Title: Life is a Cabaret
Fandom: Torchwood (duh) not quite crossover with Cabaret
Pairings: Jack/Ianto, Gwen/Jack, implied any combo of Ianto/Mary/Tosh/John/Owen/Carys/Gwen/Rhys/Lisa/Martha/OCs, Ianto/everybody
Warnings: sex and violence and a mention of incest
Summary: AU. Jack Harkness is an American writer searching for inspiration in Berlin, Germany in 1931. Along the way, he stumbles upon the Kit Kat Klub and is immediately entranced by the Master of Ceremonies. But as the Nazi threat grows stringer each day, everybody begins to feel the pressure, even Jack.
Life is a CabaretBerlin, Germany. Jack Harkness let out a huge breath, a sigh if relief, as he stepped off the stopped train, a suitcase in one hand and a typewriter in the other. Jack was an author and, after he missed his last deadline, his publisher told him to go on vacation to recover his muse. Why Germany? The cabarets were legendary.
*
It boasted the title of Kit Kat Klub in bold fluorescent letters, the German printed slightly small below the burning English, and French just below that.
Hitching his suitcase, Jack entered. It was fairly small, a stage against one wall and the rest filled with wobbly tables and scattered chairs. The air had a haze of smoke from the multiple cigarettes being burned into ashes.
It was dimly lit and the crowds of people sitting at the tables were merely shadows, watching the Master of Ceremonies prance about the stage clad in only tight black trousers with braces over his bare chest and a bowtie about his throat.
Wilkommen, Bienvienue, Welcome!
Fremde, Entrange, Stranger
Glukleich jusein, jesuis enchante
Happy to see you
Bliebe, reste, stay
*
Jack actually knew all about this particular place; its reputation for being a little more than risqué had preceded it. It turned out that something had been lost in translation, so "risqué" really meant "unconventional". Jack could see this as the Emcee introduced his dancers. There were two Negro women among the Girls as one who Jack felt looked suspiciously like a Jap, despite the exuberant, overdone makeup.
*
He had overheard during intermission that the Emcee, who was also the owner, of the Kit Kat Klub offered rooms to let on the upper stories where the performers were housed. At the end of the show, he snuck carefully through the door backstage. He found the half-clothed Kit Kat Girls and Boys, ten of them in total, plus the small orchestra that had been placed on stage, were milling about and chattering in predominantly British accents.
The main performer, a woman the Emcee had introduced as the "toast of Mayfair", Fraulein Gwen something-or-other, sidled up to him.
'Hey, handsome,' she purred (Welsh, the Emcee had said she was), 'You look lost. Need a little help?'
Jack swallowed and shied away from her hand, which wandered towards his shirt buttons.
'I'm looking for the Emcee,' he said, noting that he face fell slightly, 'I need a room for a few weeks.'
Her face brightened again at Jack's second statement and she smiled coyly.
'You can share with me and only pay half the rent. It's fifty marks, you know, and I can make it worth your while.'
'No thanks,' Jack stuttered, backing up.
He collided into something solid that let out an annoyed huff.
'Watch where you're going!' said a new Welsh-accented voice.
'Sorry,' Jack said hurriedly, turning.
It was the Emcee.
'You're not German,' Jack stated, confused.
'Neither are you,' quipped the other man, 'Now, what're you doing back here?'
'Oh,' Jack said, stumbling over his words, 'I need to rent a room for a few weeks.'
The Emcee's expression changed from annoyance to apprehension to an almost hungry look. His eyes raked slowly down Jack's body.
'Alright,' he said finally, a slight smirk on his lips, 'The name's Jones, Ianto Jones.'
'Jack Harkness.'
'Welcome, Jack,' Ianto began to walk away, 'Oh, and Jack? You'll be rooming with me.'
'You best watch yourself,' came a British voice beside him.
'Are you all Brits?' Jack asked in exasperation.
'Just about,' the man answered with a grin.
'Except for Bobby and Viktor,' added the Jap woman, suddenly appearing at his other side, 'they're German through and through.'
Jack glanced over towards the twin Kit Kat Boys who were currently wrapped in an obviously intimate embrace.
'Um.'
Sensing Jack's curiosity, the man grinned, 'You get used to it. As Ianto said, at this cabaret we have no troubles and here, life in beautiful.'
*
The Jap's name was Tosh, he found out, and since she was actually only half Jap, Jack decided that he liked her well enough. The man was John and he was, Jack had to admit, fairly attractive. The other Kit Kat Boys consisted of Owen and Rhys. Owen was sarcastic and his biting comments were often a source of amusement. Rhys, on the other hand, was such a sweet kid and little younger than the others.
Aside from Tosh, the Kit Kat Girls consisted of Mary, Carys, and two Negro women names Lisa and Martha.
This left Gwen. She was, Jack noticed, used to being the centre of attention. It wasn't a big surprise that she was this way, simply because of how Ianto treated her. He showered her with praise and gifts. Jack's first question was if they were sleeping together. He received laughter in response.
'If they ever were, they aren't now,' said Viktor (or was it Bobby?)
'I suspected that they might have been,' Lisa added.
Seeing Jack's confusion, she continued.
'I was his latest, but I always thought that he was going to her behind my back.'
'And that didn't bother you?' Jack asked.
Lisa shrugged.
'You'll learn soon enough what life here is like,' Bobby (or was it Viktor?) chimed in, 'Just watch the final song tonight and you'll understand.'
*
Jack understood. The song was titled "Two Ladies" and included Ianto singing about being the only man in a threesome when flanked by Carys and Owen in drag.
The night after "Two Ladies" performed, Jack first joined Ianto in his bed.
*
The sex was amazing, Jack had to admit, but he had difficulty investing his entire self into it. Jack knew he shouldn't worry about it too much (This wasn't the kind of relationship for emotional connection. It was to be pure sexual energy and feeling good and not caring when Ianto went to John or Tosh or Owen for fulfillment while Jack made his living teaching English to Germans.)
Yet, something in the way Ianto acted and the things he did and the way he made Jack just feel that made it very difficult for the American not to begin to fall. But Jack was, and the thought of it scared him.
*
As weeks turned into months and Jack settled into life at the Kit Kat Klub, a growing power was threatening life as they knew it.
Men in uniform with swastikas on their forearms began to frequent the Klub, blatantly glaring at Tosh and Mary's affectionate nature and Viktor and Bobby's obvious incestuous behaviour.
Ianto grew nervous (he told Jack so) but refused to reduce the raunchiness of the performances, refused to fire the Negroes and Jap who worked for him.
*
Ianto was acting strange, different, distant. It wasn't because of the Nazi's, this Jack knew, and so he, in turn, became worried, not only for Ianto, but for himself as well.
He wasn't falling in love. He wasn't, he wasn't, he wasn't.
He was.
*
He didn't want to hurt Ianto, truly he didn't. But was it really his fault that somebody filled him with alcohol, which made his vision blurry and his inhibitions all but disappear. He only did it to try to prove to himself that he wasn't falling in love. A fruitless effort.
Ianto walked in half way through the act, when Gwen was writhing above him with an intense pleasure it seemed only she was feeling.
But Ianto didn't see Jack's dawning realization, he saw only the sex.
If Jack was any other person, then when Gwen's glib 'care to join us?' floated into the sweat-sticky air, Ianto would have grinned and pounced. But Jack wasn't any other person.
Gwen looked at her boss in confusion as his eyes watered slightly and he abruptly turned and ran.
*
Jack returned form his lessons late the next day, while the show was already running. He walked in just as Ianto, a Nazi-made bruise on his cheek just barely concealed with makeup, was to sing his obligatory solo number.
The Welshman's eyes met Jack's as a sad tune filled the Kit Kat Klub, and the American knew that Ianto spoke directly to him.
I don't care muchGo or stay
Blue eyes bore into his, full of betrayal and sorrow.
I don't care very muchEither way
Jack's heart sank as he saw the coldness fill Ianto's expression, a wisp of his Welsh accent slipping through the well-crafted German one.
Hearts grow hardOn a windy street
Lips grow cold
With the rent to meet
So if you kiss me
If we touch
Warning's fair
I don't care
Very much
But Jack could see that he did care, he cared a lot.
*
It was destined to end at some point, and after the second brick was thrown through the window, Jack decided that it was time.
The station was full of people running to catch their trains, picking up friends, chattering loudly in German, French, Russian.
Jack handed his ticket and passport to the conductor.
'We hope you enjoyed you stay, Mr. Harkness,' the conductor said in his thick accent, handing the items back, 'And that you will return soon.'
'That's unlikely,' Jack replied softly.
'You did not find our county beautiful?'
'Yes,' Jack said, climbing aboard, 'Beautiful.'
He moved to the centre of the car and sat, removing a small notebook and pencil.
' "There was a cabaret",' Jack murmured as he write, ' "And there was a Master of Ceremonies, in a city caked Berlin, in a country called Germany. And I was dancing with Ianto Jones and we were both fast asleep".'
Jack closed his notebook with a sigh, staring wistfully out the window as the train began to move. Unconsciously, he began to sing quietly.
Wilkommen, Bienvienue, Welcome!
Fremde, Entrange, Stranger
Glukleich jusein, jesuis enchante
Happy to see you
Bliebe, reste, stay
Ianto Jones looked out at his audience. It was all soldiers.
'Where are your troubles now? Forgotten?' he queried them, 'I told you so. In here, life is beautiful. The girls are beautiful. Even the orchestra is beautiful.'
Two soldiers jumped upon the stage, launching themselves at him, knocking him down, splitting his lip, tearing his clothes.
He was alone in the barren stage, body covered in Nazi-made wounds, staining his skin red and blue and black. His voice was but a whisper.
'Auf weiderzein. Abien toug.'
Back on the train, Jack Harkness was crossing Germany's boarder, his own whisper broken with sorrow.
'Goodbye.'