Bagatelle: The Further Adventures of the Bonny Welshman

AN:

For those new to the saga of the Bonny Welshman, this is the eighth tale set in a universe 500 years in the future, the magnificent creation of Helen Pattskyn. (Here, no one can kill Kam except Helen, and she promises not to until he is very, very old.) She generously lets me play here. The first six stories are:

Forget Not Me (Helen Pattskyn)

Interlude: A Tale of Kam Anders (sidlerocks)

Intermezzo: Another Tale of Kam Anders (sidlerocks)

Janus and Hestia (Helen Pattskyn)

Cavatina: Ongoing Adventures of the Bonny Welshman (sidlerocks)

The Bonny Welshman (Helen Pattskyn)

They should be read in order.

The seventh story is a one-shot that doesn't really fit in the chronology (or comes last, depending on how you look at it) titled "What You Can't Leave Behind," by WickedWitchoftheSE—it's very sweet and should be read, but does not directly impact the events in this tale.

A complete listing of Helen's AU verse can be found at the beginning of The Bonny Welshman. Well worth your time, but also not necessary to enjoy this series of stories. Any historic references to Jack and Ianto's timeline that are non-canon refer either to those works or my own story Everything Changes: That First Hydref. vb

Speaking of which, when I wrote this, I used Ianto's family from TW canon. Then Helen pointed out that it deviated from his family in her AU. I went back and forth but decided to let the scene stand as written. It's just a little snippet that was floating around my head anyway—I hope it isn't too jarring for fans of the Auverse.

Incidentally, not for the first time Helen and I have written parallel scenes, and again she's generously letting me incorporate hers into mine. The scene in which An goes to talk to Jack at the end of the story is an amalgam of our words and ideas. (The last time we literally alternated the sentences every other and they fit as if they'd been written that way. This time, my scene actually started with the line that went right where she left off. I tell you, these characters KNOW the story they want to tell!) In both cases, the final result is, I think, stronger than the scene either of us had written on our own.

This story carries a very serious "M" rating for physical and sexual brutality involving a child. The 26th century can be a horribly cruel and vicious time, especially on the fringes of known space. I didn't really intend it that way, but Avi was pretty clear about what he wanted to say.

-sr

All love that has not friendship for its base,

Is like a mansion built upon the sand.

-- Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Sweat pouring down his face, Kam Anders pounded across the half-court, pirouetting at the last moment, swinging his body between the ball and that of his opponent, launching himself into the air as he slung the ball up and into the basket. The momentum of his leap carried him sideways, crashing him into the solid form blocking his way and dragging both of them to the ground. Kam landed on top of his nemesis, forcing a loud grunt from the other man.

"Too quick for you, Harkness?" he crowed.

His lover pushed Kam off and onto the floor as he rose smoothly to his feet.

"You wish, Anders!" he growled.

"That was a three pointer," the younger man proclaimed. "I'm up fifteen to ten."

"Or you would be if you hadn't fouled me three ways to Sunday on that play! As it is, the score is ten-twelve and I get two free-throws."

"You're losing it, Old Man! Just what rule book are you pretending to play from?"

"Are you questioning MY knowledge of the game? Me? Who played with Jim Naismith?!?"

"Well, first of all, I don't believe you did, and secondly, which of his thirteen rules are you claiming I violated?" A proselyte, Kam had become quite a student of the sport.

"The game has evolved since then!"

"Then don't claim your intimacy with Naismith as the source of your authority!"

"You'd never even heard of this game eight months ago!"

"I'm a quick study." In his mind, Jack heard the echo of a Welsh accent intoning, "I know everything."

The men stood glaring at each other, breathing heavily, then simultaneously lost the ability to keep up the pretence of competitive hostility. Suddenly grinning hugely, Kam told his lover, "You know I'm winning this game, Jack."

"And you know I'm not going to let that happen," he replied in kind.

"Only because you cheat."

"Is that a complaint? I didn't hear you complaining last night when I was cheating at—" His comment was cut off by a sharp, "Jack!" as Kam glanced worriedly around the rec room. The place wasn't full, but Leah Ali was sparring on the mats with Liza Fielding, and Anna Raynor, Avi Stasi and Tom Chibnall sat at a table off to one side apparently playing euchre, although Kam had noted that Chibnall's attention was focused far more on the sparring women than the cards in his hand.

Jack grinned at Kam's obvious discomfort and the younger man flushed as he realized the Captain was trying to get him riled, and despite his complete lack of self-consciousness had never intended to finish that sentence. Kam glowered at the older man, who was struggling to contain his laughter.

"Jack?" Kam asked softly, dangerously.

"Yes, Kam?"

"I love you."

Completely disarmed, Jack dropped all pretence.

"I love you too, Cariad."

The words were just escaping his mouth as Kam plunged past him, grabbed the ball, dribbled twice and then sank another basket from outside the three-point line.

"Eighteen points. I win," he told the slack-jawed Jack smugly.

"What are you talking about? We were playing to twenty!"

"Eighteen."

"Twenty. Who the hell plays to eighteen? Now you're cheating."

"Eighteen. I'm hungry. And I want a shower before dinner."

"Alone?"

"If I say 'no', will you concede the game?"

Panting, Harkness considered his options. Admit defeat in a contest neither man cared remotely about, or be excluded from fun and games with his lover in the shower. A no-brainer. Grabbing two towels from the side of the court and slinging one at the younger man, he griped, "Since when do you play so dirty?"

"I've been taking lessons from the best!"

Jack kind of had to yield that one too.

"It's not always appealing, you know…" he continued to grumble.

"You don't say," Kam replied innocently, and flashing a jaunty grin over his shoulder sauntered out of the rec room, headed for their quarters.

Anna Raynor watched the interplay out of the corner of her eye with amusement. The transformation of Kam Anders from an abused, insecure child to a teasing self-confident man continued to be a pleasure to behold. Anna had opened her heart to Kam from the very beginning, but her feelings towards the captain, as well as many other members of the crew, continued to evolve. Included on that list was one of her current tablemates, Avi Stasi. She glanced over at him to find him watching her warily. Raynor had been a witness to one of the moments in Stasi's life he was least proud of, and he knew that incident coloured all of her thoughts about him. It had to. It coloured all of his thoughts about himself, and about his service on the Bonny Welshman.

"Is it my turn, Avi?"

"No, Doc, sorry. It's mine. I was just…"

"What?"

"I was thinking how happy the two of them seem. How happy Kam is. I was enjoying watching them play."

Tom Chibnall, focused entirely on the tae-kwon-do bout on the nearby mats, seemed oblivious to the conversation.

"I was more or less thinking the same thing," she admitted. "And how much Kam has grown since I've known him."

"No thanks to me," Avi muttered under his breath.

"You're what, Avi, twenty-four?"

"Twenty-five."

"I'd make the same observation about you, I think. You're not the same kid who walked up the gangplank onto this ship."

He shuddered at the thought.

"I hope not."

She shook her head firmly.

"Definitely not. Less cocky, less closed off, less hostile…"

"Less stupid," he offered, eliciting a grin from the medic.

"Well, I wasn't going to go THERE, Mr. Stasi," she replied wryly. "I was actually thinking you seem—less afraid."

He shrugged. "When was the last time you didn't feel like you had to watch your back all the time? I think we're all less afraid."

"It's been years," she acknowledged. "A decade, really, I suppose."

"It's nice not to be worried all the time. Easier to get to know people if you're not scared that they're going to knife you for your boots while you're sleeping."

"And yet, of everyone, you seem to still be holding back. More than most, at least."

He squirmed under her gentle gaze.

"Maybe I've been fooled before. It's one thing if you're betrayed, if you're hurt by someone you know is out to get you. It's a little different if you think you can trust someone, if you should be able to trust someone… Makes you doubt your own judgment too, to doubt the goodness in anyone, you know."

There was a long pause while she considered her answer. Finally, she settled on being as honest as she could.

"Yes, I do know."

The sincerity in her voice started him, and he looked at her sharply, studying her expression.

"You do, don't you? I—I wouldn't have expected that," he answered simply. "You don't act like—"

"Just because one person betrayed me doesn't mean everyone I know has. We all have histories, Avi. It's the choices you make now that form the kind of person you are. This ship—the only thing anyone is going to judge you on is the person you are here, today."

"And if everyone you knew had?" he wondered, "Would you STILL be so open?" But he kept the thought to himself.

The women across the room ended their match and shook hands laughingly. Chibnall turned his attention back to his tablemates, suddenly aware that he'd been missing something, something important, but without any idea what it was.

"Hey, guys, what's going on? Whose turn is it anyway?" he asked. The medic held Stasi's gaze for a moment longer, then Avi tore it away to reply to his friend.

"It's my turn, Tom. Hold your horses! I'm thinking…"