Title: You have the heart of a star
Author: Electro Club
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: House empty, Ianto was now standing in the middle of an outdoor bedroom, night sky over his head and grass under his shoes.
A/N: I'd like to thank Blue Fjords for her brilliant, brilliant beta work, and for having infinite patience with me, as always. :) She's the best. And also, all the people in my flist who pointed out what worked and what didn't and helped me get this done. Thank you, guys. This is the best I could do, hope you like it. :)
A/N² This was midly inspired by the short story Why don't you dance, by Raymond Carver. The title is from a song by Oasis.
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Ianto put the last box down, stifling a sigh that was both relief and exhaustion. His back ached and he could barely feel his arms from carrying and moving things around. But for that one, glorious moment, a wave of satisfaction for the accomplishment of the chore overcame all the physical pain.
Packing all of a dead alien's belongings wasn't exactly Ianto's dream day, but he reckoned it was still better than vicious weevil claws or sticky unknown compounds that might or might not kill him, but always, invariably, left stains. This was the Torchwood equivalent of a quiet day of simple tasks.
But even at its simplest, Torchwood was complicated. And still absolutely wearying.
Hands on his hips, he turned to regard the work of almost an entire day. "Productive, aren't we?" he said to no one in particular, with a not-so-veiled streak of irony.
It looked good, though. They'd brought all of the furniture to the front yard, and, for some inexplicable reason, set it on the lawn exactly how it used to be inside the house - living room to one side, bedroom to the other. It felt oddly satisfactory. The rest of the things were stashed in boxes, all duly piled around the yard.
For 70 years, that ordinary house that smelled of dust and time had roofed Danny, the alien. No registered last name, though his records mentioned he went for Jones whenever necessary. A name beyond suspicion. If anyone ever noticed there was something different about him, they never complained. Danny did look human enough, of course, but you'd think the fact his eyes kept changing color according to his mood – blue for calm, yellow for angry, bright purple when he got over-excited – or his quite bizarre habit of puking fur balls would've given it away, eventually.
He had been granted a special license that allowed him to live in Cardiff, as any other person, as long as he maintained a low profile. There were more than a few aliens in this situation around the world, and a considerable number in Wales. Torchwood was responsible for keeping track of the aliens with intergalactic visas, making regular check-ups and updating their files. But Danny was Jack's own personal project.
Every six months or so, Jack went to pay a visit, always by himself. Albeit having never heard it from him, Ianto could tell by the secrecy and the short, simple reports that those visits weren't just part of the job. He never asked, though. Ianto knew there were one or two (or four or five) things Jack did that were just his. No questions asked.
Danny was one of those.
He was aware of Danny's existence as of all the other 57 aliens currently living in Wales, according to their last assessment. But a name, an address, a planet of origin with an unpronounceable name and the fact that he and Jack had a somewhat close relationship going back at least 50 years on the records was all he ever knew about Danny. Never even heard Jack mention him other than through documents that went straight to the archives.
That was it, of course, until that morning, when Ianto was frankly surprised by Jack's request that he help on this particular subject.
"One of our registered aliens died this morning. Danny," Jack had said, leaning against Ianto's counter at the tourist office. "We have to go through his things to see if he kept any artifacts we didn't know of. He also didn't have any relatives, so we're gonna have to pack his stuff and take it to storage."
"Of course," was all Ianto managed to answer. It was clear in Jack's stony eyes and bleak expression that this death bothered him more than the average, and it was the most explicit Jack had ever been about his involvement with this alien. Ianto thought he should say something, show him some solidarity or just express his condolences through a simple 'I'm sorry'. But he couldn't figure out how, couldn't read past Jack's grim mask of professionalism. He didn't wait to hear anyway; just nodded, told him they'd go after lunch, and left.
House empty, Ianto was now standing in the middle of an outdoor bedroom, night sky over his head and grass under his shoes.
Lying absently on the bed, muddied boots rubbing mindlessly on the stripped mattress, was Jack. He had his arms crossed under his head as he stared at the dark sky, where only a few bashful stars dared to flaunt their light from between the heavy clouds.
Ianto inhaled, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and announced, "That was the last box."
Jack swiveled his head to him, blinked idly a couple of times, seeming distracted but utterly serene – not such a common state for Jack. Whereas Ianto felt ridiculously small and awkward under the night sky since he started working for Torchwood, Jack was the exact opposite, always absolutely comfortable. He seemed more at home with nothing but the infinite over his head than anywhere else.
"Already?" Jack asked.
Ianto shrugged. "He didn't have that many things."
Jack's eyes roamed the area, moving from box to box, from chair to table to wardrobe. "Seems like a lot."
"I have more. And I barely have anything."
"I have less."
Ianto grinned. "That's debatable."
Ianto inspected the improvised bedroom once more, taking a few steps in, eyes falling on an old dresser near the bed. Its well crafted wood was a bit scruffy, the borders worn by time and what appeared to be an infestation of hungry woodworms. But it wasn't in such a bad state, probably still useable – expensive as well, Ianto reckoned, after going through some minor repairs here and there.
"Some of these things are still good," he said, conversationally, hand skimming over the surface, feeling the imperfections that age had carved on the wood with the tip of his fingers. He'd always had a taste for old-fashioned décor, just never the opportunity – or motivation – to make use of it. "I think it's salvageable."
"You can keep it, if you want to," Jack offered, easily.
"Unwarranted appropriation of someone else's possessions is still considered theft in this century, Jack." He gave him a brief look, kneeling to check a radio he'd put on a little table next to the dresser. It was, as everything else, older than him, but still looking good. Perhaps with an even slightly healthier appearance than the dresser. Danny took good care of his antiques.
"He's dead," Jack pointed out.
"Which makes it also disrespectful." Ianto turned the buttons on the radio, extracting no more than static out of it.
"It will go in storage. No one will be reclaiming it. Besides, it will probably become garbage in a few years, when we need the space for something else."
Ianto stopped, momentarily thrown, and gazed at Jack. "I thought you were friends."
Jack cocked an eyebrow, but didn't move his head to look. "What does being friends with him have to do with it?"
Ianto blinked, shrugged off the bemusement, and got back to the radio. There were times he could swear he heard a voice singing, very far into the noise. "Thought maybe you'd like to keep some of your mate's things intact."
"No reason to. And we'll eventually need the space." There was a moment's pause. "And we weren't friends."
"Oh." Ianto froze for a split-second. "You… seemed close."
"Not really. We talked a lot, that's all," Jack explained. "He was a good guy. There aren't many aliens like him in this century."
Ianto considered saying something else, but resumed playing with the buttons. Jack and Danny had been seeing each other every now and then for roughly 50 years, he found it hard to believe they hadn't become friends somewhere in the process. Danny probably knew of things no one else did, had seen places and visited times no one else but Jack had. The two of them probably had a lot of subjects to engage in long hours of conversation, more than a few things in common.
Maybe it wasn't friendship, but there was an undeniably strong sense of companionship between them. There had to be. Or Ianto liked to think so.
He also liked to think that when he died, Jack wouldn't just hunch his shoulders and stuff all his belongings into boxes he planned on throwing away shortly, saying, "We just fucked a lot, that's all."
He turned the radio's dial another time, and heard the voice that had been whispering in the background gain life as it became stronger and filled the air. It was a woman, singing in melancholic tunes about a boy who went away. Ianto's face broke into a contented grin.
He turned to find Jack watching with curiosity, a hint of amusement in his eyes. Ianto cocked him an eyebrow, and a smile finally cracked open on Jack's face. He brought one arm from under his head, tapped on the space next to him on the bed, indicating the spot with a nod of his head.
Ianto's other eyebrow joined the first. "Excuse me?"
"Come here."
He stared, deadpanned. "We're in the yard, Jack," he pronounced every syllable slowly, as if explaining something obvious to a child. "Front yard."
"I know."
"I'm not going to lie down with you."
Jack tapped harder.
"Jack –"
"Are you playing hard to get?"
"You call it hard, I call it reasonable."
Jack rolled his eyes. "Just come here, will you?"
Ianto didn't know whether it was Jack who was so impossible to refuse sometimes, or if he was just easily persuaded. Either, he hated that.
With a marked exhale of resignation, seeing that there was no one out on the street, he moved to the bed. "We really shouldn't do this," he said, sitting sheepishly next to Jack.
Jack's hand snaked around his arm, pulling him down. Ianto grunted, raised his head to look up and down the street again.
"Look," Jack said, moving closer and pointing towards the clouded sky to draw his attention. "Isn't it beautiful?"
Ianto had to take a second to focus on where he was pointing, his body suddenly tingling; it was some kind of involuntary physical reaction to immortal men, it seemed. He felt the jolt of electricity going down his spine every time Jack got his close, since the very first day.
"I can barely see anything," he admitted, unsure of what exactly he was being shown.
"You don't have to."
He didn't have to look to know that Jack was smiling; not one of his provocative, alpha-male grins, but a softer kind, one Ianto had a special appreciation for and knew Jack saved for a few select people, in a few unguarded moments.
He loosened up a little bit, stretching his legs and relaxing his muscles. "I suppose it's prettier when you know what's meant to be there."
"Imagination always makes things better than they really are."
"I can't imagine."
He felt Jack turn his head to look at him, felt his eyes burning on his face. "You work for Torchwood, and with everything you see on a daily basis, you're telling me that you can't imagine what's up there?"
Ianto shrugged. "Exactly because I work for Torchwood I can't even begin to. The universe used to be a lot smaller, before. It was the sun, and Mars and Venus, and a couple of stars exploding light-years away. But now it's – It's impossible. That thing is huge. There are planets I can't even pronounce the name – there are different times out there." He faced Jack, just inches away from contact. "I don't even know where to begin imagining something like that."
There was a delighted smile still dancing on the corner of his lips as he stared at Ianto. "No one ever lived on Venus," he said, his tone light, but he glanced away, eyes back on the sky. "They tried Mars, will try, in some hundreds of years. But it's just not that interesting once you're aware of the other options."
There was a pause, as a car passed by on the street, and slowed down a bit in front of the house. The driver probably thought it was a yard sale, but gave up, and continued on his way. Ianto watched, head slightly lifted from the bed, until the car disappeared around the corner.
"I'd like to show it to you," Jack continued. "I know exactly where I'd take you first."
Ianto's attention shifted back to him, genuine curiosity breaking through his juvenile concern of being caught. "Where would that be?"
"The end of the world."
"Oh." he paused, eyebrows shooting up in mild astonishment. "That is – It's definitely flattering," he said, flatly. "And they say romance is dead."
Jack huffed a short laugh. "There's this planet I've been to a few times," he began to explain, "from where you can see the end of the world – well, the after-end. Billions of years from now, when Earth ends, some thousands of years after that, it will be possible to see the lights of the explosion from that planet."
"Earth will explode?" Ianto interrupted.
Jack nodded. "Everything does, eventually. And when it happens, there will be all these impossible colors painting the whole sky of that planet. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." Jack's voice died breathlessly away, his eyes losing themselves amongst the clouds, moving far beyond the stars, to some distant galaxy with colored skies.
Ianto tried to follow him, but there were clouds above, not colors, and there was only so much he could see with his earthbound eyes; only so far he could travel alongside Jack with legs that kept getting dragged down by gravity. Jack could, and most likely would, someday, fly away.
Where he saw nothing above his head, Jack saw the beginning of something else, of something bigger.
Even as they lay side by side, Ianto felt the distance between them expanding, becoming hopelessly solid and insuperably large. And it dawned on him that this was what happened the closer you got to Jack, when he lowered his guard and allowed someone in.
These forged glimpses of places and times were bits of Jack's past Ianto wouldn't find in any records or files under Harkness, J. It was the kind of thing he figured Jack and Danny talked about. Things no one else could ever see. Not here, not now. And this was Jack trying to show it to him, the only way he could.
That was new, and different, and it made him feel joyful and scared and stupid – the latter more than anything else. It was the kind of something that with Jack you never dared to name, never tried to define; it was a subtlety reflective of something else, more important, and complicated, and doomed to break his heart at some point. And it was… fine, actually. He was fine. Unexpectedly fine.
Amidst all this, in letting Jack dream him some dreams and plan him some plans he would never really be part of, he found a point of balance where he could smooth down his uncertainties and not worry, not think; he just had to let it unfold and untangle as they went.
It wasn't ideal; Jack would always be unattainable, maybe slightly frustrating and never completely comprehensible. But it didn't matter. In the little things, in their quiet, private moments and not merely because of love, but mostly because they shared an infinite understanding of loneliness, Ianto found happiness. In Jack, and all that came with him. And sometimes, he even had the impression Jack had found it, too.
He was more than fine.
Ianto stretched his hand a little, brushed his fingers against Jack's trousers just enough to be felt, and pulled him back down, to Earth, to a stranger's bed, to where he was within hand's reach.
Jack moved his leg an inch to the side, pressing it back against Ianto's hand. "You'd like it there," he said after a long moment of silence, punctuating it with a pleased, blissful grin.
Ianto gave him a sincere smile. "I'm sure I would."
"Maybe someday."
"Maybe."
They fell quiet again; the rustling leaves dancing to the rhythm the woman sang on the radio the only things cutting through the stillness of the night. A light came on in a house on the other side of the street, and Ianto blinked out of their stargaze and back to reality – to where they were, to anyone else's eyes, two strangers lying on a bed in a yard, for no apparent reason.
It was an odd scene, he had to admit.
He heard the bed creak as the movement in the house distracted him, felt the mattress shift under him and then Jack was leaning over, touching his face and looking down at him.
"Kiss me," Jack said.
"What?" Jack's weight was heavy against his chest.
"Kiss me."
"Jack –"
"Ianto," he interrupted, his nose touching Ianto's as though to make a point.
Ianto didn't kiss him; but didn't protest either when Jack pressed his lips, first against his cheeks, then against his mouth. His arms, traitorous things, moved of their own accord, and he held Jack, nestled his hand on the back of his neck and kept him there, allowing himself to be carried away.
But he was ultimately unable to disconnect from the light across the street, and as another shadow passed by the window, he tried to break away.
"Jack," he said, admonishingly, against Jack's mouth. Jack mumbled something incomprehensible in return, clearly uninterested. "There's a light on in that house."
Jack pulled back slightly, "So?"
"They can see us."
"Hhund?" he nearly moaned against Ianto's neck.
"This is insane." He felt Jack's grin against his skin. "They're going to call the coppers"
Jack raised his head, blinked, and said, flatly, "Hi. I'm Captain Jack Harkness. Torchwood. Have we met?"
Ianto rolled his eyes. "Do you have any idea how many people at the police are just waiting for one tiny chance to take you in?"
"I'd get out before they could even come up with a joke."
"They'd do it anyway."
"Don't you think it's worth the risk?"
He did, actually. But there was a little voice screaming in his head. He swallowed down his reply, because even though it was Jack – and it was Jack biting his neck and sliding his inhumanly skilled hands down his sides and thighs and even though heat was rising and breaths were faltering and hearts were skipping beats – he still had some sanity left in him. And it was currently, albeit only flimsily, stronger than his instincts.
A second later, Jack rolled back onto his side, chuckling.
"All right, then," he said, lifting his arms and letting them fall next to his body in a helpless gesture. "Have it your way."
Ianto sat up, brushed his fingers through his hair, all messy and tousled in odd ways.
Ianto watched the light; Jack watched the stars, because that's how it would always be. Then Jack broke the silence again, said, "I'll keep the radio," and Ianto looked back to him. "It's alien."
"What?"
"Haven't you noticed?" Jack grinned. "The station you tuned in. It's from the 40's."
Ianto frowned and stared at the radio. He had noticed it was an old song, but hadn't really paid enough attention. Even now he couldn't really tell, but it had been playing the same old tunes since he turned it on, the kind of music he heard coming from Jack's office every once in a while.
"That's… subtle," he said.
"I'll keep it," Jack repeated.
"Ok," he replied. The air started to become chill as his body cooled down, and he spotted his jacket on the back of a chair – one of the many things they'd still have to carry to the lorry.
"We should finish loading up," he said.
"Yeah," Jack agreed. But neither one of them moved.
Jack inhaled a heavy gust air. "I've been seeing that guy every six months for the last 50 years," he stated, out of the blue. "I've done this so many times I've lost count. They die, I pack it up, stash it away, and never look at anything again." Ianto's mouth opened, but no words came out. He shut it again. "I'll be doing this for the rest of my life."
"I'm –" Ianto stuttered.
"Sorry?" Jack completed, with a calm smile that didn't quite meet his eyes.
Ianto held his breath, but let it out again. He was sorry, but it wasn't that. Not really. The thing was, he wouldn't always have the right words for Jack. Sometimes he wouldn't have words at all. "That too," he said instead. And Jack just nodded as if understanding, and put his arms under his head again.
Ianto turned his head to the street, still gazing at the light, watching as shapeless shadows bypassed the window.
Someday, he thought, Jack would be packing his stuff too.
The light in the house went off again. Ianto looked down at his lap, at the short space between his and Jack's thighs, at his hand, less than an inch away from contact. "We should…" he started, but his voice drifted away, dragging his line of thought with it; he wasn't sure whether he was about to say they should continue to take the things to the lorry or enjoy the rest of peace they still had left, before he became inanimate objects inside boxes and closed files in dusty rooms underground.
Just one simple move, just one soft brush – Ianto wondered how fast they could do it, calculated the chances of someone walking by in the next 15 or 20 minutes – maybe 30 – thought of how well someone could see them from one of the other houses.
Then he laughed.
"Someday…" he muttered, shook his head and didn't finish. The day Jack would convince him of his mad logic and even madder 51st century sense of morality wasn't that far off, but not quite here yet.
"Someday," he heard Jack repeat. He didn't have to look to know Jack was referring to something else entirely.
With another sigh, he laid back down, the tips of their shoes rubbing together and leaving grass and dirt on the mattress no one else would sleep on again.
It was a perfectly good mattress, he thought. "The lorry can wait," he said.
Jack looked at him, and smiled, all sincerity and deep affection. For a moment there, it seemed like he was going to say something; lips parted, sucking the air in, preparing the words dancing on the tip of his tongue to be voiced – and then, as though changing his mind, he snapped his mouth closed and turned his face up again.
Jack moved closer, much closer, shoulders touching, legs pressed together, his little finger almost imperceptibly caressing the back of Ianto's hand, moving up until his palm was covering Ianto's fist.
Ianto didn't even notice the grin growing on his lips.
They stayed quiet and watched the sky.
End.