Entry tags:
My Immortal 2. Chapter 3.
Here you go! You would have gotten this sooner if only RL hadn't been so busy. Had LOTS of fun writing it (although it turned out very long! /o\), and hope you enjoy it too. For those not familiar with Ianto, you might like to watch this short collection of some of Ianto's best moments, just to get a feel for him. He has a brilliant line in deadpan snark.
Index post for the whole ‘verse here. And the first chapter of this sequel (with Important Notes) here.
Summary: The Immortal is Captain Jack Harkness. This is what happened next.
Setting: This chapter - 2008 (post 'Exit Wounds' and 'Journey's End').
Spoilers: All of Torchwood aired so far, up to and including, Children of Earth (eventually).
Rating: PG-13. (Some swearing.)
Genre: FitB, character study, BtVS/AtS/Doctor Who/Torchwood crossover.
Pairings/characters: Jack/Ianto, Gwen, Ilona, Andrew, OCs.
Word count: 7500+ words.
Thank you's: To my *brilliant* beta![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kathyh!
Disclaimer: Joss and RTD own these characters, I'm just playing with them.
Chapter 3
Ilona: I have had dealings with The Immortal many times, and I must say that the outcome is always... most satisfactory.
Servant: His benevolence The Immortal wishes to convey his regrets at having detained you, but your recent actions against his concerns merited stiff reprimand.
Cardiff, July 2008
“Jack? Take a holiday.”
“Gwen, I can’t-”
“Yes you can. I’ve talked to Mickey - he’s more than happy to come and help out and UNIT have promised me people too. And I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that I managed to look after things perfectly well back when you ran off. So. Take Ianto, book a holiday, and go! For his sake, if not yours.”
Watching the discussion from the shadows, Ianto easily caught the swift, guilty look that flickered across Jack’s face. The loss of Tosh and Owen was still raw within them all, and Jack... Ianto wasn’t sure how to deal with him. It was more than his brother’s vengeance, and the grief. He seemed bowed down, older than before, often getting lost in thought or forgetting where he was. Ianto had an unshakeable feeling of being immensely superfluous, unable as he was to make up for those now gone.
“I’ll think about it,” Jack finally said, and Gwen shot him a look that quite clearly said that she wasn’t going to give up until she’d won.
Later on, when Ianto brought her a cup of tea, he quietly murmured a thank you.
She took the tea, blew on it, took a sip, and then sighed.
“Sorry that I used you as leverage, but he needs to get away from here. He’s brooding, and it’s not healthy. For any of us. And-”
A sudden mischievous smile appeared on her face, “You could both come back with tans, yeah? That’d be more appealing than this pale underground look you’ve got going on!”
He smiled back, and picked up the light tray. Too few cups on it now...
Yes, he needed to get away too. He’d been dreaming of Torchwood One recently - metal nightmare visions ripping his world to shreds over and over again.
That night, long after Gwen had left, Jack called him into his office, where he had been busy for hours. Ianto sat down on the desk, waiting, since he knew the look in Jack’s eyes. He had plans.
“Ianto... how would you like to go to Rome?”
He looked up sharply. Rome? Rome meant... the possible unlocking of secrets. Barely managing to keep his voice neutral, he replied:
“I hear it is a very pleasant city.”
Jack grinned, and handed over a folder.
“We’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow. In here you’ll find tickets, passport - everything you need.”
Unsure of the look in Jack’s eyes he opened the folder, extracting the passport and turning to the last page.
“My name is ‘Trystan’ Jones?”
Jack nodded. “Also, you’re a Junior Watcher who is currently writing a thesis on Weevils.”
“How exciting.”
A swift shadow crossed Jack’s face, but then it was gone, and he said:
“That’s the thing about aliases, they need to be thorough. Last time I went I had a hell of a time balancing two different identities, and I’m not in the mood for that now. I’m trusting you to be able to keep this up. After all, you have some... experience in duplicity.”
A swift glance, that could be either a warning or a token of admiration.
“So go home and get used to being Trystan - and remember to pack lots of shorts and Hawaiian shirts.”
Ianto didn’t favour this with an answer other than a pointedly raised eyebrow.
Jack tilted his head.
“OK, so I don’t think I’ve ever met a Watcher wearing one. Just aim for smart-casual. And no ties! Really you don’t need to pack much, I’ve got an extremely well stocked wardrobe.”
Ianto nodded, feeling something like excitement beginning to flicker throughout his veins. Jack hadn’t said so outright, but they’d be going to his other home - to whatever life he’d lived when he met Buffy. A whole different world...
***
When he turned up at the airport - after a day spent frantically trying to get everything in as much order as he could, and leaving Gwen about twenty million notes - it took him a good moment to locate Jack.
When he finally spotted him, he realised that he’d managed to colour-code him in his mind - Jack was supposed to be military blue. The Jack he found resting on an airport seat was... different.
(Just like Buffy had said. And suddenly a whole new set of nerves kicked in. Just how different was ‘different’? He was being given a ticket into a whole new life - a side Jack had never showed to anyone at Torchwood. But what did that mean?)
This new Jack - or ‘The Immortal’ as he supposed he needed to think of him now - was wearing a white shirt, top button undone, and black, perfectly pressed trousers. On his feet were expensive-looking black Italian shoes and on his wrist a golden watch. And there was no sign of the wrist strap.
On the seat beside him was a briefcase, a tan jacket thrown on top, and Ianto felt a deep sigh of relief to see at least one thing he recognised.
Still - Jack looked like a CEO. Or a millionaire. Billionaire, even. His traditional World War 2 look placed him out of time; a person deliberately out of sync with the contemporary world. This new look was... modern and yet classic. Movie star, maybe. Someone who should have a girl like Buffy on their arm.
What the hell was Ianto doing here?
Slowly making his way over to his unfamiliar boss, Ianto silently thanked god that he’d not opted for jeans - he’d have looked like a rent boy next to Jack’s understated wealth otherwise. And the discomfort he felt was palpable enough as it was...
Then Jack looked up, and Ianto remembered that it wasn’t about himself at all.
***
Flying first class was quite a treat, and as Jack began to relax Ianto carefully asked about Italy. Jack smiled lazily, sipping his drink.
“Mmmm, Italy. Love it. Would spend my whole life there, if I could. And the Italians... probably best in small doses. Although we had an Italian Torchwood agent once...”
His voice trailed off, but from the bittersweet smile on his lips Ianto could fill in the blanks easily enough, quietly wondering just how many Torchwood agents Jack had slept with through the years.
The flight itself was uneventful, and their changeover in Paris went without a hitch. Jack of course flirted outrageously with the stewards and stewardesses, but it wasn’t until they arrived at Rome’s Fiumicino airport that Ianto began seeing a tangible change in Jack, the clothes apart.
As they stepped out of the airport Jack stopped, closed his eyes and stood perfectly still for almost a minute. Ianto wasn’t sure whether to do anything, but, just as he’d made up his mind to talk, Jack opened his eyes again, sighing deeply.
“Just need to soak up the warmth every time I come. Reset things. I sometimes wonder how I stay alive in Cardiff, considering how cold it is. I wasn’t built for rain...”
Remembering Buffy’s words, Ianto silently nodded, and then Jack started walking off to the taxi rank.
“I usually have one of the servants pick me up,” he said casually, “but I thought it’d be fun to arrive unannounced for once. See what they get up to when I’m not around. Oh Francesca is going to tell me off like nobody’s business, just wait...”
He winked at Ianto, possibly forgetting that he hadn’t told him who Francesca was. Apprehension now growing by the minute, Ianto didn’t answer.
“Immortal’s house!” Jack announced as they took their seats in the back of the taxi, and the young driver looked at him perplexed.
“Who?’
Jack’s face was a study in disbelief. Then followed a torrent of Italian, entirely too fast for Ianto to even begin to follow; but the driver looked suitably chastised, and soon enough Jack mellowed and had charmed the young man the way he always did.
After a few minutes he turned back to Ianto.
“Four hundred years’ plus of history, and he doesn’t know me. Young people!” Jack muttered, shaking his head, and then - a sudden mischievous look in his eyes - leaned forward again.
Moments later he’d somehow managed to get the driver to call up his grandmother - speaker phone was a handy thing - and Jack was apparently making an elderly lady have a heart attack...
(“Oh the Fifties, Ianto... Rome in the Fifties. Really wish I could show you.”)
After a long journey - during which Jack never missed an opportunity to point out landmarks, especially if he’d had sex there - they finally arrived at their destination. Ianto vaguely remembered Buffy saying something about a mansion, but even so he had to stop his jaw from dropping. The house was enormous... Old and ornate and beautiful, it looked like it should have the Italian equivalent of a National Trust emblem on the front. This was Jack’s house?
As he was trying to wrap his head around this new revelation, Jack paid the cab driver and walked up to the front door with only a swift ‘Come long!’ over his shoulder. There was a giant lock, which Jack ignored, instead opening a metallic box on the side and carefully typing in numbers, and after a second it flipped open it to reveal a finger print scanner.
“Installed this years ago,” he remarked. “Keys are awkward to carry around.”
Ianto only nodded as the ancient door swung open and revealed a huge hallway. If possible the interior was even more opulent than the exterior suggested. Having been instructed to just drop his bags on the floor (the staff would apparently sort them out), he mutely followed Jack around an impromptu tour of the house, trying very hard not to pinch himself to check whether he was still awake. It felt like walking around a film set.
The furniture was antique and exquisite, the floors polished marble, and the walls covered in priceless artwork - although most of it certainly reflected Jack’s taste.
And if Ianto had still had any doubt about Jack’s ownership, it swiftly showed itself in his casual inspection - he remarked with satisfaction that the dust had been kept to a minimum, noticed where changes had been made to the decor or furnishings, and happily drew brocade curtains so Ianto could admire the view. Plus he kept up a stream of whimsical remarks, each referencing some past occurrence, of which Ianto swiftly lost track; and it seemed as if with each remembered detail, Jack changed a little more. Ianto wasn’t sure whether to feel excited or worried.
When they got to the ballroom - crystal chandeliers wrapped in gossamer sheets silently hovering above them, as if dreaming of fairy tales from times past - Jack wrapped an arm around Ianto and danced a few steps, eyes bright and happy. And for a moment Ianto wasn’t listening, because - for the first time since those bombs had blown up - the dark, grim shadows in Jack’s eyes were missing.
“Sorry?” he asked after a moment, and Jack tilted his head.
“I said, when Buffy was here I threw a huge ball for her. Would you like me to do the same for you? She was Cinderella, and I could easily have her dress altered...”
Disentangling himself, Ianto curtly shook his head, wishing to smile, yet knowing it would be fatal.
“I’m afraid I have to decline.”
Then he frowned.
“A ‘huge’ ball? You mean you have... friends here?”
Jack shrugged.
“The Immortal is friends with everyone. Or rather, everyone is friends with him. Can’t afford to have enemies.”
“Do you often speak of yourself in the third person?” Ianto asked, but Jack just laughed, and Ianto could feel his breath catch. Buffy had been right - this place was downright magical.
“Come, let me show you something.”
Walking up the giant staircase Jack swiftly made his way along softly carpeted corridors, before throwing open a door.
Cautiously Ianto walked through, and then stopped, staring at the enormous portrait that dominated the wall opposite.
It was Jack, and yet... it wasn’t. He frowned, trying to work out what was bothering him. The clothes, of course, were vastly different - puffy shirt and tight trousers - and the mere fact that it was a painting lent it an otherworldly air.
Slowly he walked closer. The painting was definitely genuine. He turned to Jack.
“That is The Immortal,” Jack said, face unreadable. “He is who I am when I need... when I need to not be Jack. This place is safe.”
Ianto slowly nodded, turning back to the picture.
“I understand.”
It was the face, he finally decided. Jack’s face was as familiar to him as his own, and yet the man in the painting looked like a stranger, the smile on his face like Mona Lisa’s in its zen-like calm. A facade, then, or costume like the World War 2 uniform, for people to see... an image to go with the stories.
Then Jack’s eyes lit up again.
“Come! You need to se the bedroom!”
The bedroom (like everything else) turned out to be enormous, and was dominated by a large and elaborate four poster bed. It could not, in any way, shape or form, have been more different from Jack’s tiny, cramped hole under Torchwood.
Then suddenly there was a yell from downstairs. Ianto couldn’t make out anything except ‘Immortal’ and Jack laughed again.
“Here comes my telling off! And remember - don’t call me Jack!”
Like a small boy, delighted by a naughty prank and utterly unconcerned about any possible punishment, he skipped off, and Ianto followed, his pleasure in Jack’s new-found joy now fighting with the previous nervousness which was abruptly rearing its head.
Jack had mentioned his staff, but only in passing, and Ianto wasn’t sure what to expect. Except Jack was clearly fond of them - and yet had never spoken a word about them. How many more secrets did he have?
As he started cautiously walking down the stairs he saw Jack wrapped up in a hug from a tiny, but formidable-looking, elderly Italian woman, who sounded as if she was scolding and welcoming simultaneously.
Around them was a small group of people, including an attractive young man, a small girl - maybe ten years old - and a very distinguished looking elderly gentleman.
As Jack detangled himself, he noticed that people’s attention had shifted and turned to Ianto, throwing his arm out towards him, beaming.
“Everyone - this is Trystan Jones. Trystan - this is the Esposito family, who have been with me since the beginning.”
The elderly woman - Francesca, was it? - looked from Jack to Ianto and back again.
“Immortal? Can it be...?”
Jack smiled softly.
“Well you’ve been telling me for years to find someone. I finally did. And trust me, he looks after me as well as all of you put together.”
Francesca clasped her hands together, exclaiming loudly and, as soon as Ianto had descended the stairs, threw her arms around him, before immediately pushing him away, studying him.
“Ah but Immortal, he is a handsome boy! Always with the pretty faces. But if you say he is good for you-”
“Very good,” Jack said, proudly. “He tells me off as much as you do.”
“Oh it makes me happy. Immortal, you have an old woman joyful before her final rest.”
Then there were a whole host of introductions before Francesca decided that food was necessary, since clearly both Ianto and Jack looked like they’d not been fed properly for months. Plus they were as pale as ghosts! Had they been living underground?
“Of course!” Jack replied, and Francesca swatted him for not taking her seriously. Ianto, on the other hand, began wondering how many things he’d dismissed, that might have been true after all. He needed to have another look at that book...
The servants scattered however, and Jack led Ianto in to a cosy sitting room.
“You know, I love many things about this place, but I think that maybe I love the food the most. If I could get them to deliver to Cardiff...”
Grief sprang to the surface again as he remembered the reason for their trip, but before Ianto could react he’d shaken it off.
“Try to forget that world if you can. Otherwise being here is too hard.”
The dinner as indeed superb, the vine vintage, the different courses better than what even the most expensive restaurants in Cardiff offered, the service impeccable, and Ianto yet again felt like he was in a dream. Jack, of course, took it all in his stride, perfectly pleasant to the staff and yet clearly prone to taking them for granted. Ianto noticed, but didn’t say anything. But it made sense of a lot, especially the way Jack sometimes didn’t seem to notice him.
That night, as Jack was showing off his wardrobe (it filled a room about the size of Ianto’s flat), and trying to talk Ianto into a pair of silk pyjamas, Ianto nervously cleared his throat.
“This is all... very couple-y,” he offered cautiously, and Jack shrugged.
“You’re The Immortal’s ragazzo. Be honoured, you’re in prestigious company.”
“Like Buffy?”
“Like Buffy.”
Ianto nodded. He’d never expected to feel on firmer ground here than back in Cardiff, but having an established role made things a lot simpler: He was The Immortal’s ‘ragazzo’.
But he was Jack’s... what?
Falling into the impossibly comfortable bed, he wondered if this was how Jack felt all the time, his head trying to exist in several different realities simultaneously.
***
The next day they started sightseeing. Jack, as Ianto had suspected, was a tour guide of apparently limitless knowledge, although he constantly lapsed into anecdotes. Not that Ianto minded. Every story - no matter how frivolous, and most of them were pure fluff - was yet another piece of information, another part of the endless puzzle that was Jack.
Plus the sun was shining hotly, and they were actually in Rome and Jack was relaxing.
A sudden cry of ‘Immortale’ made him tense however - although it was only for the briefest second - and then he turned, smiling widely at the extremely well-endowed woman walking towards them in vertiginous heels.
“Ah Immortal, I do not believe it! How have you been? I have missed your beautiful face!”
She had a very pronounced Italian accent, and Jack laughed as she pulled him into a hug and kissed him on both cheeks.
“I’m well as always, Ilona. And you?”
“I am always good, you know that. Except for when I am very bad, of course. But who is this? Ah but such a handsome boy!”
She reached out and stroked Ianto’s face, and he could feel himself bristling.
Jack smirked.
“Gorgeous, isn’t he? Junior Watcher. Spotted him in the Council and decided to... expand his horizon a little. Don’t worry Trystan, Ilona doesn’t bite. Not unless you ask very nicely.”
He lifted an eyebrow, and Ilona laughed, playfully slapping him.
“Immortal, you never change. Corrupting the young people, ah it is wonderful! Lucky you are so pretty...”
“Actually,” Jack said, voice dropping, “would you mind giving me a moment in private?”
He took her elbow and led her away, leaving Ianto feeling distinctly uncomfortable.
Jack and Ilona were clearly old friends, and their private chat one full of little nods and searching looks and carefully elaborated points. Memories of Capt John began to surface, and Ianto wished he had his gun handy. Just in case.
Finally however they parted, Jack kissing Ilona’s hand with much elaboration before sauntering back to Ianto, wrapping his arm around Ianto’s middle as if he was some kind of accessory and quietly murmuring ‘Just walk’.
Ianto did as he was told, and it wasn’t until several streets later that Jack finally relaxed.
“So, what was that?” he asked, and Jack smiled tightly.
“Ilona Costa Bianci. The CEO of Wolfram & Hart - an evil law firm.”
The look on Ianto’s face must have spoken volumes, because Jack rolled his eyes.
“I know. But when I say evil, I mean it quite literally.”
Ianto still wasn’t quite buying it.
”What? They sold their soul to the devil?”
Jack smiled a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“The devil is a little man, or so they tell me. Oh! Have I ever mentioned that he built a robot?”
Christ, the man could derail for Britain.
“Ilona. You are obviously old friends...”
“Oh yes,” Jack sighed. “Very old. Have seen her work her way up the ranks from junior barrister to where she is now. Seducing, back stabbing and murdering to get ahead. She became CEO by literally blowing up the old offices, destroying her opposition.”
Ianto eyed him warily.
“Really.”
“Yes really. Trust me - behind every evil dictator and pogrom you’ll find a W&H lawyer, ready and willing to make sure their clients never get caught. Unfortunately I can’t afford them as enemies, hence the friendliness.”
“‘Friendliness’ is a bit of an understatement,” Ianto observed drily, and Jack chuckled.
“Well, I’d never have slept with her if I wasn’t immortal, trust me. Comes in handy. Right now I just needed to find out what was happening - last I knew the whole firm was going belly-up. Not surprising since the Senior Partners are on a different plane, and suddenly got cut off. Ilona, of course, wasted no time in trying to take advantage of the situation, and she’s busy building her own little empire. But that’s not my headache, thank god.”
Then they bought ice creams and Jack dragged him off to the Colosseum, and Ianto soon forgot all about unpleasant exes.
***
The following day turned out very hot and proved too much for Ianto, Jack declaring him in danger of sunstroke. So they headed back to the villa shortly after lunch, Ianto wondering how Jack could be so utterly unbothered by the heat which lay as a blanket over everything.
Despite Ianto’s complaints that he just wanted to lie down, Jack decided that he needed something to drink immediately, and so they went in through the backdoor, which Ianto discovered led directly into a large, cosy, well used kitchen, its battered decor a sharp contrast to the rest of the house.
But as they entered Jack stopped stock-still, and Ianto had to step sideways around him to see what had caught his attention so spectacularly.
At the ancient table in the middle of the room he saw the good looking young servant (Rico was it?), sharing a meal with a curly haired young man who looked to be in his late twenties.
The servant had frozen, fork halfway to his mouth, and the other man turned, before going so pale that Ianto worried that he might faint.
“I-Immortal?” he said, voice faltering, and Jack smiled a strange little smile.
“Hello Andrew. How have you been?”
As Andrew tried to formulate an answer, Ianto - remembering a certain e-mail - slowly made the connection.
“Hang on - is he that Andrew?”
Jack shot him a swift glance, and Ianto saw laughter bubbling behind his eyes - as well as a warning not to give the game away.
“Indeed he is. Trystan, allow me to introduce Andrew Wells, who goes by the name ‘RomeWatcher’ on certain internet forums, where he tries to divulge secrets he shouldn’t.”
“It wasn’t like that!” Andrew protested. “I was... I was just trying to explain that your book isn’t all fabrication.”
“And how would you know that?” Jack purred dangerously, slowly stepping forward, and Andrew once more looked as if he was making ready to make a run for the door.
Then Jack abruptly turned to the servant.
“Rico? You never mentioned you had a boyfriend.”
Rico bit his lip, eyes darting back and forth between Jack and Andrew.
“Andrew asked me not to tell, he said... he was in your blackest books.”
“Damn straight he is,” Jack said, by now standing at the end of the table, and then reached out, laying a hand on Rico's shoulder, his face suddenly soft and gentle.
“But you’re one of mine, and I want to know how you’re getting on, OK? I’m always here for you, you know that.”
Rico smiled, and Jack patted him on the back. Then he turned to Andrew again, eyes hardening.
“Andrew. If you break my boy’s heart, I’ll train some hellhounds to rip you to pieces, understood?”
“How... how do you know about...” Andrew stuttered, but Jack was already turning away, opening the fridge and getting out a bottle of water which he tossed to Ianto.
“C’mon Tryst!” he said, sauntering out of the kitchen, and Ianto felt a sudden sharp loathing for his new nickname, which combined with the headache and the unwelcome reminder of all of Jack’s nastier traits made him turn to Andrew.
“Well I would like to thank you for trying to help me.”
Andrew blinked.
“Hey wait - you were the guy asking questions?”
Ianto nodded carefully (movement made his head feel like it was full of metal ball bearings) and took a sip of water.
“He’s not exactly an over sharer, so I wanted to get some info on my own. Sorry he’s taking it out on you.”
Jack had by now turned around, and was standing in the doorway, eyes narrowing.
“Don’t think he’s an innocent, Trystan, and this goes much further back.”
Andrew, possibly by virtue of having an accomplice and thus feeling on firmer ground, straightened up.
“You used me to get info behind Buffy’s back, and then threatened me so I wouldn't tell anyone!”
“What a surprise,” Ianto remarked, “but his bark is worse than his bite. I shouldn’t worry about it.”
At his words Jack’s face clouded over, and he stalked over to Ianto, with a look in his eyes that didn’t bode well.
“Please allow me to explain something: You really don’t know who The Immortal is, Mr Jones.”
His voice was smooth and dangerous, but Ianto didn’t flinch. The house and money was all very well, but there were limits to how much the clothes made the man.
“With all due respect, Sir, The Immortal is not the boss of me.”
He wasn’t entirely sure of the rules for the games they played here, but he wasn’t about to let Jack get away with just anything. What exactly could Jack do, after all? Jack was clearly pondering the same question.
“Tell me, Trystan, would you like a personal tour of the Room of Pain?”
By a huge effort Ianto managed not to smirk, but they both knew that Jack had overplayed his hand quite considerably.
“By all means, sir - I’m sure it’d be very... instructive,” he replied, and with satisfaction noticed Jack’s near-invisible intake of breath, and the way his eyes flickered. (Jack’s First Rule: If in trouble, turn the conversation into sex. Worked beautifully in reverse.)
For long seconds they just watched each other, and then Jack said, voice not quite even and mind clearly thoroughly preoccupied:
“You’re going to pay for this later!”
“Looking forward to it Sir,” Ianto responded, by now unable to stop a smile.
(Jack’s punishments were always exquisite. Four poster bed... so many possibilities.)
“Well we could start immediately...” Jack purred, and Ianto shook his head, then flinched against the abrupt pain.
“Headache, remember?”
“Well you know what the best thing for a headache is?” Jack asked with a wolfish smile.
“Aspirin,” Ianto said, then turned to the table.
“Nice meeting you Andrew, and all the best.”
Then he left in search of a good bed, and half wishing that he could have tied Jack up very thoroughly first, just to be assured some peace...
***
Apart from the unsettling experience of meeting Ilona, the holiday went well, and Ianto was appreciating the good things in life a great deal. And he understood what Buffy had meant... Everything did seem bright and magical.
It was now the evening of the fifth day, and Ianto was beginning to rue their time coming to an end. They were in the middle of dinner, the second course having just been brought in, and the vast difference between these formal meals and their usual habit of sub-par takeaways, eaten with one hand whilst leaning on a work station, was nearly enough to make him cry. Of course he then felt guilty thinking about Gwen, but even so...
(This place was dangerous. How did Jack resist getting lost in the fairy tale?)
The door opened, and Ianto looked up, wondering if it’d be yet another side dish, but only Vittore - the older, impeccable butler - appeared, empty handed, but making straight for Jack’s seat.
“Immortal? I am sorry to interrupt your meal, but there is a young American gentleman wishing to speak with you. We were hesitant to let him in, since he looks like he was in a fight, but he asked for sanctuary.”
Jack’s eyebrows rose.
“Sanctuary? Really? That’s not happened in... decades. Who is he?”
“He says his name is Donald Richardson. He...” a hesitation, and a ruffle of uncertainty in Vittore’s otherwise smooth exterior, “He claims to the the great-grandson of Venus.”
Rarely had Ianto seen such a complete change in Jack. The mild curiosity vanished, replaced by a look that Ianto couldn’t work out at all. Carefully laying down his utensils Jack stood up stiffly.
“Take me to him. I want to see who dares come to my house using that name!”
Curiosity winning out over qualms Ianto got up, and Jack either didn’t mind or didn’t notice. Walking through the house until they reached the hallway they found a young man - about Ianto’s age - waiting for them there. A large bruise was spreading across his cheek, and he was clutching his side, in a way that might indicate a broken rib - and Ianto winced in sympathy.
“Who are you?” Jack demanded coldly.
“You The Immortal?” the man asked, and Jack nodded.
“I am he. I want to know what you want.”
“I... Look I came here on holiday, thought I’d try to look up my family. But then when I find some of them, they attack me - I barely got away. So... I came here, cause I didn’t know where else to go. Was always told that you were the one who helped great grandma and great granddad get married...”
“You are talking about Venus,” Jack said, voice still clipped down to nothing. “Why would you do that?”
Ianto silently wondered what this was. Clearly ‘Venus’ was the name of a person, not the goddess, but...
“She’s my great-grandma,” Donald replied, and Jack shook his head.
“She died, along with all of her family, in the Dresden bombings. Trust me, I know.”
Donald shook his head.
“Not everyone. My granddad ran away from home when he was 16 - went to America against his mother’s wishes just before the war began. Great grandma refused - or couldn’t - contact him, and then - then everyone died. But he passed down what he knew of her - how she’d been practically royalty, and how you’d been her benefactor...”
Jack suddenly looked like he was going to burst into tears.
“Show me your other face,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, and after a tiny hesitation Donald’s face changed - the features stayed mostly the same, but his skin turned blue-purple and mottled, and instead of hair he had short ridges along the top of his head. Ianto was ridiculously grateful that he was used to aliens.
Jack held a hand to his mouth.
“Oh god.”
Then he carefully reached out, tilting the other’s head so it’d catch the light better, a gentle smile on his face and actual tears in his eyes.
“You have her eyes... and I remember the pattern by the ears, that could only...”
He abruptly wrapped the young man up in a hug.
“I thought I’d lost her, all of her, thank you, thank you...”
Donald whimpered in pain, and Jack pulled away.
“Wait. Who did this?”
“Um... I said I wanted to find my family...”
Jack’s eyes grew.
“The Diretto Clan? What the hell made you think that was a good idea?”
“My dad’s working on mapping out the family tree, and I thought-”
Jack watched him levelly.
“What exactly did you say?”
”I showed them this,” Donald said, pulling out a rather torn document from a pocket.
Jack looked it over, and shook his head.
“And it never occurred to you that-” He sighed. “Your great grandparents married in great secret. He was from a much lower Clan than she, and I had all kind of schemes going on, making sure they could meet without anyone knowing a thing. I’m surprised you got out alive. Especially considering that you’ve now got human blood in there too...”
He stood still for a moment, studying Donald in silence, darkness growing in his eyes.
“They know about you now. This is going to end in a bloodbath, for you and all of your family.”
Donald’s face turned pale blue. “But I didn’t... What do we do?”
“We stop it,” Jack answered, grimly.
His eyes moved onto Ianto, still coldly calculating.
“Go upstairs and find a tweed jacket and a tie. Hurry.”
Ianto opened his mouth, and then closed it again, and did as he was told.
He heard more orders - something about Vittore fetching his ring and someone else to bring the car round, and ‘will someone see that the kid gets some medical attention!’ - and a short while later found himself in a huge Bentley, being driven through the evening alongside a grim-faced Jack and a worried-looking Donald, the latter of whom was trying to apologise.
Jack shrugged it off.
“Don’t worry about it. You were just lucky that I was in town. Otherwise...”
His eyes flashed. “It’s been too long since I flexed my power. People are forgetting me. Time was, my name alone was enough to make people quake. Let’s see if we can remind them.”
(“He always wins”, Buffy was saying in Ianto’s memory...)
They arrived at a large, old, somewhat dilapidated building, which nonetheless still carried signs of its former glory. Jack strode out, not even looking behind him to check that the others were following.
There was a blue-skinned demon at the door, squeaking at the sight of them. Jack looked at him coolly.
“I’m The Immortal. Take me to your masters.”
The demon bowed and Jack followed it into the house, Ianto and Donald shooting each other worried glances. Donald leaned in.
“What the hell is he doing?”
Ianto shook his head. “Saving your life probably. Trust me, if anyone can do the impossible, it’s him.”
Donald nodded, but even so he paled as they reached the end of the dark corridor and tall doors were swung open, revealing a large hall, filled with demons, shouting and cheering.
“Donald, meet your family,” Jack remarked, then stepped forward. They were standing on a platform or stage, and a sudden hush spread as the demons realised they had visitors, everyone turning to look up at them.
Ianto tried not to panic too much as he took in the medieval decor of the walls, which were festooned with weapons of every kind and description. The makers of the ‘Saw’ movies could spend about a century here...
Then an elderly demon - who, judging by his elaborate outfit, was probably the leader - stood up, carefully bowing. “Immortal. To what do we owe this honour?”
“You have been attacking my property.”
There was an outburst of anger and denial, but Jack didn’t move a muscle.
“Is there anyone here who was present at the dinner in my honour in 1923?”
Two very old demons, faded and wrinkly, stood up. Jack briefly acknowledged their presence.
“Good. I trust that your memory hasn’t gone the way of your looks. I saved the life of your leader, Baldassare. As a token of his gratitude he gave me his youngest daughter, Venus. Is this correct?”
They both nodded vigorously.
“Thank you. Because there seems to have been a misunderstanding. This-”
Jack motioned for Donald to come forwards, “-is Venus’ great grandson. Whom you attacked!”
The room erupted again.
“He’s a bastard! A disgrace! He has human blood in his veins! He told us that Venus defiled herself with an Ano-Movic demon! This outrage will not be allowed to continue! All must be cleansed”
Jack’s brow furrowed, and he lifted his hand, the silence abrupt.
“Enough! Venus was mine, and I could do with her as I pleased. And it pleased me that she get married, so she could have a husband to look after her, in the way she was used to. But let there be no mistake - she was still mine. Her offspring was mine. This man, and all his family, is mine. And anyone who in any way tries to destroy my property will be dealt with swiftly and ruthlessly. I trust you have all heard of Baxter, the legendary demon hunter, the man who murdered Baldassare and many more of your people, and injured Venus herself? My revenge was immediate, and he begged for mercy before the end. He got none. Mark my words. I am The Immortal, I play by my own rules, and no one is my master. Anyone who lays so much as a finger on this man will suffer worse than Baxter’s fate. Am I making myself clear?”
There was a long silence, then the elder at the front bowed again.
“Your words are clear and understood.”
“Good.”
Jack nodded towards Ianto.
“This is Trystan Jones of the Watcher’s Council. The Council has noted this contract and will, in my absence, see that it is kept, since apparently memories run short here, now.”
The leader scrambled to assure Jack that they would of course be following his words with utmost care, and Jack with a curt nod acknowledged his words.
“Good. I shall bid you farewell.”
He turned and swept out of the room, Ianto and Donald following, shooting each other incredulous looks. What had just happened?
Once they were back in the car, Donald - shifting uneasily to find a way to sit that didn’t hurt to much - cleared his throat, discomfort clear on his face.
“Um. Can I ask... That thing about...”
“Oh,” Jack said, shaking his head. “That was just speaking the only language they understand. You owe me nothing, but if they think you belong to me, they’ll leave you alone. And I’d advise you to do likewise.”
Then he suddenly relaxed, a look of wonder once more on his face.
“I can’t believe you’re actually here,” he said softly. “Come back with us, have some dinner, and then... I’ll tell you everything you could ever want to know about your heritage.”
Jack was as good as his word. After continuing their interrupted meal - during which Ianto found himself in the somewhat incongruous position of hostess - Donald’s nerves finally settled down, and Jack went away, returning with a dusty box.
“Never thought anyone would ever need this. Only kept it for myself...”
The box turned out to contain a photo album, a large collection of water colours and a thick bundle of letters.
“We used to write to each other. She told me all about her life and sent me photos of the children, plus of course descriptions of her porcelain collection. Oh she loved beautiful things... That’s why she moved to Dresden in the first place.”
Donald was clearly as overwhelmed as anyone on ‘Who Do You Think You Are?’ had ever been, reverently looking through the contents of the box.
They ended up sitting up half the night, Jack telling Donald everything he could remember of his great grandmother, and in the end inviting him to stay overnight, considering how late it was and the fact that he had more spare rooms than he knew what to do with.
***
Sitting in the large four poster bed, watching Jack as he silently undressed, Ianto couldn’t help turning the evening’s events over and over in his head.
(“Please allow me to explain something. You really don’t know who The Immortal is, Mr Jones,” Jack’s voice echoed in his mind... Tonight he had seen this improbable statement more than proved true.)
Jack had walked into a lions den, slapped the lions around, made them apologise and then walked back out, as they locked the cage of their own accord behind him. If he hadn’t been there himself, Ianto would have thought it a complete fabrication.
“Sir?” he said, as Jack slipped under the covers. “Can I ask... tonight. How did you do that?”
A small smile and half a shrug.
“Grandstanding. Using my name as a weapon. If you’ve been around long enough, and have enough of a reputation, all you need is a name.”
“And that reputation?” Ianto continued, a little nervously. “Baxter was it? What did you do to him?”
“A fate worse than death,” Jack replied lightly, and Ianto’s eyes narrowed. For a moment he thought Jack wasn’t going to elaborate, but then a grim smile curled the edges of his mouth.
“Baxter is the reason I know that you can’t kill someone with retcon. He had more than a full dose. And I made sure he knew what I was doing.”
As Ianto took this on board, Jack continued, voice still light even though his eyes were hard as flint.
“Then I put him on a boat to South America. Ought to have checked up on him, I know, but... I honestly never cared enough.”
At the expression of Ianto’s face he shot him a droll look.
“Oh don’t look like that. He deserved what he got. And anyway, I never got round to complimenting you on the tweed jacket...”
Ianto stared at him, and it took a good few seconds before he managed to speak.
“Please don’t tell me that’s another one of your fetishes?”
Jack’s laughter was answer enough.
***
The next day they said goodbye to Donald, Jack insisting that he take the box with Venus’ letters.
“But I can’t- this is...” Donald protested, and Jack shook his head.
“This is your history. Go home, tell your family what you’ve learned, and pass it down. It’ll do much more good out there in the world than sitting in my attic.”
Slowly Donald nodded, carefully taking the box from Jack’s outstretched hands and grasping it tightly.
“I can’t tell you what this means to me. I was brought up on the stories, but you...”
“Pretty fantastic?” Jack filled in, and Donald swallowed.
“’Fantastic’ doesn’t begin to cover it. You’re... I don’t know how to explain it. What you’ve done for me - for my whole family... We will never forget it.”
Jack reached out and held him by the shoulders.
“You gave be back something I thought I’d lost forever - like I said, you owe me nothing. Your great grandma was an incredible person. Be proud!”
***
And then suddenly it was the last day.
A touching goodbye to the servants. The flight back, the mood more subdued, but also lighter. The first sight of the water tower. A double hug from Gwen which was just home. And then...
Screaming alarms and chaos and guns and fighting and moments of blind terror, followed by the silence of the dead.
(It was as if they’d never been gone, and yet Ianto felt like he was in a dream.)
Bodies to dispose of. Coffee. Feeding the weevils. Reports and filing and an attempt to reorganise the mess.
In Rome... In Rome the servants would by now be laying the table, evening sunlight filtering through the windows and colouring everything golden. Looking at the CCTV feed Ianto could tell that it had started raining above ground. The disorientation was so profound that for a long moment he could only stare at it.
He was brought out of his stasis by Gwen touching his hand.
“Missing the sun?” she asked, and he sighed.
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
Letting herself fall down on the sofa behind them, she patted the wellworn fabric.
“C’mon, sit down and tell me all about it. The mess will still be there tomorrow, but I need some holiday stories now!”
Ianto looked up to see Jack watching them from across the Hub, a finger held across his lips as he winked. And suddenly something shifted in his mind. He didn’t know what this thing they had was called, had no clue where they were heading. But he knew what he was now, what he meant to Jack: Someone to help him carry his secrets.
Smiling he sat down and turned to Gwen, ready to tell her everything he could and lie through his teeth about the rest.
Business as usual, really.
***
A week later.
“Ianto - did you study the Watcher’s Council like I asked?”
Ianto kept his eyes fixed on his screen.
“Yes sir.”
Jack, blithely ignoring the sigh in his voice, happily continued.
“Excellent. Do you think you can hack into their system?”
Deciding that eye contact couldn’t be avoided any longer, Ianto looked up from his work station and studied Jack for a long moment.
“Now you’re just being insulting.”
Jack grinned, and Ianto did his best not to be disconcerted by the darkness in his eyes, a darkness he now labelled as ‘The Immortal is on the war path!’
“Book me in to see Mr Rupert Giles next week. There is... some unfinished business I need to attend to.”
“Very well Sir,” Ianto replied, and began typing.
The downside of being the confidant: Extra work, and plenty of it. Good thing the perks were off the scale.
TBC.
(Post also available on LJ)
Index post for the whole ‘verse here. And the first chapter of this sequel (with Important Notes) here.
Summary: The Immortal is Captain Jack Harkness. This is what happened next.
Setting: This chapter - 2008 (post 'Exit Wounds' and 'Journey's End').
Spoilers: All of Torchwood aired so far, up to and including, Children of Earth (eventually).
Rating: PG-13. (Some swearing.)
Genre: FitB, character study, BtVS/AtS/Doctor Who/Torchwood crossover.
Pairings/characters: Jack/Ianto, Gwen, Ilona, Andrew, OCs.
Word count: 7500+ words.
Thank you's: To my *brilliant* beta
kathyh!Disclaimer: Joss and RTD own these characters, I'm just playing with them.
Chapter 3
Ilona: I have had dealings with The Immortal many times, and I must say that the outcome is always... most satisfactory.
Servant: His benevolence The Immortal wishes to convey his regrets at having detained you, but your recent actions against his concerns merited stiff reprimand.
Cardiff, July 2008
“Jack? Take a holiday.”
“Gwen, I can’t-”
“Yes you can. I’ve talked to Mickey - he’s more than happy to come and help out and UNIT have promised me people too. And I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that I managed to look after things perfectly well back when you ran off. So. Take Ianto, book a holiday, and go! For his sake, if not yours.”
Watching the discussion from the shadows, Ianto easily caught the swift, guilty look that flickered across Jack’s face. The loss of Tosh and Owen was still raw within them all, and Jack... Ianto wasn’t sure how to deal with him. It was more than his brother’s vengeance, and the grief. He seemed bowed down, older than before, often getting lost in thought or forgetting where he was. Ianto had an unshakeable feeling of being immensely superfluous, unable as he was to make up for those now gone.
“I’ll think about it,” Jack finally said, and Gwen shot him a look that quite clearly said that she wasn’t going to give up until she’d won.
Later on, when Ianto brought her a cup of tea, he quietly murmured a thank you.
She took the tea, blew on it, took a sip, and then sighed.
“Sorry that I used you as leverage, but he needs to get away from here. He’s brooding, and it’s not healthy. For any of us. And-”
A sudden mischievous smile appeared on her face, “You could both come back with tans, yeah? That’d be more appealing than this pale underground look you’ve got going on!”
He smiled back, and picked up the light tray. Too few cups on it now...
Yes, he needed to get away too. He’d been dreaming of Torchwood One recently - metal nightmare visions ripping his world to shreds over and over again.
That night, long after Gwen had left, Jack called him into his office, where he had been busy for hours. Ianto sat down on the desk, waiting, since he knew the look in Jack’s eyes. He had plans.
“Ianto... how would you like to go to Rome?”
He looked up sharply. Rome? Rome meant... the possible unlocking of secrets. Barely managing to keep his voice neutral, he replied:
“I hear it is a very pleasant city.”
Jack grinned, and handed over a folder.
“We’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow. In here you’ll find tickets, passport - everything you need.”
Unsure of the look in Jack’s eyes he opened the folder, extracting the passport and turning to the last page.
“My name is ‘Trystan’ Jones?”
Jack nodded. “Also, you’re a Junior Watcher who is currently writing a thesis on Weevils.”
“How exciting.”
A swift shadow crossed Jack’s face, but then it was gone, and he said:
“That’s the thing about aliases, they need to be thorough. Last time I went I had a hell of a time balancing two different identities, and I’m not in the mood for that now. I’m trusting you to be able to keep this up. After all, you have some... experience in duplicity.”
A swift glance, that could be either a warning or a token of admiration.
“So go home and get used to being Trystan - and remember to pack lots of shorts and Hawaiian shirts.”
Ianto didn’t favour this with an answer other than a pointedly raised eyebrow.
Jack tilted his head.
“OK, so I don’t think I’ve ever met a Watcher wearing one. Just aim for smart-casual. And no ties! Really you don’t need to pack much, I’ve got an extremely well stocked wardrobe.”
Ianto nodded, feeling something like excitement beginning to flicker throughout his veins. Jack hadn’t said so outright, but they’d be going to his other home - to whatever life he’d lived when he met Buffy. A whole different world...
When he turned up at the airport - after a day spent frantically trying to get everything in as much order as he could, and leaving Gwen about twenty million notes - it took him a good moment to locate Jack.
When he finally spotted him, he realised that he’d managed to colour-code him in his mind - Jack was supposed to be military blue. The Jack he found resting on an airport seat was... different.
(Just like Buffy had said. And suddenly a whole new set of nerves kicked in. Just how different was ‘different’? He was being given a ticket into a whole new life - a side Jack had never showed to anyone at Torchwood. But what did that mean?)
This new Jack - or ‘The Immortal’ as he supposed he needed to think of him now - was wearing a white shirt, top button undone, and black, perfectly pressed trousers. On his feet were expensive-looking black Italian shoes and on his wrist a golden watch. And there was no sign of the wrist strap.
On the seat beside him was a briefcase, a tan jacket thrown on top, and Ianto felt a deep sigh of relief to see at least one thing he recognised.
Still - Jack looked like a CEO. Or a millionaire. Billionaire, even. His traditional World War 2 look placed him out of time; a person deliberately out of sync with the contemporary world. This new look was... modern and yet classic. Movie star, maybe. Someone who should have a girl like Buffy on their arm.
What the hell was Ianto doing here?
Slowly making his way over to his unfamiliar boss, Ianto silently thanked god that he’d not opted for jeans - he’d have looked like a rent boy next to Jack’s understated wealth otherwise. And the discomfort he felt was palpable enough as it was...
Then Jack looked up, and Ianto remembered that it wasn’t about himself at all.
Flying first class was quite a treat, and as Jack began to relax Ianto carefully asked about Italy. Jack smiled lazily, sipping his drink.
“Mmmm, Italy. Love it. Would spend my whole life there, if I could. And the Italians... probably best in small doses. Although we had an Italian Torchwood agent once...”
His voice trailed off, but from the bittersweet smile on his lips Ianto could fill in the blanks easily enough, quietly wondering just how many Torchwood agents Jack had slept with through the years.
The flight itself was uneventful, and their changeover in Paris went without a hitch. Jack of course flirted outrageously with the stewards and stewardesses, but it wasn’t until they arrived at Rome’s Fiumicino airport that Ianto began seeing a tangible change in Jack, the clothes apart.
As they stepped out of the airport Jack stopped, closed his eyes and stood perfectly still for almost a minute. Ianto wasn’t sure whether to do anything, but, just as he’d made up his mind to talk, Jack opened his eyes again, sighing deeply.
“Just need to soak up the warmth every time I come. Reset things. I sometimes wonder how I stay alive in Cardiff, considering how cold it is. I wasn’t built for rain...”
Remembering Buffy’s words, Ianto silently nodded, and then Jack started walking off to the taxi rank.
“I usually have one of the servants pick me up,” he said casually, “but I thought it’d be fun to arrive unannounced for once. See what they get up to when I’m not around. Oh Francesca is going to tell me off like nobody’s business, just wait...”
He winked at Ianto, possibly forgetting that he hadn’t told him who Francesca was. Apprehension now growing by the minute, Ianto didn’t answer.
“Immortal’s house!” Jack announced as they took their seats in the back of the taxi, and the young driver looked at him perplexed.
“Who?’
Jack’s face was a study in disbelief. Then followed a torrent of Italian, entirely too fast for Ianto to even begin to follow; but the driver looked suitably chastised, and soon enough Jack mellowed and had charmed the young man the way he always did.
After a few minutes he turned back to Ianto.
“Four hundred years’ plus of history, and he doesn’t know me. Young people!” Jack muttered, shaking his head, and then - a sudden mischievous look in his eyes - leaned forward again.
Moments later he’d somehow managed to get the driver to call up his grandmother - speaker phone was a handy thing - and Jack was apparently making an elderly lady have a heart attack...
(“Oh the Fifties, Ianto... Rome in the Fifties. Really wish I could show you.”)
After a long journey - during which Jack never missed an opportunity to point out landmarks, especially if he’d had sex there - they finally arrived at their destination. Ianto vaguely remembered Buffy saying something about a mansion, but even so he had to stop his jaw from dropping. The house was enormous... Old and ornate and beautiful, it looked like it should have the Italian equivalent of a National Trust emblem on the front. This was Jack’s house?
As he was trying to wrap his head around this new revelation, Jack paid the cab driver and walked up to the front door with only a swift ‘Come long!’ over his shoulder. There was a giant lock, which Jack ignored, instead opening a metallic box on the side and carefully typing in numbers, and after a second it flipped open it to reveal a finger print scanner.
“Installed this years ago,” he remarked. “Keys are awkward to carry around.”
Ianto only nodded as the ancient door swung open and revealed a huge hallway. If possible the interior was even more opulent than the exterior suggested. Having been instructed to just drop his bags on the floor (the staff would apparently sort them out), he mutely followed Jack around an impromptu tour of the house, trying very hard not to pinch himself to check whether he was still awake. It felt like walking around a film set.
The furniture was antique and exquisite, the floors polished marble, and the walls covered in priceless artwork - although most of it certainly reflected Jack’s taste.
And if Ianto had still had any doubt about Jack’s ownership, it swiftly showed itself in his casual inspection - he remarked with satisfaction that the dust had been kept to a minimum, noticed where changes had been made to the decor or furnishings, and happily drew brocade curtains so Ianto could admire the view. Plus he kept up a stream of whimsical remarks, each referencing some past occurrence, of which Ianto swiftly lost track; and it seemed as if with each remembered detail, Jack changed a little more. Ianto wasn’t sure whether to feel excited or worried.
When they got to the ballroom - crystal chandeliers wrapped in gossamer sheets silently hovering above them, as if dreaming of fairy tales from times past - Jack wrapped an arm around Ianto and danced a few steps, eyes bright and happy. And for a moment Ianto wasn’t listening, because - for the first time since those bombs had blown up - the dark, grim shadows in Jack’s eyes were missing.
“Sorry?” he asked after a moment, and Jack tilted his head.
“I said, when Buffy was here I threw a huge ball for her. Would you like me to do the same for you? She was Cinderella, and I could easily have her dress altered...”
Disentangling himself, Ianto curtly shook his head, wishing to smile, yet knowing it would be fatal.
“I’m afraid I have to decline.”
Then he frowned.
“A ‘huge’ ball? You mean you have... friends here?”
Jack shrugged.
“The Immortal is friends with everyone. Or rather, everyone is friends with him. Can’t afford to have enemies.”
“Do you often speak of yourself in the third person?” Ianto asked, but Jack just laughed, and Ianto could feel his breath catch. Buffy had been right - this place was downright magical.
“Come, let me show you something.”
Walking up the giant staircase Jack swiftly made his way along softly carpeted corridors, before throwing open a door.
Cautiously Ianto walked through, and then stopped, staring at the enormous portrait that dominated the wall opposite.
It was Jack, and yet... it wasn’t. He frowned, trying to work out what was bothering him. The clothes, of course, were vastly different - puffy shirt and tight trousers - and the mere fact that it was a painting lent it an otherworldly air.
Slowly he walked closer. The painting was definitely genuine. He turned to Jack.
“That is The Immortal,” Jack said, face unreadable. “He is who I am when I need... when I need to not be Jack. This place is safe.”
Ianto slowly nodded, turning back to the picture.
“I understand.”
It was the face, he finally decided. Jack’s face was as familiar to him as his own, and yet the man in the painting looked like a stranger, the smile on his face like Mona Lisa’s in its zen-like calm. A facade, then, or costume like the World War 2 uniform, for people to see... an image to go with the stories.
Then Jack’s eyes lit up again.
“Come! You need to se the bedroom!”
The bedroom (like everything else) turned out to be enormous, and was dominated by a large and elaborate four poster bed. It could not, in any way, shape or form, have been more different from Jack’s tiny, cramped hole under Torchwood.
Then suddenly there was a yell from downstairs. Ianto couldn’t make out anything except ‘Immortal’ and Jack laughed again.
“Here comes my telling off! And remember - don’t call me Jack!”
Like a small boy, delighted by a naughty prank and utterly unconcerned about any possible punishment, he skipped off, and Ianto followed, his pleasure in Jack’s new-found joy now fighting with the previous nervousness which was abruptly rearing its head.
Jack had mentioned his staff, but only in passing, and Ianto wasn’t sure what to expect. Except Jack was clearly fond of them - and yet had never spoken a word about them. How many more secrets did he have?
As he started cautiously walking down the stairs he saw Jack wrapped up in a hug from a tiny, but formidable-looking, elderly Italian woman, who sounded as if she was scolding and welcoming simultaneously.
Around them was a small group of people, including an attractive young man, a small girl - maybe ten years old - and a very distinguished looking elderly gentleman.
As Jack detangled himself, he noticed that people’s attention had shifted and turned to Ianto, throwing his arm out towards him, beaming.
“Everyone - this is Trystan Jones. Trystan - this is the Esposito family, who have been with me since the beginning.”
The elderly woman - Francesca, was it? - looked from Jack to Ianto and back again.
“Immortal? Can it be...?”
Jack smiled softly.
“Well you’ve been telling me for years to find someone. I finally did. And trust me, he looks after me as well as all of you put together.”
Francesca clasped her hands together, exclaiming loudly and, as soon as Ianto had descended the stairs, threw her arms around him, before immediately pushing him away, studying him.
“Ah but Immortal, he is a handsome boy! Always with the pretty faces. But if you say he is good for you-”
“Very good,” Jack said, proudly. “He tells me off as much as you do.”
“Oh it makes me happy. Immortal, you have an old woman joyful before her final rest.”
Then there were a whole host of introductions before Francesca decided that food was necessary, since clearly both Ianto and Jack looked like they’d not been fed properly for months. Plus they were as pale as ghosts! Had they been living underground?
“Of course!” Jack replied, and Francesca swatted him for not taking her seriously. Ianto, on the other hand, began wondering how many things he’d dismissed, that might have been true after all. He needed to have another look at that book...
The servants scattered however, and Jack led Ianto in to a cosy sitting room.
“You know, I love many things about this place, but I think that maybe I love the food the most. If I could get them to deliver to Cardiff...”
Grief sprang to the surface again as he remembered the reason for their trip, but before Ianto could react he’d shaken it off.
“Try to forget that world if you can. Otherwise being here is too hard.”
The dinner as indeed superb, the vine vintage, the different courses better than what even the most expensive restaurants in Cardiff offered, the service impeccable, and Ianto yet again felt like he was in a dream. Jack, of course, took it all in his stride, perfectly pleasant to the staff and yet clearly prone to taking them for granted. Ianto noticed, but didn’t say anything. But it made sense of a lot, especially the way Jack sometimes didn’t seem to notice him.
That night, as Jack was showing off his wardrobe (it filled a room about the size of Ianto’s flat), and trying to talk Ianto into a pair of silk pyjamas, Ianto nervously cleared his throat.
“This is all... very couple-y,” he offered cautiously, and Jack shrugged.
“You’re The Immortal’s ragazzo. Be honoured, you’re in prestigious company.”
“Like Buffy?”
“Like Buffy.”
Ianto nodded. He’d never expected to feel on firmer ground here than back in Cardiff, but having an established role made things a lot simpler: He was The Immortal’s ‘ragazzo’.
But he was Jack’s... what?
Falling into the impossibly comfortable bed, he wondered if this was how Jack felt all the time, his head trying to exist in several different realities simultaneously.
The next day they started sightseeing. Jack, as Ianto had suspected, was a tour guide of apparently limitless knowledge, although he constantly lapsed into anecdotes. Not that Ianto minded. Every story - no matter how frivolous, and most of them were pure fluff - was yet another piece of information, another part of the endless puzzle that was Jack.
Plus the sun was shining hotly, and they were actually in Rome and Jack was relaxing.
A sudden cry of ‘Immortale’ made him tense however - although it was only for the briefest second - and then he turned, smiling widely at the extremely well-endowed woman walking towards them in vertiginous heels.
“Ah Immortal, I do not believe it! How have you been? I have missed your beautiful face!”
She had a very pronounced Italian accent, and Jack laughed as she pulled him into a hug and kissed him on both cheeks.
“I’m well as always, Ilona. And you?”
“I am always good, you know that. Except for when I am very bad, of course. But who is this? Ah but such a handsome boy!”
She reached out and stroked Ianto’s face, and he could feel himself bristling.
Jack smirked.
“Gorgeous, isn’t he? Junior Watcher. Spotted him in the Council and decided to... expand his horizon a little. Don’t worry Trystan, Ilona doesn’t bite. Not unless you ask very nicely.”
He lifted an eyebrow, and Ilona laughed, playfully slapping him.
“Immortal, you never change. Corrupting the young people, ah it is wonderful! Lucky you are so pretty...”
“Actually,” Jack said, voice dropping, “would you mind giving me a moment in private?”
He took her elbow and led her away, leaving Ianto feeling distinctly uncomfortable.
Jack and Ilona were clearly old friends, and their private chat one full of little nods and searching looks and carefully elaborated points. Memories of Capt John began to surface, and Ianto wished he had his gun handy. Just in case.
Finally however they parted, Jack kissing Ilona’s hand with much elaboration before sauntering back to Ianto, wrapping his arm around Ianto’s middle as if he was some kind of accessory and quietly murmuring ‘Just walk’.
Ianto did as he was told, and it wasn’t until several streets later that Jack finally relaxed.
“So, what was that?” he asked, and Jack smiled tightly.
“Ilona Costa Bianci. The CEO of Wolfram & Hart - an evil law firm.”
The look on Ianto’s face must have spoken volumes, because Jack rolled his eyes.
“I know. But when I say evil, I mean it quite literally.”
Ianto still wasn’t quite buying it.
”What? They sold their soul to the devil?”
Jack smiled a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“The devil is a little man, or so they tell me. Oh! Have I ever mentioned that he built a robot?”
Christ, the man could derail for Britain.
“Ilona. You are obviously old friends...”
“Oh yes,” Jack sighed. “Very old. Have seen her work her way up the ranks from junior barrister to where she is now. Seducing, back stabbing and murdering to get ahead. She became CEO by literally blowing up the old offices, destroying her opposition.”
Ianto eyed him warily.
“Really.”
“Yes really. Trust me - behind every evil dictator and pogrom you’ll find a W&H lawyer, ready and willing to make sure their clients never get caught. Unfortunately I can’t afford them as enemies, hence the friendliness.”
“‘Friendliness’ is a bit of an understatement,” Ianto observed drily, and Jack chuckled.
“Well, I’d never have slept with her if I wasn’t immortal, trust me. Comes in handy. Right now I just needed to find out what was happening - last I knew the whole firm was going belly-up. Not surprising since the Senior Partners are on a different plane, and suddenly got cut off. Ilona, of course, wasted no time in trying to take advantage of the situation, and she’s busy building her own little empire. But that’s not my headache, thank god.”
Then they bought ice creams and Jack dragged him off to the Colosseum, and Ianto soon forgot all about unpleasant exes.
The following day turned out very hot and proved too much for Ianto, Jack declaring him in danger of sunstroke. So they headed back to the villa shortly after lunch, Ianto wondering how Jack could be so utterly unbothered by the heat which lay as a blanket over everything.
Despite Ianto’s complaints that he just wanted to lie down, Jack decided that he needed something to drink immediately, and so they went in through the backdoor, which Ianto discovered led directly into a large, cosy, well used kitchen, its battered decor a sharp contrast to the rest of the house.
But as they entered Jack stopped stock-still, and Ianto had to step sideways around him to see what had caught his attention so spectacularly.
At the ancient table in the middle of the room he saw the good looking young servant (Rico was it?), sharing a meal with a curly haired young man who looked to be in his late twenties.
The servant had frozen, fork halfway to his mouth, and the other man turned, before going so pale that Ianto worried that he might faint.
“I-Immortal?” he said, voice faltering, and Jack smiled a strange little smile.
“Hello Andrew. How have you been?”
As Andrew tried to formulate an answer, Ianto - remembering a certain e-mail - slowly made the connection.
“Hang on - is he that Andrew?”
Jack shot him a swift glance, and Ianto saw laughter bubbling behind his eyes - as well as a warning not to give the game away.
“Indeed he is. Trystan, allow me to introduce Andrew Wells, who goes by the name ‘RomeWatcher’ on certain internet forums, where he tries to divulge secrets he shouldn’t.”
“It wasn’t like that!” Andrew protested. “I was... I was just trying to explain that your book isn’t all fabrication.”
“And how would you know that?” Jack purred dangerously, slowly stepping forward, and Andrew once more looked as if he was making ready to make a run for the door.
Then Jack abruptly turned to the servant.
“Rico? You never mentioned you had a boyfriend.”
Rico bit his lip, eyes darting back and forth between Jack and Andrew.
“Andrew asked me not to tell, he said... he was in your blackest books.”
“Damn straight he is,” Jack said, by now standing at the end of the table, and then reached out, laying a hand on Rico's shoulder, his face suddenly soft and gentle.
“But you’re one of mine, and I want to know how you’re getting on, OK? I’m always here for you, you know that.”
Rico smiled, and Jack patted him on the back. Then he turned to Andrew again, eyes hardening.
“Andrew. If you break my boy’s heart, I’ll train some hellhounds to rip you to pieces, understood?”
“How... how do you know about...” Andrew stuttered, but Jack was already turning away, opening the fridge and getting out a bottle of water which he tossed to Ianto.
“C’mon Tryst!” he said, sauntering out of the kitchen, and Ianto felt a sudden sharp loathing for his new nickname, which combined with the headache and the unwelcome reminder of all of Jack’s nastier traits made him turn to Andrew.
“Well I would like to thank you for trying to help me.”
Andrew blinked.
“Hey wait - you were the guy asking questions?”
Ianto nodded carefully (movement made his head feel like it was full of metal ball bearings) and took a sip of water.
“He’s not exactly an over sharer, so I wanted to get some info on my own. Sorry he’s taking it out on you.”
Jack had by now turned around, and was standing in the doorway, eyes narrowing.
“Don’t think he’s an innocent, Trystan, and this goes much further back.”
Andrew, possibly by virtue of having an accomplice and thus feeling on firmer ground, straightened up.
“You used me to get info behind Buffy’s back, and then threatened me so I wouldn't tell anyone!”
“What a surprise,” Ianto remarked, “but his bark is worse than his bite. I shouldn’t worry about it.”
At his words Jack’s face clouded over, and he stalked over to Ianto, with a look in his eyes that didn’t bode well.
“Please allow me to explain something: You really don’t know who The Immortal is, Mr Jones.”
His voice was smooth and dangerous, but Ianto didn’t flinch. The house and money was all very well, but there were limits to how much the clothes made the man.
“With all due respect, Sir, The Immortal is not the boss of me.”
He wasn’t entirely sure of the rules for the games they played here, but he wasn’t about to let Jack get away with just anything. What exactly could Jack do, after all? Jack was clearly pondering the same question.
“Tell me, Trystan, would you like a personal tour of the Room of Pain?”
By a huge effort Ianto managed not to smirk, but they both knew that Jack had overplayed his hand quite considerably.
“By all means, sir - I’m sure it’d be very... instructive,” he replied, and with satisfaction noticed Jack’s near-invisible intake of breath, and the way his eyes flickered. (Jack’s First Rule: If in trouble, turn the conversation into sex. Worked beautifully in reverse.)
For long seconds they just watched each other, and then Jack said, voice not quite even and mind clearly thoroughly preoccupied:
“You’re going to pay for this later!”
“Looking forward to it Sir,” Ianto responded, by now unable to stop a smile.
(Jack’s punishments were always exquisite. Four poster bed... so many possibilities.)
“Well we could start immediately...” Jack purred, and Ianto shook his head, then flinched against the abrupt pain.
“Headache, remember?”
“Well you know what the best thing for a headache is?” Jack asked with a wolfish smile.
“Aspirin,” Ianto said, then turned to the table.
“Nice meeting you Andrew, and all the best.”
Then he left in search of a good bed, and half wishing that he could have tied Jack up very thoroughly first, just to be assured some peace...
Apart from the unsettling experience of meeting Ilona, the holiday went well, and Ianto was appreciating the good things in life a great deal. And he understood what Buffy had meant... Everything did seem bright and magical.
It was now the evening of the fifth day, and Ianto was beginning to rue their time coming to an end. They were in the middle of dinner, the second course having just been brought in, and the vast difference between these formal meals and their usual habit of sub-par takeaways, eaten with one hand whilst leaning on a work station, was nearly enough to make him cry. Of course he then felt guilty thinking about Gwen, but even so...
(This place was dangerous. How did Jack resist getting lost in the fairy tale?)
The door opened, and Ianto looked up, wondering if it’d be yet another side dish, but only Vittore - the older, impeccable butler - appeared, empty handed, but making straight for Jack’s seat.
“Immortal? I am sorry to interrupt your meal, but there is a young American gentleman wishing to speak with you. We were hesitant to let him in, since he looks like he was in a fight, but he asked for sanctuary.”
Jack’s eyebrows rose.
“Sanctuary? Really? That’s not happened in... decades. Who is he?”
“He says his name is Donald Richardson. He...” a hesitation, and a ruffle of uncertainty in Vittore’s otherwise smooth exterior, “He claims to the the great-grandson of Venus.”
Rarely had Ianto seen such a complete change in Jack. The mild curiosity vanished, replaced by a look that Ianto couldn’t work out at all. Carefully laying down his utensils Jack stood up stiffly.
“Take me to him. I want to see who dares come to my house using that name!”
Curiosity winning out over qualms Ianto got up, and Jack either didn’t mind or didn’t notice. Walking through the house until they reached the hallway they found a young man - about Ianto’s age - waiting for them there. A large bruise was spreading across his cheek, and he was clutching his side, in a way that might indicate a broken rib - and Ianto winced in sympathy.
“Who are you?” Jack demanded coldly.
“You The Immortal?” the man asked, and Jack nodded.
“I am he. I want to know what you want.”
“I... Look I came here on holiday, thought I’d try to look up my family. But then when I find some of them, they attack me - I barely got away. So... I came here, cause I didn’t know where else to go. Was always told that you were the one who helped great grandma and great granddad get married...”
“You are talking about Venus,” Jack said, voice still clipped down to nothing. “Why would you do that?”
Ianto silently wondered what this was. Clearly ‘Venus’ was the name of a person, not the goddess, but...
“She’s my great-grandma,” Donald replied, and Jack shook his head.
“She died, along with all of her family, in the Dresden bombings. Trust me, I know.”
Donald shook his head.
“Not everyone. My granddad ran away from home when he was 16 - went to America against his mother’s wishes just before the war began. Great grandma refused - or couldn’t - contact him, and then - then everyone died. But he passed down what he knew of her - how she’d been practically royalty, and how you’d been her benefactor...”
Jack suddenly looked like he was going to burst into tears.
“Show me your other face,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, and after a tiny hesitation Donald’s face changed - the features stayed mostly the same, but his skin turned blue-purple and mottled, and instead of hair he had short ridges along the top of his head. Ianto was ridiculously grateful that he was used to aliens.
Jack held a hand to his mouth.
“Oh god.”
Then he carefully reached out, tilting the other’s head so it’d catch the light better, a gentle smile on his face and actual tears in his eyes.
“You have her eyes... and I remember the pattern by the ears, that could only...”
He abruptly wrapped the young man up in a hug.
“I thought I’d lost her, all of her, thank you, thank you...”
Donald whimpered in pain, and Jack pulled away.
“Wait. Who did this?”
“Um... I said I wanted to find my family...”
Jack’s eyes grew.
“The Diretto Clan? What the hell made you think that was a good idea?”
“My dad’s working on mapping out the family tree, and I thought-”
Jack watched him levelly.
“What exactly did you say?”
”I showed them this,” Donald said, pulling out a rather torn document from a pocket.
Jack looked it over, and shook his head.
“And it never occurred to you that-” He sighed. “Your great grandparents married in great secret. He was from a much lower Clan than she, and I had all kind of schemes going on, making sure they could meet without anyone knowing a thing. I’m surprised you got out alive. Especially considering that you’ve now got human blood in there too...”
He stood still for a moment, studying Donald in silence, darkness growing in his eyes.
“They know about you now. This is going to end in a bloodbath, for you and all of your family.”
Donald’s face turned pale blue. “But I didn’t... What do we do?”
“We stop it,” Jack answered, grimly.
His eyes moved onto Ianto, still coldly calculating.
“Go upstairs and find a tweed jacket and a tie. Hurry.”
Ianto opened his mouth, and then closed it again, and did as he was told.
He heard more orders - something about Vittore fetching his ring and someone else to bring the car round, and ‘will someone see that the kid gets some medical attention!’ - and a short while later found himself in a huge Bentley, being driven through the evening alongside a grim-faced Jack and a worried-looking Donald, the latter of whom was trying to apologise.
Jack shrugged it off.
“Don’t worry about it. You were just lucky that I was in town. Otherwise...”
His eyes flashed. “It’s been too long since I flexed my power. People are forgetting me. Time was, my name alone was enough to make people quake. Let’s see if we can remind them.”
(“He always wins”, Buffy was saying in Ianto’s memory...)
They arrived at a large, old, somewhat dilapidated building, which nonetheless still carried signs of its former glory. Jack strode out, not even looking behind him to check that the others were following.
There was a blue-skinned demon at the door, squeaking at the sight of them. Jack looked at him coolly.
“I’m The Immortal. Take me to your masters.”
The demon bowed and Jack followed it into the house, Ianto and Donald shooting each other worried glances. Donald leaned in.
“What the hell is he doing?”
Ianto shook his head. “Saving your life probably. Trust me, if anyone can do the impossible, it’s him.”
Donald nodded, but even so he paled as they reached the end of the dark corridor and tall doors were swung open, revealing a large hall, filled with demons, shouting and cheering.
“Donald, meet your family,” Jack remarked, then stepped forward. They were standing on a platform or stage, and a sudden hush spread as the demons realised they had visitors, everyone turning to look up at them.
Ianto tried not to panic too much as he took in the medieval decor of the walls, which were festooned with weapons of every kind and description. The makers of the ‘Saw’ movies could spend about a century here...
Then an elderly demon - who, judging by his elaborate outfit, was probably the leader - stood up, carefully bowing. “Immortal. To what do we owe this honour?”
“You have been attacking my property.”
There was an outburst of anger and denial, but Jack didn’t move a muscle.
“Is there anyone here who was present at the dinner in my honour in 1923?”
Two very old demons, faded and wrinkly, stood up. Jack briefly acknowledged their presence.
“Good. I trust that your memory hasn’t gone the way of your looks. I saved the life of your leader, Baldassare. As a token of his gratitude he gave me his youngest daughter, Venus. Is this correct?”
They both nodded vigorously.
“Thank you. Because there seems to have been a misunderstanding. This-”
Jack motioned for Donald to come forwards, “-is Venus’ great grandson. Whom you attacked!”
The room erupted again.
“He’s a bastard! A disgrace! He has human blood in his veins! He told us that Venus defiled herself with an Ano-Movic demon! This outrage will not be allowed to continue! All must be cleansed”
Jack’s brow furrowed, and he lifted his hand, the silence abrupt.
“Enough! Venus was mine, and I could do with her as I pleased. And it pleased me that she get married, so she could have a husband to look after her, in the way she was used to. But let there be no mistake - she was still mine. Her offspring was mine. This man, and all his family, is mine. And anyone who in any way tries to destroy my property will be dealt with swiftly and ruthlessly. I trust you have all heard of Baxter, the legendary demon hunter, the man who murdered Baldassare and many more of your people, and injured Venus herself? My revenge was immediate, and he begged for mercy before the end. He got none. Mark my words. I am The Immortal, I play by my own rules, and no one is my master. Anyone who lays so much as a finger on this man will suffer worse than Baxter’s fate. Am I making myself clear?”
There was a long silence, then the elder at the front bowed again.
“Your words are clear and understood.”
“Good.”
Jack nodded towards Ianto.
“This is Trystan Jones of the Watcher’s Council. The Council has noted this contract and will, in my absence, see that it is kept, since apparently memories run short here, now.”
The leader scrambled to assure Jack that they would of course be following his words with utmost care, and Jack with a curt nod acknowledged his words.
“Good. I shall bid you farewell.”
He turned and swept out of the room, Ianto and Donald following, shooting each other incredulous looks. What had just happened?
Once they were back in the car, Donald - shifting uneasily to find a way to sit that didn’t hurt to much - cleared his throat, discomfort clear on his face.
“Um. Can I ask... That thing about...”
“Oh,” Jack said, shaking his head. “That was just speaking the only language they understand. You owe me nothing, but if they think you belong to me, they’ll leave you alone. And I’d advise you to do likewise.”
Then he suddenly relaxed, a look of wonder once more on his face.
“I can’t believe you’re actually here,” he said softly. “Come back with us, have some dinner, and then... I’ll tell you everything you could ever want to know about your heritage.”
Jack was as good as his word. After continuing their interrupted meal - during which Ianto found himself in the somewhat incongruous position of hostess - Donald’s nerves finally settled down, and Jack went away, returning with a dusty box.
“Never thought anyone would ever need this. Only kept it for myself...”
The box turned out to contain a photo album, a large collection of water colours and a thick bundle of letters.
“We used to write to each other. She told me all about her life and sent me photos of the children, plus of course descriptions of her porcelain collection. Oh she loved beautiful things... That’s why she moved to Dresden in the first place.”
Donald was clearly as overwhelmed as anyone on ‘Who Do You Think You Are?’ had ever been, reverently looking through the contents of the box.
They ended up sitting up half the night, Jack telling Donald everything he could remember of his great grandmother, and in the end inviting him to stay overnight, considering how late it was and the fact that he had more spare rooms than he knew what to do with.
Sitting in the large four poster bed, watching Jack as he silently undressed, Ianto couldn’t help turning the evening’s events over and over in his head.
(“Please allow me to explain something. You really don’t know who The Immortal is, Mr Jones,” Jack’s voice echoed in his mind... Tonight he had seen this improbable statement more than proved true.)
Jack had walked into a lions den, slapped the lions around, made them apologise and then walked back out, as they locked the cage of their own accord behind him. If he hadn’t been there himself, Ianto would have thought it a complete fabrication.
“Sir?” he said, as Jack slipped under the covers. “Can I ask... tonight. How did you do that?”
A small smile and half a shrug.
“Grandstanding. Using my name as a weapon. If you’ve been around long enough, and have enough of a reputation, all you need is a name.”
“And that reputation?” Ianto continued, a little nervously. “Baxter was it? What did you do to him?”
“A fate worse than death,” Jack replied lightly, and Ianto’s eyes narrowed. For a moment he thought Jack wasn’t going to elaborate, but then a grim smile curled the edges of his mouth.
“Baxter is the reason I know that you can’t kill someone with retcon. He had more than a full dose. And I made sure he knew what I was doing.”
As Ianto took this on board, Jack continued, voice still light even though his eyes were hard as flint.
“Then I put him on a boat to South America. Ought to have checked up on him, I know, but... I honestly never cared enough.”
At the expression of Ianto’s face he shot him a droll look.
“Oh don’t look like that. He deserved what he got. And anyway, I never got round to complimenting you on the tweed jacket...”
Ianto stared at him, and it took a good few seconds before he managed to speak.
“Please don’t tell me that’s another one of your fetishes?”
Jack’s laughter was answer enough.
The next day they said goodbye to Donald, Jack insisting that he take the box with Venus’ letters.
“But I can’t- this is...” Donald protested, and Jack shook his head.
“This is your history. Go home, tell your family what you’ve learned, and pass it down. It’ll do much more good out there in the world than sitting in my attic.”
Slowly Donald nodded, carefully taking the box from Jack’s outstretched hands and grasping it tightly.
“I can’t tell you what this means to me. I was brought up on the stories, but you...”
“Pretty fantastic?” Jack filled in, and Donald swallowed.
“’Fantastic’ doesn’t begin to cover it. You’re... I don’t know how to explain it. What you’ve done for me - for my whole family... We will never forget it.”
Jack reached out and held him by the shoulders.
“You gave be back something I thought I’d lost forever - like I said, you owe me nothing. Your great grandma was an incredible person. Be proud!”
And then suddenly it was the last day.
A touching goodbye to the servants. The flight back, the mood more subdued, but also lighter. The first sight of the water tower. A double hug from Gwen which was just home. And then...
Screaming alarms and chaos and guns and fighting and moments of blind terror, followed by the silence of the dead.
(It was as if they’d never been gone, and yet Ianto felt like he was in a dream.)
Bodies to dispose of. Coffee. Feeding the weevils. Reports and filing and an attempt to reorganise the mess.
In Rome... In Rome the servants would by now be laying the table, evening sunlight filtering through the windows and colouring everything golden. Looking at the CCTV feed Ianto could tell that it had started raining above ground. The disorientation was so profound that for a long moment he could only stare at it.
He was brought out of his stasis by Gwen touching his hand.
“Missing the sun?” she asked, and he sighed.
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
Letting herself fall down on the sofa behind them, she patted the wellworn fabric.
“C’mon, sit down and tell me all about it. The mess will still be there tomorrow, but I need some holiday stories now!”
Ianto looked up to see Jack watching them from across the Hub, a finger held across his lips as he winked. And suddenly something shifted in his mind. He didn’t know what this thing they had was called, had no clue where they were heading. But he knew what he was now, what he meant to Jack: Someone to help him carry his secrets.
Smiling he sat down and turned to Gwen, ready to tell her everything he could and lie through his teeth about the rest.
Business as usual, really.
A week later.
“Ianto - did you study the Watcher’s Council like I asked?”
Ianto kept his eyes fixed on his screen.
“Yes sir.”
Jack, blithely ignoring the sigh in his voice, happily continued.
“Excellent. Do you think you can hack into their system?”
Deciding that eye contact couldn’t be avoided any longer, Ianto looked up from his work station and studied Jack for a long moment.
“Now you’re just being insulting.”
Jack grinned, and Ianto did his best not to be disconcerted by the darkness in his eyes, a darkness he now labelled as ‘The Immortal is on the war path!’
“Book me in to see Mr Rupert Giles next week. There is... some unfinished business I need to attend to.”
“Very well Sir,” Ianto replied, and began typing.
The downside of being the confidant: Extra work, and plenty of it. Good thing the perks were off the scale.
TBC.
(Post also available on LJ)