Original Post Date: July 2011 (Posted to August 2011) I am making no money from this, all characters and ideas belong to their original creators, no harm intended.
Rating: PG-15
Characters/Pairings: Jack, mentions of Ianto, Myfanwy, Owen, Gwen, Rhys, Susie, Jack/Ianto, Gwen/Owen, Gwen/Rhys
Warnings: All mentions canon-compliant... I think one or two actual swear and a couple of brief mentions of sex (nothing explicit, just that it happened).
Notes: The first in my 'Jack' series, an exploration of just how damned common the name Jack is in children's stories, songs and general English-speaking culture though Captain Jack Harkness himself.
Summary: "He had told Ianto all of this once, in one of his thoughtful and reflective moods. Ianto had chuckled, and what had he called it? Oh yes… the house that Jack built."
THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT
Jack Harkness thought that the Torchwood hub was beautiful. It wasn't to everyone's taste, but by God it was to his. From the glass walls of the now better utilised old boardroom (a wonderful idea when they had developed it however long ago, but the fingerprints on the glass had got annoying to make than just Ianto) to the cells and Ianto's beloved archives, this was Jack's domain.
Well, besides the archives. He didn't understand them.
Thinking back, Jack had had a hand in most of it, too. Of course there had been the 'your ideas don't count, freelancer' rebuffs back in the old days, but Jack was sure they had used ideas that they had conveniently forgotten were his anyway. And since Torchwood Three had become his responsibility (back when it could legitimately be called Torchwood Three: the counting had become slightly skewed over time) Jack had not wasted time putting his own stamp on the place.
He had told Ianto all of this once, in one of his thoughtful and reflective moods. Ianto had chuckled, and what had he called it? Oh yes… the house that Jack built.
The context of the phrase had puzzled him for a moment, but in over one hundred years of living on Earth, he had heard the rhyme before.
This is the house that Jack built.
The Hub: home to Torchwood Three and, to all extents and purposes, Captain Jack Harkness. Ultra-modern but seeped in history: just the way Jack liked it.
This is the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.
Ianto had taken to buying coffee in bulk; God knew they got through enough of it. The different coloured packets had been neatly lines up next to the coffee machine, undoubtedly in some system understood only by the Welshman.
This is the rat that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.
The system had worked – various types of coffee were used and replaced as necessary – and for a while there were no more urgent rushes to the nearest shops for that specific type of coffee that Ianto needed now. That was, until they came in one morning to find the packets knocked all over the place, holes chewed in them and a scattering of coffee beans on the floor. Lucky for the rat, it got away with it that time.
This is the cat that chased the rat that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.
From then on Ianto had made sure to leave dark chocolate squares near the coffee machine overnight. When the attacks on the coffee stopped, Myfanwy got an extra bar of expensive dark chocolate. She was Torchwood's equivalent of a cat, and she hadn't seemed to mind the rat flavoured addition to her diet.
This is the dog that worried the cat, that chased the rat, that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.
She had, however, never got on with Janet. When they had first brought the Weevil in, Myfanwy had screeched and cowered. After that they had made a greater effort to keep the pteredacton out of the cells.
This is the cow with the crumpled horn that tossed the dog that worried the cat, that chased the rat, that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.
Owen had thought that he could fight a weevil. Owen was an idiot. But since he had died and become King of the Weevils, he had had an unnerving understanding with Janet. And probably more power over her than any of them knew.
This is the maiden all forlorn, that milked the cow with the crumpled horn, that tossed the dog that worried the cat, that chased the rat, that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.
Gwen should have tried harder to hide the fact that she had been shagging Owen, if only for poor Tosh's sake. It had been painful to watch and Jack had found that for all the chemistry he had with Gwen, he wasn't jealous of Owen.
This is the man all tattered and torn that kissed the maiden all forlorn, that milked the cow with the crumpled horn, that tossed the dog that worried the cat, that chased the rat, that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.
For all his teasing, and despite the knowledge of the other man's lack of trust in him, Jack had a great deal of respect for Rhys Williams. The poor bloke had put up with so much; he deserved Gwen a hell of a lot more than Jack did.
This is the priest all shaven and shorn, that married the man all tattered and torn that kissed the maiden all forlorn, that milked the cow with the crumpled horn, that tossed the dog that worried the cat, that chased the rat, that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.
It was far from the word of God, but Suzie had always had something to say to make the others trust and follow her. There was a reason why she had become second in command; namely that. But Gwen had well and truly beaten her to that Torchwood paycheck and the job which had (in the end) cemented Gwen's relationship with her boyfriend. Rhys would never know how much Torchwood money went into their wedding.
This is the cock that crowed in the morn, that waked the priest all shaven and shorn, that married the man all tattered and torn that kissed the maiden all forlorn, that milked the cow with the crumpled horn, that tossed the dog that worried the cat, that chased the rat, that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.
Jack had cocked up. He had insisted on waking Suzie from the dead, and it had almost killed Gwen. He knew that the team weren't best pleased, but at least Gwen was alright now. They wouldn't be using that particular alien equipment again any time soon.
This is the farmer, sowing his corn that kept the cock that crowed in the morn, that waked the priest all shaven and shorn, that married the man all tattered and torn that kissed the maiden all forlorn, that milked the cow with the crumpled horn, that tossed the dog that worried the cat, that chased the rat, that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.
Ianto Jones kept Jack sane. His beautiful coffee was Jack's lifeline and Torchwood Three ran so much smoother under the care and attention of the young Welshman. But it was more than that… with every glace, every touch, every fuck, Jack gave a little more of himself to Ianto, and cared a little more for him in return. And over time, those littles had added up to rather a lot.