Prompt: "Shaun of the Dead"
Characters/Pairings: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones, John Hart, Gwen Cooper/Rhys Williams, Toshiko Sato; guest starring Owen Harper, Estelle Cole, Bilis Manger, The Doctor (implied Gwen-Ianto and bromantic Jack/John Hart); cameos by certain Doctor Who characters
Warnings: violence, some gore, everything to do with zombie invasions
Spoilers: general S1-S2 characters, Shaun of the Dead movie
Disclaimer: Neither Torchwood or Shaun of the Dead belong to me.
Author's Notes: Bless my beta, teaboytoaliens, and her cow for all eternity. SotD is my favorite zombie movie of all time, so I hope this does it justice.
The bell rings and echoes through the pub.
"Jack, do you understand what I mean?"
"Oh yeah," Jack Harkness replies. "Totally."
"I know he's your… best friend," Ianto Jones, his… boyfriend sighs, as if just the thought of Jack's best friend exhausts him. Knowing Ianto and well, John Hart, Jack can understand why. "But you do live with him."
At that, Jack shifts in his seat. "Well, technically, Owen's my only official housemate—" A look from Ianto makes him backtrack. "But yeah, I know. It's only temporary though, John's just looking for a place."
Jack sees Ianto's lips press into a thin line and is momentarily distracted by memories of where those lips have been wrapped around before. He doesn't show any outward reaction, but his dick is starting to stir from the images and by god, has it been that long?
His lover presses on. "It's not that I don't like…" At this Ianto pauses and a telling tic tells Jack how much Ianto actually likes John. Jack kind of does the same when talking about his step father. "It's not that I don't tolerate John." Almost as an afterthought, Ianto repeats the sentiment to his aforementioned friend. John replies with a distracted 'uh huh' as he plays with the game machine.
"It's fine," Jack just says. His eyes trail Ianto's hand running up and down his drink bottle, and Jack remembers it's been a week since they last shagged and it really has been so long ago.
"It'd just be nice if we could—"
"Fuck," John echoes from the side. Jack can't help but feel the same way.
"Spend a bit more time together," the younger man continues before taking a long drink from his beer bottle. Jack twitches at the sight. "Just the two of us."
"Damn." From the corner of his eye, Jack sees his friend hit the machine. "Cock it!"
"With John here, it's no wonder I always bring my flatmates out." This reminds Jack of the three on the table beside them, listening in on their conversation. They're bad at pretending they aren't. "And that only exacerbates things."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you guys aren't exactly friends, are you?"
"No, I meant what does 'exacerbate' mean?"
"It means to make things worse."
"Right, okay."
Which isn't really true, Jack thinks, but it's not a complete lie either. Sure, Rhys is a nice bloke, but he doesn't seem to approve of Jack, and Jack's not too fond of him either. And Gwen, while a sweetheart, has kind of made it a habit in alternating between ogling him and glaring at him with those cow-eyes of hers. Jack likes the attention just as much as the next man, but lately it's gotten undiscerning. Tosh though, Jack adores Tosh. He doesn't say any of this though. "Well, it's not like I don't like them, you know." He looks over to his left and says, "Guys, it's not that I don't like you. I do!" And gives them a winning smile when they wave it off.
That only makes Ianto frown deeper.
So Jack turns his attention back to Ianto and holds his hand. "And I do want to spend time with you," Jack says, sincerely. He strokes his lover's hand with his thumb and inwardly cheers when the action brings a hint of a smile to his gorgeous Welshman's face. "I really do. But John doesn't have too many friends, and he just got back from rehab, so he needs someone to look after him."
"Sorry to interrupt the heart-to-heart lovefest." John strolls over to them and leans on their table. "But any of you cunts want a drink?"
Ianto's glare is pure poison, Jack fondly observes. And either John doesn't even notice, or he doesn't care.
"Anybody? No?"
"No," Ianto smiles at John blandly. "Thank you for the offer though."
In response, John returns the smile with a leer. "Anything for you, Eye Candy." The hand Jack holds tightens its grip on his own hand.
They would have such fabulous hate sex, he thinks. A part of Jack is dismayed that it would likely never, ever happen, but a larger part is relieved that it wouldn't.
John looks over to Gwen, Rhys, and Tosh, eyebrows asking and shrugs when they reply a negative.
"I know," Rhys starts when John has walked away, "friends are important to Jack. But you gotta set some quality time for yourselves."
Gwen jumps in her seat a little and beams. "Yeah! Rhys is always taking me around Cardiff or even out of town. Sometimes Tosh joins us, too! And well, I'm always dragging him to the theatre and stuff." She finishes with a sheepish grin and an affectionate pat on Rhys' arm.
"I dated a theatre guy once," Jack muses. "Once we snuck in his show's set after hours and we—"
"Jack."
"Right, no theatres then."
"How about a meal?" Tosh suggests.
Gwen nods in agreement. "It's your anniversary soon, isn't it? You could go to the Italian place near the Bay! Rhys took me there for ours and everything was gorgeous."
Rhys nudges his girlfriend uneasily and mutters, "Their anniversary was last week."
"Oh," Tosh looks at Jack and he can't help but feel like he's being judged. "Did you… did you do anything special?"
There is a pause, and Ianto quietly sighs. "We came here."
Now Tosh is definitely looking at him with disapproval and disappointment. Rhys is glowering, too, and Gwen frowns at Jack. There is an uneasy silence between them.
Well, fuck.
"Jack!" John shouts from a couple of feet away. "Hog Lumps!" And proceeds to throw the packet at Jack's face. Though a little irritated at the unnecessary action, Jack opens the pack and snacks on the pork rinds anyways.
"Jack," Ianto says after a few more moments of silence. "What I'm trying to say is, I need something more - more than spending every night in the Hub. I didn't want or even expected much when we decided to give this relationship a go, but if there's one thing I want right now, is you to want to want to do it, too."
The piece Jack bites crunches loudly and he cringes.
Ianto apparently wasn't expecting a proper reply, and Jack can't help but feel offended by that. Then again, with how great he's been in this conversation, Jack might as well concede Ianto's exasperation justified. Jack was never good at actual relationship talks. "Listen to me, I'm beginning to sound like your mam. Not that I'd even know what she sounds like." Ianto sighs.
Gwen turns her attention back to them. "You still haven't met his mum?!" she exclaims, wide-eyed.
"Not yet," Jack says defensively. "I am going to introduce them soon, though!"
"Don't you get along with your mum, Jack?" Tosh hesitantly asks.
"It's not her I don't get along with…" Rather, it was her husband. His stepdad, that is.
Rhys frowns at him. "Are you ashamed by your mum?" Funny that it was him who asked that, considering the horror stories Gwen has recalled to everyone about his mum.
"No!" Jack exclaims. "I love my mom. My mom's great!"
It was then John decides to cut in, "I love his mum." He grins and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. John hums cheerily as he walks away again.
"John!"
"Jack," Ianto, Gwen, Rhys, and Tosh all say roughly at the same time. Ianto is starting to look tense, and Jack is beginning to feel guilty. Wasn't he the one who asked Ianto to take a step up in their relationship from just fucking to actually dating? Now Ianto the one trying to keep their relationship from falling apart and making it work.
"Look, Ianto, I understand what you're trying to say and I agree." Jack smiles at him. "We should get out there. Tomorrow. We'll start tomorrow, yeah?" Seeing Ianto starting to ease up, he continues. "I'll book a restaurant, the Italian place Gwen's talking about. Just the two of us."
He takes Ianto's hand firmly and presses his lips to its knuckles. "Things will change, I promise."
That hint of smile is starting to crawl back into Ianto's face and Jack feels accomplished. "Really, Jack?" he says, a bit wariness in his tone, but overall hopeful.
Jack grins back. "Really."
The bell rings again, and Alex Hopkins the pub owner calls out, "Time, gentlemen!"
Jack groans awake and staggers downstairs to the living room. He hears before sees John on the couch, playing with the Playstation. He grabs the second controller and makes himself comfortable beside his friend.
"Player two has entered the game," an electronic voice says from the telly. Jack absently notes all the rubbish on the coffee table and floor. Owen may not be the neatest man around, but even he'd have something to say about all the trash his friend had left, if only because he hated John.
"Haven't you got work?" John nonchalantly says.
Jack curses and moves to get up.
"Player two has left the game."
Less than half an hour later, he's pissed, washed, brushed his teeth, and dressed in his uniform for work – crisp baby blue shirt and no tie. In actuality, his work uniform comprises of a white shirt and red tie, but Jack doesn't like it much; he looks so much better in blue. He'll leave the color red for Ianto, who is ravishing in it. Jack's looking at his clashing red name-tag with the bathroom cabinet mirror and fixing it when he feels an unhappy glare being directed at the back of his head. Shutting the cabinet and changing the mirror's angle reveals a very disgruntled Owen behind him.
"Hey, Owen—!"
"The front door was open again last night." Owen scowls. It never ceases to amaze Jack he's a doctor with that attitude.
Five minutes later, they're standing in the kitchen eating breakfast. Jack takes a bite of his toast.
"I'm not saying it was you," Owen continues.
Jack swallows his food. "I know—"
"I'm saying it was Hart."
"Right." He sighs.
Owen takes a large gulp of coffee and scowls. "I can't bloody live like this." Jack knows he's talking about the bin liners full of trash at the corner of their kitchen.
All John's trash.
"Look at the state of it!" Owen gestures with his hand. "Bloody pig-sty, our house is turning into. We're not students anymore. Actually, even in college, I was neater than this – and that's saying something!"
Conversations like this are becoming more frequent lately. Jack can't blame Owen, but he does need to try to defend his friend. "Owen…"
"He brings no money into the house."
"He brings a bit."
"What?" Owen rolls his eyes. "Dealing drugs? Didn't he just get back from rehab?"
"For using," counters Jack. "Didn't say anything about selling. Come on, you've sold some."
"Yeah," Owen deadpans. "Once. At college. To you."
Jack sighs. "Well, I can't just kick him out. I've known him since primary school. And I like having him around, he's funny. Most of the time."
"Because he has the same brand of bloody ridiculous and juvenile humor as you do?" The shorter man snorts and drinks his coffee. "Fuck-a-doodle-doo."
'Well, yeah,' Jack thinks and cringes.
"Alright, I admit, he can be pretty funny on occasion," Owen says and a grin starts to form on his face. "Like that one time we stayed up all night drinking apple schnapps and playing Tekken 2."
Jack perks up and laughs at the memory. "Oh yeah," He chuckles. "When was that again?"
The Owen's grin immediately disappears as he straight-up says, "Five years ago. Jack, he's got to go."
"Hey, John, listen…" Jack starts as he watches John play one of his first-player shooting games. "Top left."
John directs his character to shoot the enemy on the left and grumbles, "I know, I know."
"Right, I was gonna say—Reload."
"I was going to."
"So, I think it's time, nice shot!"
"Thanks." John grins and Jack returns it, until he remembers what he's supposed to be talking to his friend about. He's about to speak again when John's phone lets out his god awful, annoying ringtone. "One sec," John says as he pauses his game and well, now Jack's getting a little irritated himself. He dislikes being brushed off and ignored.
And Owen is putting on his jacket, glaring at them by the doorway.
When John is done talking with one of his, well, clients, Owen stomps over. John ignores him and continues with the game.
It's too early for this oncoming headache.
"Oi, Hart," Owen growls. "Since you're not even working at the moment, mind if you actually clean up a bit?"
"Uh huh." John absently nods.
"And if you play the answering machine, can you take down everyone's messages? Some of us do get important ones, after all. Shouldn't be too taxing for you, writing words on a scrap of paper?"
"Sure."
"Right."
Owen's mobile rings and he answers it. "Yeah, yeah, I'm heading over now," Owen grumbles before turning to leave the house. That was when Jack sees what's taped to the back of Owen's jacket.
'I AM A TWAT.'
Jack tries to hide a grin and fails and when Owen's gone, lets out a snort of laughter. "John…" He barely manages to sound scolding.
"Come on," John rolls his eyes. "It was pretty funny."
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Will you do what he said, at least?"
"I ain't doing shit for him."
"For me, then," Jack says, standing up to leave for work.
There is a pause before John solemnly replies, "I'm sorry, Jack."
"It's alright…" Jack stops and frowns, a bit confused on what John's sorry about this time.
"No, no." His friend's face is serious as he gazes right at Jack's eyes. "I'm sorry, Jack."
That was when he smelled it. "Oh god, that's disgusting!" But even as he's trying not to breathe in the stink, he's still grinning.
John triumphantly smirks back. "I'll stop doing them when you stop laughing."
"I'm not laughing!"
The phone rings just as he's putting on his leather jacket, and John calls out to him, "Get that, will you?"
Jack snorts and calls back, "You get it!" Besides, he's going to run late for work if he stalls any longer, unless he cuts the visit to the shop – which isn't going to happen, because he does need some coffee. He leaves, but if he had stayed a minute longer he would've heard Ianto's voice leaving a message for him.
"Hello, Jack, it's me. I'm going to be a bit tied up today, so when you book the table can you make it for eight rather than seven? I'll try you at work. Bye." End message beep.
Jack barely dodges the football from hitting him. "Hey!" he says to the kid. "Watch it." The kid just rolls his eyes in return.
He waves at Owen, who's sitting in his blue car talking to someone on the phone. Gives change to the usual homeless guy with the dog. Stops a car from running him over with his dazzling good looks. Stumbles over the curb near a man washing his car window. Passes by a woman leaving her house and a jogger. Tries to ignore an old man's staring. Then he enters his trusty corner shop, heading straight for their canned coffees.
The newspaper headlines catches his eye. "Mutilated remains?" Jack raises an eyebrow at that. "GM crops blamed, Mystery virus claims more lives, Havoc… Really?" he scoffs. Still…
The shop owner startles him out of his musings and he quickly pays before leaving.
Jack hates the bus and all other public transportation. But since John had crashed his car a few days back, he has to bear with it while it was in the mechanic's. From out the window, he sees a woman passing out, nearby people rushing to help her and Jack can't help but feel uneasy about something.
All too soon, he's at work, gathering his employees for a daily pep-talk. "Come on, people! Gather around or whatever," he says and waits for them to assemble. "Okay, since the two head ladies, Ms. Holroyd and Ms. Guppy, are both out with that bug everyone and their mother is getting nowadays ("Yeah, right," one of the teenage employees mumbles, as if nobody knew just exactly how close the two women are and what exactly they'd be doing in bed instead), I'm in charge as the—"
"Oldest," the front-most employee of the crowd, Adam, grins to his friend on the left.
"Senior staff member." Jack gives the guy a very unimpressed look. "So, if we can all not give the ladies a reason to reduce ourpaychecks…"
The sound of a mobile ringing interrupts him. Adam doesn't even hesitate to answer it, despite the fact that Jack was right there and talking to them, dammit. When he finishes the thankfully short conversation with his mate, the kid smirks and nods at Jack. "Continue."
"Thanks," Jack says blandly. "Okay, as the lovely Miss Guppy always says, 'Fucking sell something, or find yourself another bloody job.'" He pauses. "Something like that…. Or was it 'If it's quality electronics, it's Torchwood's.'"
The employees look at him blankly, and then start lazily to disperse. Adam has his phone out again, his mobile's keys sounding a tone with each press as he texted.
"Phones off." Jack frowns at Adam. "It's not a social gathering."
Adam snorts in reply and mutters loud enough for Jack to hear, "All right, grandpa, keep your hair on."
"Hey! I'm twenty-nine, for Christ's sakes," he indignantly exclaims. Jack's too close to thirty for comfort and though he wouldn't admit it, his age always makes him testy and self-conscious, especially since Ianto looks (and is) a good deal younger than him. "How old are you, twenty, twenty-one?"
"Seventeen." Adam raises his eyebrows at him. And before Jack could let out another reply, Adam gestures to his shirt. "By the way, you got red on you."
Jack looks down at his shirt and sees the red pen's ink bleeding through the fabric of his shirt pocket. He curses.
Jack's showing off one of the more basic televisions to a young couple when Adam interrupts him again. (For some reason, it had more news on than it usually did.)
"I'm with customers," he tells the kid with a stern frown, but as always, Adam is unmoved.
"It's your dad." Adam gestures to a figure that had his back turned. Jack can recognize the man anywhere.
As if the day couldn't get any worse.
"He's not my dad," he tells his customers. "He's my stepdad." And reluctantly makes his way over to the old man.
"Bilis."
His stepdad turns and nods to Jack coolly. "Jack. You haven't forgotten about tomorrow?"
"No," Jack sighs. "Of course not."
"Your bi-monthly visit," Bilis says as he sweeps his eyes around the store. "You could bring the flowers you forgot on Mother's Day."
"I was gonna." He probably sounds a little defensive. But it wasn't his fault the flowers he got his mother got ruined and he hadn't had time to get another bouquet. It was John's fault. It was all John.
Bilis nods. "Well, we look forward to seeing you tomorrow."
"Okay." Jack forces a grin on his face as Bilis starts to walk away.
"By the way," Bilis pauses. "You've got red on you."
He watches his stepfather exit the store with a scowl, absent-mindedly noticing a number of military trucks driving past. Trust Adam to interrupt him. Again.
"I thought it wasn't a social gathering?"
"What?"
"How come you're allowed to speak to your dad?" Adam quirks an eyebrow and gives a condescending smirk, the little brat.
"A," Jack says, "he's not my dad, okay? He's my stepdad. And B, it was an emergency."
Adam snorts. "What, like buying your mum some flowers?"
"Adam." There's definitely a warning tone in Jack's voice now. "I don't find it hard to keep my world and social life separate."
"Jack!" Mike, another employee, calls out. "It's Ianto for you."
Jack glares at Adam one more time with a caution not to say a word and grabs the phone from Mike's hand. "Hey," he greets.
"Hello, it's me."
"Ianto." He lets the grin seep through his voice. "Hello, you."
There's a fond exasperated sigh on the other line and the sound of it only makes Jack's grin wider. "Stop it," Ianto says scolding. "You're at work. Anyway, did you get my message?"
"Yep," Jack makes a note to himself to check what exactly that message is when he gets home.
"So it's all alright, then?" Meanwhile, the Welsh tilt of Ianto's words are really getting to him. "Eight at the Italian place by the Bay?"
Right, he'll have to remember that. "Yep."
"Great, just ring me later, then. I've got to go, bye, Jack."
"Bye bye, darling," Jack says teasingly and is a little triumphant when he hears a soft and amused snort at the other end before Ianto hangs up.
When Jack puts down the phone, Adam is looking at him with a smirk. "Darling?" He echoes Jack.
"Ianto from Head Office." Jack grins, all teeth. Really, just hearing Ianto has made up for the shitty morning he's had so far. "Nothing to be worried about."
Some bloke in a suit and coat is running real fast, Jack notes as he looks out the window of the flower shop.
"Sir." The shopkeeper snaps him out of his daze.
"Sorry." Jack has a sheepish yet charming smile on his face. "They're for my mom."
The shopkeeper blushes at him and nods. "Mum, then. 'To a wonderful Mum' or 'Supermum'?"
"First one."
"Right."
While she sets to get the bouquet ready, Jack looks out the window. And sees an old man on the other side of the street, looking drunk and swatting around the pigeons before finally getting a hold of one.
Then starts to bring it to his mouth.
Jack makes an incredulous noise at the back of his throat, morbidly wishing he could see if the man was going to actually eatthe bird, but buses drive by and block his view. By the time the second bus had passed, the old man's gone.
Half his bus is sick, Jack realizes with a grimace. People are coughing every other second and the lady beside him looks half-dead. He is more than relieved when the bus stops at his usual corner and gets off immediately, flowers clutched in his hand – which is probably a good decision, considering the traffic ahead of them, cars honking and frustrated drivers shouting at whatever's holding them up. He's strolling down the sidewalk when suddenly, hands grab him by the shoulders and he's looking right at the face of a very familiar man – shaggy brown hair, blue pinstripe suit on his skinny frame, well-worn Converse trainers, and all.
"Oh my god," John 'The Doctor' Smith beams brightly at him and Jack returns the grin just as enthusiastically. "Jack!"
"Doctor!" They share a friendly hug and a pat on each other's back before pulling away. It has been a while since they last saw each other, after all.
"How are you doing?" The Doctor asks, genuinely curious as always.
Jack shrugs. "Surviving." The sound of an ambulance fills the air and they raised their voices just to make sure they heard each other. "You? And how's Rose?"
"Oh, I'm brilliant! Rose is too, of course." His friend cheers. "You live around here, then?"
"Yeah, I bought a place with a friend."
The Doctor laughs heartily and gives Jack another pat on the shoulder. "Bought, eh? Growing up now, are you, Jack!"
"Please," Jack snorts jokingly. "I'm still young where it counts."
"You still with…" The Doctor hums, trying to remember the name, but eventually gives up and waves his hand as if saying, 'you know.'
"Ianto," he reminds his long time friend. "And yeah, we are."
John's beam is back. "Good, good! Glad somebody made it. Too many relationships nowadays are off their rocker, they are. How long's that now?"
"Uh, three years as of last week." Inwardly, he winces, remembering how 'happy' Ianto was on how they celebrated that day. "We're going out for a meal tonight, actually."
"Oh, great! Anywhere nice?" It was an innocent question, and Jack knew how the Doctor liked to show his friends around anywhere he thought was nice, so he was probably seeing if he could take Rose or Martha or Donna or whoever if Jack thought it was good enough. But something was tickling him at the back of his mind, something important—
"Yeah…."
And then it clicked.
The reservations.
Oh, shit.
Normally, it takes Jack ten to fifteen minutes to walk from the bus stop to his house.
Today, he makes it in four.
He doesn't waste time putting the flowers in the sink, thankful that the bouquet is still in one piece considering the sprint he had to do. Quickly going through the phone book, he crows in triumph when he finds the restaurant's number in less than a minute and dials it immediately.
It is a life or death situation, really.
"Come on, come on," Jack grits his teeth as the restaurant refuses to fucking pick up the phone.
"Are you gonna thank me then, sweetheart?" John's mocking voice echoes from the living room.
"For what?" 'Now really isn't the time, John,'Jack thinks.
John lets out a sigh. "Tidying up, you dick."
"It doesn't look tidy."
"I had a few beers when I finished."
The ringing stops, and somebody finally answers the phone. "Hello, Angelo's. Can you hold, please?"
Jack barely stops himself from letting out a frustrated scream. Barely.
"You had messages, by the way," John says even as he's absorbed in his game. "Your mum rang about tomorrow night, then Eye Candy ("Stop calling him that, John.") rang about the two of you eating out tonight. Then your mum rang back to see if I wanted to eat her out tonight."
"Okay, I know you're lying about that last one—"
"Hello, Angelo's."
"Hi!" Jack jumps to attention. "Look, I know it's short notice, but could you possibly do me a table for two for tonight at about eight?" He prays and prays that some god will take mercy on him because god, Ianto is going to kill him if they don't-
"Sorry, we just gave away the last table." The bloody man hardly sounds apologetic, and Jack lets out a few colorful words before actually biting the phone in aggravation. The man hangs up right away.
"Okay," John says. "The last one about your mum wasn't true."
Jack ignores him though, more concentrated on racking his brain for an idea. "What am I gonna do? Where are we gonna go?" He groans.
"The Hub." His best friend shrugs.
"Don't be stupid! They don't do food."
"There's a Breville out back. Maybe they'll do you a toastie."
"John, this is serious!"
As if on cue, the phone rings and with a muttered prayer ('Please don't be Ianto, please') Jack answers it after the first ring. "Hello."
"Hello, it's me." Ianto.
Fuck. Fuckity, fuckity, fuck.
"Ianto! I was just thinking about you!" he exclaims, trying to see if he can build somethingto fall back on.
"I'm sure you were." Jack could practically feel Ianto's eye roll from the other side. "So, what's the plan, then?"
Well. So much for that something.
"Uh, there's been a bit of a mix-up with the table…" he starts cautiously.
"What do you mean?"
Jack sighs. "They're full up."
"Jack… But I thought you said it was all okay."
"Yeah…"
There's an uncomfortable pause. When Ianto finally speaks, he sounds resigned. "You didn't book it, did you, Jack?"
Jack winces at the tone; he hated disappointing his lover. But lying at this point is just going to dig him a deeper hole, he knows that. So he quietly admits, "No."
"So," Ianto's voice is carefully blank. "What's the plan, then?"
Jack hesitates. From the corner of his eye, he can see John trying to get his attention and drawing a big H in the air. Later, he would reflect on this moment and think he shouldn't have listened to John, should've suggested something else, something other than – "The Hub?"
Ianto hangs up.
"Hello?" Jack hears Tosh say through the intercom. He's outside the building of Ianto's flat, the flowers for his mom clutched in his hand.
"Tosh!" He beams. "Can you let me in? Please."
There's an uncomfortable moment of silence, and Jack cringes. Uh oh.
"I'm not sure I should, Jack." Tosh replies, hesitant yet stern. "I don't think Ianto wants to talk to you now."
"Much less see you!" Rhys pipes up, making Jack scowl. "And I mean, he really, really, doesn't want to see you right now."
"Either let me in, or I come through the window," he counters. He hears Rhys scoff incredulously and nearly pouts at the other man's disbelief. "I'll climb up the wall and go through the window, I really will!"
It's Gwen who speaks up next. "Jack," she says, like talking to a child. "Ianto is upset, for good reason, and I don't think—"
"Alright, I'm coming up. See you in a minute."
"Jack, don't-!"
A couple of floors above, the three friends look at each other unsurely. Then just outside, they can hear Jack grunting and struggling to climb up, only to eventually fall back down with a loud groan. Tosh, Rhys, and Gwen all wince.
Their intercom buzzes.
"Hey, it's me again."
'Oh dear,' Jack thinks as Ianto slams his coffee cup on the table before getting up. 'He's furious.'He winces, following his young lover around the flat.
"Can we just, uh, talk about this?" Jack offers. Even if he's never the type to talk about feelings and relationships or whatever, he isn't stupid enough not to realize an offer for angry make-up sex would go horribly, horribly wrong. "Let's go out—"
"Where?" Ianto bites as he grabs a tie he's carefully hung on a chair and putting it on. "To the Hub?"
Jack falters. "Do you want to?"
"No, I don't fucking want to!" Ianto fiercely hisses while he puts on a suit jacket. In any other circumstances, Jack would make a lewd comment or something of the like, because damn, Ianto looked positively delicious in his navy pinstripe suit and pink shirt. "It's not the only place in the world, Jack!"
"We'll go Myfawny's! I know you like their coffee there—"
"I'm going out with Tosh, Rhys and Gwen." A couple of feet away, the aforementioned three shuffled uneasily in place. They could hear the argument very clearly despite being in a different room.
"Let's go together."
"You, hang out with my friends?" they hear Ianto ask, almost incredulously. "A techie more interested in computers than people, a creepy failed copper-slash-actress, and the most boring lorry driver this side of Cardiff?" At that, Tosh bites her lip and looks down on her shoes; Gwen flushes, glaring at the direction she knows Jack is despite not seeing him; and Rhys sputters, offended.
"Now that's just harsh!"
"Your words!"
"I did not say that about Tosh and Rhys!" Jack exclaims from the other room, and Gwen makes an indignant sound at the implication that what he said about Gwen was true, then. Ianto bursts from the other room and Jack trails behind. "Let's just go somewhere and make up the night. Things'll be fine, I promise."
That just makes Ianto start on another point. Jack's promises. "You promised you'd stop smoking when I did. You promised you'd go back to the gym. You promised you'd try to eat healthier foods instead of takeaway. You promised you'd go on holiday with me—"
"We went to Barcelona, didn't we?"
"We met in Barcelona."
"During Ianto's college spring break," Rhys mutters from behind Ianto. (As if Jack needed the reminder of their five years age difference. John made enough comments about jailbait the first few months of his and Ianto's casual arrangement, thank you very much.)
"Jack." Ianto sighs. "Just last night you promised things would change. You know I'm trying, but it won't work if you don't try either."
"Didn't he promise us free cable?" Gwen whispers to Tosh, a few feet away from Jack.
"I'm working on that," he says, pointing at Gwen. Jack then puts all his attention back to Ianto. His beautiful Ianto, whose eyes are looking at him with resigned acceptance and disappointment, and ow, was that his heart hurting?
"Look." Jack fumbles through his leather jacket's pockets and finds a pack of cigarettes. "I can give up smoking, see?" And throws the pack to where he was sure the trash bin was. "See, don't need them." Then he pauses and draws a blank. "What was the next one?"
Ianto shakes his head. "It's not enough, Jack. I'm sorry if you feel like I'm asking for too much, but… it's been three years." Ianto shrugs and quickly walks past him.
Jack closes his eyes, feeling like the biggest fuck-up in the universe at the moment. The radio in the background talks about communications being down, but Jack couldn't care any less about that.
"Well," Gwen hesitantly pipes up from beside him. "I don't think Ianto's going to be receptive to you any time soon, Jack—"
"Get fucked, cow-eyes!" Jack grits out, ignoring the offended look Gwen was sure to be sporting right now. Normally, Jack would be all charm and smiles to women, even to Gwen. But to be fair, this was shaping up to becoming of the worst days of his life. "You go out with him, if you love him so much."
Gwen, of course, gasps and reddens. "What the hell do you mean by that, Jack Harkness?!" When Jack simply snorts and walks away, she glances to Tosh and Rhys with wide eyes. "I don't know what he meant by that!"
Jack finds Ianto in his bedroom, sitting on his bed with his face in his hands. It wasn't too long ago they were doing other (better) things in this room, but Jack doesn't let that thought distract him. Right now, he needs to salvage what he can from their relationship.
"I got you these," Jack murmurs, handing the flowers he still clutched in hand. Still looking impeccable, miraculously.
Ianto reluctantly takes them and looks at the bouquet dubiously. They've never been a 'bringing flowers for the date' kind of couple, after all. So when he sees the tag attached, he's not even surprised. "To a wonderful mum?" Ianto raises an eyebrow at Jack after he sits down beside him.
Jack coughs and smiles sheepishly, "Oh, uh, well— Yeah, that's because, I thought it would be funny. Because of what you said last night, about you don't wanna be my mom and that and uh, it's just a little joke. Sort of spur of the moment."
"They're for your mum, aren't they?"
"Yeah…"
"Smooth," Ianto drawls, handing the bouquet back to Jack. He sighs, stares at some spot on the carpet, and talks. "If I don't do something, Jack, I'll end up in that pub for the rest of my life, like those other sad old drunks, drinking myself to death too much like my Tad, wondering what the hell happened."
Then Jack asks the wrong question. "What do you mean do something?"
Less than five minutes later, he's staring at the front door as Ianto shuts it close with a quiet, "Goodbye, Jack."
The pouring rain soaking through his clothes doesn't even register his mind.
There's a couple making out outside the Hub and it makes Jack sick. Frustrated, he throws the flowers over to the bin, takes a deep breath, and gets himself ready to drink himself dead.
All too soon, he's gone through four beers, five packets of crisps, making his way through a bag of pork rinds, and has recounted the story of How Jack Harkness Fucked-Up the Best Thing of His Life Again to John. Twice.
"Fuck 'im," John sympathetically exclaims as Jack blearily looks at him. He's rather certain his eyes are red rimmed and he doesn't look like his usual great-looking self. He never dealt well with being dumped and he is a horrible drunk when sad. Yet John continues on, "You've got your pint, your pig snacks, you've got me—what more do you want?"
Jack stares before dropping his head on the table with a dull thunk. John hears him groan something suspiciously like 'Iantooooo—' but pretends he never heard it.
Of course, the jukebox decides it's good time to play Chicago's If You Leave Me Now. Jack looks up again, his red eyes staring at the jukebox, looking like he's about to cry. 'Oh, boy,' John cringes.
"Oh, for the love of—Who the fuck put this on?"
"It's on random." Jack makes a quiet and muffled wail against the table.
"For fuck's sake." John grimaces and quickly raises his hand at the pub owner. "Alex, yes please, mate."
Minutes later, the pub has become a private fortress. Telly, jukebox, and the brighter lights off – its own little lockdown, with only VIP guests, Jack and John included.
"You know what we should do tomorrow?" John says lowly. "Keep drinking. A Bloody Mary first thing, a bite at the Weevil's Head, couple at The Welsh Prince, stagger back here and bang! Back at the bar for shots. We'll even go on the pull and get you a nice rebound shag. How's that for a slice of diamond?"
Jack shakes his head, feeling a little better than he did a few minutes back. "No." He sighs. "I can't do that."
"Come on, man." John takes a quick drag of his smoke. "Talk to me."
"He said," Jack recalls, "that if he stayed with me, he'll end up here for the rest of his life, with these sad old drunks, drinking himself to death, wondering what the hell happened."
"Ouch." John raises his eyebrows. "That's harsh. These old fuckers happen to be interesting characters."
He snorts at his friend, doubtful. "Oh yeah? Like who?"
John then spins a tale about the sleazy middle-aged man with snake-skin boots and the old lady always in the same booth nursing a glass of scotch – both incredibly improbable, but John gets points for imagination anyways and it does make him laugh. Plus, it ishelping Jack feel better.
"What about Alex, then?" Jack discreetly gestures to the pub owner.
John grins. "He's North Cardiff Mafia." When Jack scoffs at the thought, John insists. "Come on, think about it. Handy with a blade, gruff demeanor. Bet he's killed a couple of his men. And he's got Yvonne, the trophy wife. He's connected. Plus, he's got a rifle above the bar."
"I hardly think that works, or is even real," Jack dryly says, but John waves him off.
After a few moments of companionable silence John speaks up again. "See, you don't need your Eye Candy to have a good time."
Jack doesn't agree, not really. "Don't, John."
"No," John sternly whispers. "Look at me. I'll just say one thing – it's not that there's plenty more fish in the sea, or that if you love him let him go, and fuck if I'm gonna bombard you with clichés. But what I will say is this: it's not the end of the world."
A loud thud brings everyone's attention to the tinted windows. They could see a silhouette of a man at the doors, hand tapping at the glass.
"Sorry, we're closed," Alex calls out. The man groans in response.
Jack and John share a chuckle. "Pisshead," John snorts.
The couple is still there outside the Hub, making out. Jack snorts as he and John stagger onto the sidewalk, singing White Lines in a probably off-key tune. Oh, well.
(Had Jack turned around to look at the couple again when he heard a gross sounding squelch, well, he'd probably see the man doing a good physical impression of Nearly Headless Nick as the woman continues to nibble his neck.)
They try to be quiet, considering it's the dead of night, but fail when they laugh at a clearly drunk man shuffling heavy on his feet and groaning loud enough to echo through the street.
Soon, the two inebriated men stumble into the house and the first thing they do is to bring out Jack's old records and record player. Of course, they should have taken into account that Owen was sleeping upstairs and wasn't going to appreciate the noise they were making.
Only after Owen has thrown his record out the window does Jack notice him.
"Hey!" Jack exclaims. "That was the second album I ever bought!"
His housemate glares at him poisonously. "It's four in the fucking morning!" Owen snaps back. "And some people would like some fucking sleep!"
"It's a Saturday!" Jack says. "You always sleep in on Saturdays anyways!"
"No, it's not," Owen grits out. "It's fucking Sunday, and I have to go to fucking work in four fucking hours, because every other fucker and their fucking mother is fucking ill and I have to fucking do my job to make them fucking feel better! Now can you see why I'm so fucking angry?"
"He's always angry," John mutters from beside Jack. Before Owen can punch his friend, Jack intervenes.
"Hey, okay!" he says, hands up and ready to push them away from each other. "Okay, Owen, look. Sorry, but we've had a couple of drinks. We split up with Ianto tonight."
Owen takes a look at Jack's less than stellar appearance and lets out a large breath. "Just keep it down, yeah?" His tone is rather sympathetic.
As Owen turns to walk away though, John can't bother to shut up and instead snorts out, "Prick."
Immediately, Owen freezes, voice dangerously low as he asks, "What was that?"
Jack is sending a huge warning look at his friend that John, thankfully, gets because he backtracks and replies with a "Nothing!" Of course, that's not good enough- Owen spins around and aims a punch at John that has Jack scrambling to pull them apart before one of them draws blood.
"Hey, stop it!" Jack shouts. "We're friends!"
"He," Owen barks back, "is not my friend. He's a fucking stupid arsehole."
"What's that supposed to mean?" John asks indignantly.
"It means why don't you fuck off!" Owen glares at John, who has the gall to look amused. "You wanna live like an animal? Live in the shed, you thick fuck!"
Jack, out of loyalty, jumps in defense for his friend. "Oh, leave him alone!"
It only succeeds in Owen turning his attention to him – which was less than ideal, considering the day Jack's had. "Stop defending him, Jack! All he ever does is hold you back!" Owen exclaims. "Or is it easier having someone around who's more of a loser than you? Good looking as you are, you're not going anywhere in life!"
"What's that supposed to mean?!" Jack glowers back at Owen.
Owen just snorts and points sternly at Jack. "You know what I mean. Even an idiot could see it was Ianto who did the dumping! Sort your fucking life out, mate, or he won't even look twice at you anymore." At the thought of that, Jack's stomach drops and dammit, that was a low blow.
"Got bitten by a cat, Harper?" John pipes up, staring at Owen's bandaged hand with raised eyebrows.
"Didn't I tell you to fuck off?" Owen grumbles. "And it's nothing, I got mugged at the carpark by some crackheads. One of 'em bit me."
"Why?"
"I don't know, I didn't bother to ask!" Owen scowls. He starts to walk back to the stairs, pausing to look at the front door. "I've got a splitting headache and your stupid bastardization of hip hop or pop or whatever isn't helping. And the front door is open, again!" He slams it shut.
As Owen goes back to bed, John rolls his eyes and sighs before crashing on the couch. "It's electro, that twat. Next time I see him, he's dead."
But Jack isn't listening. He stares blankly at the floor for a moment or two, then makes a decision. Jack wobbles to the kitchen and dining area, momentarily pausing to play the message Ianto left him earlier that day.
Beep. "Hello, Jack, it's me. I'm going to be a bit tied up today, so when you book the table can you make it for eight rather than seven? I'll try you at work. Bye."
Beep. "Hello, pickle. It's me, Mum." His mom, right. "Dad mentioned you might be visiting tomorrow which would be lovely. Will you be bringing Ianto with you this time?"
Jack freezes at his lover, ex-lover's name. He picks up the marker and starts writing on the whiteboard as determined as he can.
"Only we can't wait to meet him finally," his mother continues on. "And also I was wondering if he wanted anything special for lunch? These days a lot of people don't eat meat, you know."
Jack knows, because Ianto is one of those people. Some traumatic camping trip he had when he was a teenager put him off even just looking at raw red meat. He stumbles back and lands on a nearby chair, suddenly exhausted from the day, and immediately falls asleep.
The first thing he sees when he jolts awake that morning is the picture he and Ianto took on their third date taped on the fridge. Beside it is the second thing he sees – it's their memo board, filled with Jack's unmistakable drunken scrawl.
GO TO MOMS
GET IANTO BACK
SORT LIFE OUT!
The first and third ones were a given, but the second one was of utmost importance. Groggily, he stands up and head to the living room, where he's sure John is. And true to his expectations, his friend is sprawled across the couch, half-asleep.
"John! You want anything from the shop?" He lets out between a long yawn.
"Cornetto," John grunts in reply.
Not even bothering to change out of the clothes he's worn since yesterday, Jack heads out of the house. The streets are strangely quiet and empty for some reason. He trips on a curb while staring at the hole on the windshield of a car that was just washed yesterday, and Jack shakes his head sympathetically to the owner. The door of a house is wide-open, and a jogger speeds past him in a blur. Jack enters the shop, rather empty for this time of the morning, and instantly heads for his coffee. He nearly slips on something slick, but gracefully rights himself and picks up John's ice cream with no problem.
"Rupesh!" Jack calls out to the shop owner when he notices the absence of the daily newspapers. "You got any papers?" When no reply is forthcoming, Jack shrugs to himself and drops the appropriate change on the counter before leaving the shop.
(He doesn't notice Rupesh a few feet back, gasping heavily and stiff on his feet. Neither does he notice with the people on the street in the same condition.)
Jack slumps back on his couch and takes a long sip of coffee. Absentmindedly he laments the fact that it'll never compare to what Ianto can brew, but it keeps him awake and it'll have to do. John must've bothered to get up and do something since he's not on his usual spot on the couch, so Jack puts his feet up the table and turns on the telly.
"…No official comment but religious groups are calling it Judgement Day. There's—" The news anchor says before Jack cuts him off by changing the channel.
"…Panic on the streets of London—" Some singer. Huh, next.
"…Number of reports of—" News again. Next.
"…Serious attacks on—" Football, was never really a fan of it. (Rugby, on the other hand, Jack had some good memories of that, courtesy of Ianto.) Next.
"…People who are being—" Another news program. Really? Next.
"…Eaten alive." Was that a cheetah or a leopard? Either way, poor gazelle. Next.
"Witness reports are sketchy," the fourth news anchor he's seen says solemnly. "One unifying detail seems to be that the attackers appear to be—" Next.
"…The sensational chart-topping—" Wait a minute. Back.
Jack leans forward to pay more attention to the newscaster. "…Or ideological connection between those committing the atrocities—"
"There's a girl in the garden," John's voice comes out of nowhere.
"…emergency services…"
"What?" Jack looks around and sees John wrapped around the curtain and looking out the window. His friend turns to Jack and points outside.
"A girl. In the garden. Do you need me to repeat that in Klingon?"
"…The armed forces will be called in to provide backup and assistance. Scientists are still trying to establish the nature of the phenomenon and are unsure as to the…"
Jack stands up, giving John a frown before looking out the window himself. There is a blond girl in the garden with her back turned to them. Jack and John look at each other. Huh.
"Excuse me," Jack calls to the girl. He and John stand outside, a couple of feet away from their trespasser. "Excuse me, miss. Hello?"
Let it be said that John isn't the politest man in the world. He had no qualms about throwing a pebble at the girl's back. "Oi!"
The girl turns her head slowly, revealing a sickly pale face and drooping eyes as she let out heavy breaths. Pity, she would've been rather pretty if not for that. Jack and John stare at her uncertainly.
"Oh my god," Jack says, frowning.
John snorts and grins at him. "She's so drunk." And they both snicker to each other while the girl struggles to approach them.
"How much have you had, love?" John asks, then notices how she seems to be going directly for his friend. "Oh! I think she likes you."
"Shut up," Jack protests playfully before smirking. "It's the jawline. Once seen, forever yearned."
"She wants to cuddle!"
"I've just come out of a relationship." Then the girl practically tackles Jack to the ground, and even though he's laughing, the sounds coming from her are weird. "John, do something!"
"Wait here. Two seconds!" John runs back to the house, leaving Jack struggling to keep the girl's face away from him. There's something strange about her face he can't put a finger on, but it's making him uneasy and-
"And, hold it there!" Jack and the girl turn their heads towards John, just a second before a flash appears. The bastard took a picture!
"John!" Jack glares. "Just get her off me!"
John rolls his eyes and helps him pry the girl off his arms. Doing so lets him get a good look at her face, and he frowns. "What's up with her eyes?"
But the girl doesn't answer, opting to stumble towards them again.
"Now, seriously…" Jack glances at her work nametag, "Mary, I'm warning you. I'll have to get physical, I mean it!" She barely wraps her hands around Jack's neck when—"Look, just fuck off!" And he pushes her.
She falls and gets impaled on a short upright metal pole, blood splattering around her. Jack's certain he's killed her, shit, but then she gets back up again, big bloody hole on her torso and all.
What the actual fuck?
"I think," Jack says, his throat dry, "we should go back inside."
John makes an affirmative noise and they turn just in time to see a big man, skin gray and mouth bleeding, approaching them.
Jack's day is starting to turn into a bad one.
"Jack, what's going on?" John's usual cool self is crumbling and he's getting a little agitated. Jack's calling 999, or trying to, because no one'spicking up.
"Shit," Jack breathes, "it's engaged."
"How about an ambulance?"
"It's engaged, John."
"Fire engine?"
"It's one number and it's busy!" Then Jack frowns. "And what do you want a fire engine for?"
John shrugs in reply, still staring at the curtain-covered window. "Anything with flashing lights, ya know."
Jack rolls his eyes and tries to get through 999 again. "Are they still out there?" he asks, nodding towards the window. John takes a look, parting the curtains, only to see both the girl and the man pawing and snarling at the window. Quietly, he covers it again.
"Yep." He looks at his friend. "What're we gonna do?"
Jack gives up on the phone and runs a hand through his hair. Ugh, he needs a shower. "Have a sit down?"
They fall back onto the couch, television still on the news anchor Jack last stopped at.
"There are reports of chaos on the motorways as thousands of people attempt to flee the cities." The anchor reports and lists various highways that were clogged with people or closed.
"Do you think this is the same thing?" John whispers to Jack. Jack just looks at him. Unbeknownst to them, someone is slipping through their unlocked door.
"The Home Office is urging people to stay in their homes and await further instruction. Ensure all residences are secure with all doors and windows firmly locked and barricaded-" At that, the two turn to each other in dawning realization and look up at a loud wheezing sound. There is a dead and bloodied one-armed man standing over them. They do the only rational thing a man would do.
They scream.
They scramble to their feet and keep the coffee table between themselves and the- the thing. John starts throwing his empty beer cans at the man, Jack soon following the action.
"For God's sake, he's got an arm off!" Jack shouts as he progresses from throwing cans to throwing anything.
"Keep throwing!" John shouts back. They're quickly running out of things to use as projectile and when Jack uses a bloody pillow to throw, John takes the matter to his own hands and smashes his glass ashtray to pieces on the man's head.
The man falls down, dead dead.
"I'm," Jack wheezes out, "gonna shut the front door."
Door securely shut and locked, Jack goes back to the living room and grimaces at the corpse.
Then their windows break, the arms of the two outside reaching into the house.
"The attackers can be stopped by removing the head or destroying the brain." The anchor says on the telly and they both turn to stare at it. "I repeat, by removing the head or destroying the brain."
John grins.
"Hey!" John calls out while Jack drops a basket of random stuff they can throw at them. They're outside, ready to confront the man and girl. His friend reminds him to aim for the head and things start flying.
They're not that good at aiming, it seemed, because soon they found themselves out of things to throw and with two people still coming at them.
"What now?" Jack asks, eyes still on the pair in front of them.
"Get more stuff," John shrugs, looking around. From the corner of his eye, he could see the shed and he considers it. "What's in there?"
Jack looks to where John's finger is pointing and frowns confusedly. "The shed? Dunno, it's locked. It's always been locked."
John's still thinking about the shed when he sees the record Owen threw hours ago. He picks it up speculatively, and throws.
"Aw, come on! That's the second album I ever bou—"
The record hits the mark and pierces through the skin of the man's head. Jack and John share a look.
Good enough.
"Okay, some of these are limited—" Jack starts after opening his box of records but John just slips one out of its cover and throws it at the two dead guys. "John! What was that?"
"Blue Monday."
"That was an original pressing!"
John sighs, "For fuck's sake."
They continue to go through the albums, John graciously asking which ones to throw first.
"Purple Rain?"
"No."
"Sign O' The Times?"
"Definitely not."
"The Batman soundtrack."
Jack pauses, thinks, and shrugs. "Throw it." John gleefully does, but it misses. After a muttered curse, he looks for another one again.
"Dire Straits?"
"Throw." That one hits the girl on the side of the head and a loud crunch makes Jack wonder if that broke her neck or something.
"Stone Roses?"
"No."
"Second Coming?" John raises an eyebrow at Jack. Jack pouts.
"I like it."
"Ah," John says triumphantly and holds out an album. "Sade?"
"That's Ianto's." Jack remembers, and he's starting to wonder how his young ex was doing. He severely hoped he was okay.
"He dumped you," is all John says before throwing it at the man. It hits and shatters to pieces, and Jack's own patience snaps as well.
"Forget this, I'm going to the shed." He marches up to the dilapidated structure ("But you said it was locked!" John exclaims) and kicks the door down with force. It gives easily.
Seconds later, Jack is armed with a cricket bat and John with an old shovel.
"Which one you want, girl or bloke?" John asks casually. Jack just grins back toothily.
"You know me, I go for either."
And they attack.