew, just a little - a slight punishment for taking him for granted and thinking breaking up was even an option.  He was punishing himself as well, for the same reasons.  A good 20 minutes before the program was over, he took hold of Jack’s hand and kissed the knuckles.  “Thanks for putting up with this.  I know you hate it.  Why don’t you take me up to your lair and have your way with me,” Ianto said bashfully.

Just another thing Jack liked about Ianto Jones – the way he always made him feel like Jack was the one in control when they both clearly knew who ran things.  He yanked Ianto toward him and kissed the top of his head, lingering a bit to smell his hair and wondering how long it would take before it smelled like his. “Are you sure?  I’m a little drunk and you know how I get when I’m drunk.”

Ianto lifted his head and said, “Oh, I reckon I can handle myself.”

When they got to Jack’s room, Ianto immediately fell into his instincts and started picking things up.  Jack would have told him to leave it but realized such was fruitless.  Instead, he turned on the iPod – “Ianto’s Features” was what he labeled the folder full of Chopin, Mendelssohn, Coltrane, Ella Fitzgerald, with a splash of Steve Winwood – and pulled two water bottles from the mini-frig after lowering the room’s lighting to a shadowy dim.  He turned around to see Ianto making the bed.  “I’m not sure that’s necessary.”  Ianto paused and looked down at the disheveled sheets like an O.C.D. sufferer who was told the door knob was just disinfected.  “I’ve haven’t had anyone in that bed but you.  I promise.”  Jack walked to him, thinking to ease the young man’s mind.

“You haven’t changed the sheets since last week?”

Jack reached over and bit Ianto’s earlobe firmly.  “You’ve been ignoring me.  I needed additional fuel for my masturbation,” Jack whispered in his ear.

Ianto had to choose between disgust and arousal – arousal beat O.C.D., hands down.  But when he looked into Jack’s eyes, it was the good captain whose heart melted.  Ianto kissed Jack softly on the mouth, letting his tongue linger and his teeth subtly nibble on Jack’s bottom lip.  Jack groaned and started to get lost in visions of how he wanted this man to take him.

Ianto alternated between kissing and nibbling while creeping off Jack’s clothes – pushing off his braces, unbuttoning his shirt then the top of his pants, returning to push off the shirt before going back to the pants and dropping them into a puddle around Jack’s ankles.  Ianto pulled away and Jack groaned, which made Ianto grin, particularly when he glanced Jack’s engorged cock sticking through the slit in his boxers.  Ianto pulled up Jack’s white tee shirt and bit his right then left nipple.  Jack held the young man’s head against his left nipple to have it abused just a little more.

“I’m at a disadvantage here,” Jack breathed between moans.  Ianto obliged by pushing Jack onto the bed.  Jack watched lustfully as Ianto undressed with his back to him.  Even after all this time, Ianto was still bashful about undressing in front of him.  Jack could not understand why, as Ianto was pretty – not carved like the many Roman legionnaires Jack had serviced and was serviced by during various adventure with The Doctor - but firm with curious old scars, not deep but crisscrossing his back like someone who’d been flogged.  Ianto never would tell him about his father’s beatings.

Ianto reached inside the drawer on his side of the bed for the lube and condoms before sitting down.  Jack wouldn’t have sex without a rubber.  Only Ianto knew why – Jack was still uncertain if he was HIV’s “patient zero” but knew he brought the virus forward into the latter 20th Century and infected Freddie Mercury, lead singer of Queen.  It didn’t effect Jack but killed many a lover before he realized he was a carrier.  Jack insisted Ianto be tested monthly.  As Ianto leaned back on the bed and Jack began eagerly sucking Ianto’s dick, Ianto wondered if he could convince Jack to let him bareback, trade some of those “immortality points” Ianto got from Jack’s blood for the opportunity to really feel the walls of Jack’s ass shiver and vibrate against him.

Jack’s lips and tongue did a wild, skilled dance up and down Ianto’s penis.  Yet, it wasn’t until Jack hovered the palm of his hand just above his balls did Ianto start yelping and slightly bucking his hips.  “Good G-d man!” was the only thing he could get out of his mouth, lips left parted and dry from heavy breathing.

Jack sat up, finally grasping Ianto’s balls firmly, massaging them in small semi-circles.  He could feel his asshole clench and release of its own accord in greedy anticipation.  “What do you want, hmm?”

Ianto thought this was a stupid question but played along because that’s how Jack liked it – the others never knew how much (just like most physically beautiful people), outside of Torchwood business, the captain lived off of the reassurances from others.  So, Ianto didn’t mind saying, “I need to hear those noises you make when I’m plowing your ass.”

That was just the level of intense desire Jack wanted to feel from Ianto.  He laid down, turning onto his left side, offering himself to Ianto.  As much Ianto played the valet, butler, “tea boy”, there was an inner dom that in these intense sexual moments he could share with someone he loved.  As he lathered Jack’s hole, layering it in and around the entrance, Ianto wondered about the exact time he fell in love with Jack – was it laying on top of him, smelling his “aftershave”, feeling his hard-on next to his at the warehouse with the pterodactyl?  Or was it when he arose back to consciousness to that tongue in his mouth, doing something more than any first aid course would advise?  Or was it while listening to him tell stories of working with Rabbi Aliyah at the Time Agency over their first dinner date?  Or was it that time Jack snuck up on him in the archives and kissed him until he gave in and let Jack blow him?  It really didn’t matter now, as Ianto lifted Jack’s leg and rubbed his cock against Jack’s ass, just for good measure.

Jack pushed against Ianto sharply when he felt the young man’s cock near the first sphincter ring.  Jack groaned like a man taking the first bite from a Gordon Ramsay Beef Wellington, satiated satisfaction coupled with an increasing desire for just one more bite.  Ianto tried to stay slow and steady like the turtle in some classic Warner Brothers cartoon but, even threw the condom, Jack’s ass felt simultaneously like the smoothest cunt he’d ever had and tightest vice in a woodworker’s shop.  He nuzzled his nose against Jack’s neck, so he could cum with the time traveler’s scent adding just that extra edge to things, letting him roll on for what felt like hours.

The nice thing about being young (or youngish) is that refueling, after a brief bit of playful relaxation, you can go at it again.  Losing count of time and place, Ianto looked up at the clock and realized it was already 6 in the morning.  “The others will be in soon and we’ve not even been asleep.”

Jack did not sleep much but knew that Ianto didn’t like the prattling he would get from Owen should he emerge from Jack’s bedroom at noon.  He reached over and texted Tosh as well as Owen, saying they had the day off, hoping that maybe, just maybe Owen had enough sense to go home with the woman, for once.  When Jack rolled back over, Ianto was already asleep, blissfully breathing through a slight smile of satisfaction.  Jack reached for the universal remote to turn off the music and lights then laid back down, urging Ianto’s head onto his chest and holding the Welshman tight.

Jack stayed like this for hours – quiet, still, eyes wide open with tears forming a river down his face.

Chapter 5

Love, look what you've done to me

Never thought I'd fall again so easily

Oh, love, you wouldn't lie to me

Leading me to feel this way

-          “Look What You’ve Done to Me” as sung by Boz Scaggs

Jack had lied to Ianto – a small lie, a lie of omission but a lie nevertheless.  Gwen wasn’t Jack’s only life partner.  He had had two men before – one in the 1920s and the other was a humanoid from another planet -  and two wives after Gwen – both from Earth although only one had a child by him.  In the case of the men, they eventually grew tired or overwhelmed by his immortality.  One wife remained with him until her dementia robbed them of each other.  His last wife deserted him, jealous and angry with the time he spent at Torchwood.  All and all thought Jack, not a bad run for an immortal.  But, including the lovers he was deeply fond of, only Gwen was taken from him.  Surprisingly, he could handle abandonment and even a loss due to natural aging – he found a tenderness and loving with his elderly partners and lovers that was just as special and thrilling as that with the younger individuals for whom he’d shared his bed.  But a love taken by what he considered as murder was too much.  He bitterly recalled digging out her body with his bare hands from underneath the building rubble, as neighbors stood by helplessly yet fully appreciating his anguish.  Afterward, he disappeared inside a bottle for weeks until someone at Torchwood got a hold of Rabbi Aliyah.  She came from Torchwood India, dragged Jack out of a bar that served booze unfit to clean rust from cars, dried him out, listened to his wailings, and nursed him back to a semblance of health by instilling him with a vengeance against Hitler “for killing his Gwen”.  He later joined the RAF with a contingent of other Torchwood agents and flew many of the most dangerous missions, some of which, like the failed initial attempts to destroy Berlin, had a high risk for capture if not death for everyone except Jack.  But it gave his grief direction and once the pictures confirmed what Aliyah had been saying was happening to Jews, Gypsies and others in the Nazi concentration camps, Jack was even more grateful for being a part of bringing Germany to its knees.

However, he didn’t want to experience that pain or sense of loss ever again.  He steered away from relationships with any of his Torchwood colleagues.  When he came back to the Hub to find everyone dead from suicide on New Year’s at the start of the millennium, he was certain that his policy of emotional distance was the right one.  Then this insistent, annoying man wiggled into his life.  And while this new love slept soundly against - no inside his heart - Jack knew that at some point he was going to go through the pain of that kind of loss again.

After all, this was Torchwood where, as Ianto had once put it, “one isn’t likely to see one’s pension.”