Title: Coffe and Tea
Series: Torchwood: Resurrection - Prequels
Fandoms: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Fic!Verse: Resurrection!Verse
Pairings: Ianto/OC
Author: TWTL

DISCLAIMER: We don't own Torchwood. We don't own Doctor Who. We wish we could own them both, but we can't. Hell, we'd settle for the K9 spin-off pilot that failed many years ago... but sadly, we can't have that either. All of that is owned by the BBC.

IMPORTANT NOTES FOR READING THIS FIC!:

blocks of text in italics - dreams/day dreams/memories
bold italics - thoughts
plain text is plain text


He pinned me down against the rough wood of the pavillion floor. His hair was wet, a mixture of sweat and rain. A knee planted on either side of my hips, but my arms left unrestrained. By the orange glow of the streetlamps I could barely make out his face.

Was he smiling at me?

I could feel his brown eyes digging into me in desperation, searching my face in the dark. For what? I only looked back up at him, curious as to why he had stopped. Why he had pulled himself up to sit when things were just starting to get... good.

I raised an arm to slide into his open uniform shirt. He looked so good in black and white. I slipped my fingers into the waistband of his trousers.

"I love you," he said as he looked down at me.

"James, I-" I began, but let it trail off. His hair dripped onto my chest as he leaned in, planting a hand on the wooden floorboards beside my head to keep himself steady as he towered over me.

"I can't bear being without you," he said. "I can't... I can't stay on this slow path alone anymore."

"What are you saying?"

In the shadows on his face, I could see those brown eyes flash. And in them I was transfixed by starlight as he lowered his face to mine. His breath was hot as I felt it on my face. It smelled of tea and limes and some odd spice. Chai perhaps? "Marry me, Quincy."


"Verta!" a gruff voice shouted, snapping me from my daydream. "Get back to work!"

I rubbed my face with a groan and looked at the clock. Nearly time for lunch.

Why am I still thinking about him?

I put my hands to the keyboard and scowled as I scanned the screen in front of me. Eyes skimming the lines of data to see where I'd last left off.

It's been over a year. I'm just... It couldn't have worked out. I'm old enough to be his grandfather. Great grandfather possibly. You're immortal, old man. He wasn't. Isn't.

I adjusted my headset and resumed typing. I'd fallen behind on my sales numbers for the day already. If I didn't push through my cold calls before lunch I would never meet the goal thrust on me today.

Focus old man. You can't afford to lose this job. Not if you want to eat.

I sighed, checked the clock again, and made the first of many calls.

What I hadn't planned for was to have a bullet whizz past my head and bury itself into my monitor.

Chaos reigned on the 22nd floor of the Compu-Touch building and half the sales office was gunned down by our mail courrier.

I wasn't so lucky as to be one of them.

o0o

I sat quietly on the middle chair. A styrofoam cup of water held between my hands. Unlike the others I wasn't afraid when the shooting started. I wasn't in shock. I can't die, but that wasn't it. I've faced down far worse things than employees with an axe to grind. Daleks, for a start. And that was a typical Saturday morning. I was contemplating how to dissapear.

The murder of my coworkers had nothing to do with me. I was nearly a victim myself if only he'd been a better shot. But a massacre of this scale, surely the press would be all over it. I couldn't risk getting caught. There was always the threat of UNIT hanging over my head...

"Next."

I looked up. A uniform beckoned to me. I'd purposely waited near the back. Tried to be the last one dragged in on the hope that they'd have more than enough witnesses. I'd be another nameless excuse they could cut loose.

I got to my feet and went to the door. She nodded and I went in. Two men were inside. One stood with his head bowed in thought. Shaggy, unkempt brown hair hid most of his face. His chin, the only part of it I could see, was covered in stubble.

Arms were crossed over his chest. One foot, a dirty, dark red sneaker, was pressed against the wall, causing his knee to jut out. A spiral notebook lay across it.

"Please have a seat," said the man at the table. This one was far more clean-cut.

As I sat across from him he smiled. I could see lines around his neck where his shirt collar began. A strange blue and black pattern was spread there. And as he opened his mouth I saw green and yellow, not fleshy red and pink.

He smiled kindly to me. "Do not be alarmed," he said. "I am Agent Segawa of UNIT Alien Affairs. The... incident today was instigated by Mr. Henry Anderson, mail room staff, correct?"

I nodded, glancing to the other man with us.

"You have worked for Compu-Touch for..." He consulted his notes. "Eighteen months. Is that correct?"

Again I nodded. He rewared me with a yellow smile. "Good," he said, then reached a gloved hand for the digital recorder on the table between us.

He pressed record and spoke. He gave the date and time, the purpose of the recording, then his name. I said mine.

Segawa glanced at the other, who didn't make a move. With a exasperated sigh he returned to the recorder. "Observing today is Detective Harborne on loan from the NYPD, 48th Precinct."

The third man only grunted in response as he turned a page in his notebook. I looked at him again, but he didn't look up. My heart beat quickly.

Agent Segawa must have noticed how uncomfortable I had become and looked concerned. "Are you alright, Mr. Verta?"

I swallowed hard and willed myself to keep it together.

It's a common enough surname. Besides, he's in Iowa. This is New York. He couldn't have followed me. I never told him I was even leaving.

"Yes... Yes. I'm alright. I guess I'm a bit shaken after all."

"Not surprising. You managed to get many of your associates to safety at the risk of your own life," Agent Segawa said. "We'll try to make this brief. How long have you been aquainted with Mr. Anderson of the mail room?"

"Not long," I said. "I've only met him a few times when he brought me my mail. I didn't even know his name until June."

Segawa nodded. "Were you aware that Mr. Anderson was a registered resident alien on planet Earth?"

Figures... Alien immigrant. Literally. What's this world coming to these days?

"No. Like I said, I didn't know him well."

"I see..." Segawa said, then consulted his notes again. As he did so, the third wheel spoke.

My heart caught in my throat as I heard the voice for the first time since that night in the lakeside pavillion.

"Do you consider yourself a good judge of character, Mr. Verta?"

I swallowed hard again and nodded, then said for the recording, "Yes."

"In your limited interactions with Mr. Anderson did you ever get the suspicion that he could become violent?"

"No," I said truthfully. "No. He was on those few occasions a cheerful sort. He liked to tell jokes, I remember."

"Is there any-" Segawa started.

Detective Harborne came to the table, his notebook tucked under his arm. He shut off the recording. "He doesn't know anything."

"We need the details of-"

"He doesn't know anything," the Detective repeated.

"This is highly irregular. UNIT policy states-"

"UNIT can bite my scrawny ass," he barked back bitterly.

This was not the hopeful, bright eyed rookie cop I'd left behind in Stoneybrook. "He's useless. Cut him loose."

And like that, he was gone. I stared after him until Agent Segawa put a card on the table. "Don't leave town," he warned, following the detective.

Now alone in the impromptu interrogation room, I sat with my head in my hands, trying to figure out what to do next.

o0o

I was allowed to leave. Not much work to do if your place of employment is a crime scene.

Back at my flat I curled up under a pile of blankets on my couch, attempting to keep warm. A cup of instant coffee, disgusting decaf, was drained and left on the hardwood beside the couch as I burried myself deeper.

Curled up as I was, it wasn't difficult to fall asleep and escape my troublesome reality...


We'd gone back to mine. We always went back to mine; he still lived in the station bunkhouse. I didn't give him an answer. He didn't demand it of me. I was grateful for that.

I'd woken first and was trying to sort out what I was going to do. Sitting on the side of my bed, his chest rising and falling behind me as he breathed the shallow breaths of a deep, contented sleep. I looked back over my shoulder at him.

He was smiling.

He was strong and intelligent and young.

Young.

But he wouldn't be that way forever. He would waste away before my eyes. Each day one step closer to the inevitable.

"Damn you, Jack," I whispered quietly to myself, not for the first time. But I suppose... this is exactly how Jack Harkness must have felt all those years ago. Every time he looked at me. Every time he touched...

I turned back to face my wardrobe, covering my face with my hands.

I had to leave. I had to run again. Leave this bright man, this brilliant, wonderful man to live his life without the burden of me. Without looking at me every day and hating me for staying the same while he changed before my eyes.

It was... an act of kindness.

If I tell myself that long enough, maybe I'll believe my own lie.


A/N 1 - First time in a VERY long time I've written in first person. So... sorry if it's a bit... off. Seriously, it's been something like 5 years or so since I've done anything longer than a short story first person thing. So yeah... Promise I'll get better (reading a lot of books written in first person pov lately).
A/N 2 - This is one of the prequels for James Harborne and Quincy Verta from the Resurrection!Verse tales. There's 2 prequels for them planned. One written in Ianto's pov, another written from James' at different points in time.