Chapter Eleven
You kids are wonderfully insane - 100 reviews after ten chapters? I love you! I owe you all a good, hard, wet snog.
As usual this ran away from me and I wrote far more than I planned to. It's the longest chapter so far... I just hope it holds your attention for long enough to allow you to reach the end! I've pulled away from Wodehouse a little for this one (though the story of Bertie learning an instrument and Jeeves leaving because of it IS from the source material) but this is more recognisably Torchwood. Enjoy!
Within the hour, Ianto was gone.
Jack had spent the time between their argument and the door clicking shut with a disturbing sense of detached care, pacing the kitchen in a rage and making the odd growling comment to himself about insolent Welshmen. It was another of those times, like during the Lady Toshiko Sato débâcle, wherein Jack felt entirely friendless and slipped into the foulest of moods.
It took two days for him to admit that he was failing to draw any pleasure from playing his oboe any more, and a further twenty-four hours to realise that it really was an infernal din he was creating. He hadn't wanted to face the fact that he was bad at something, but on his third morning of isolation it struck him like a golf club to the skull that he wasn't going to get any better at this. The thought spawned a strange emotion in him that he supposed was a kind of humility... somewhat of an alien concept to Jack Harkness.
One more day was enough to force him to overcome his pride and admit that he needed Ianto back. He'd had no idea of quite how much mess he was able to create by himself when all of that time was spent mangling his eyesight with sheet after sheet of elaborate wind jazz, but a quick glance around the flat proved how much he required his valet. An even quicker evaluation of his mood since the young man left established just how much he missed him. Slowly it dawned upon him that he had chosen an oboe over the only true friend he had in the world, and he was genuinely horrified with himself.
Jack could have very easily spiralled into a maelstrom of self-pity on making so many displeasing discoveries in such quick succession. He reflected both on the things he had been ignoring that he was missing (company, conversation, cleanliness, coffee and fine cooking), and the events of the day that they parted ways, during which (it was only apparent to him now) Ianto had not been his usual self for some time. In fact, he was downright out of sorts. And those emotive eyes had been crying out for a support that had not been forthcoming.
No, the reason Jack would not succumb to a pity party was that the Code of The Harknesses forbade it. One must realise when one is wrong, he told himself, even when it is extremely belated and has caused a lot of unnecessary heartache as a result. There would be plenty of time to beat himself up over his bloody-minded stubbornness later – his mission for now was to retrieve one Ianto Jones.
A blindingly clear issue presented itself quite suddenly while Jack was slipping into his coat (no longer suppressing the feeling of loss at not having a pair of steady hands pushing out the kinks in the fabric) – he had no idea where Ianto was. He had mentioned telling the agency... yes, perfect, Jack would contact the agency! Fortunately his mind was working too quickly in its attempt to catch up with the last four days to fully register the panic coursing through him that Ianto might already have been assigned to another gentleman. You are a grade A moron, Harkness he reminded himself, faltering in his search for his telephone book as he wondered again how he could possibly choose a damnned instrument over his Jones. Sometimes he loathed himself for being quite so hot-headed – and the only person who had ever both accepted the way he was and yet had subtly began to help him change for the better... was Ianto.
"Yes, hello! Good morning!"
"Good morning sir, what can I do for you?"
"I... well... the thing is, I lost my valet, and..."
"You lost your valet, sir?"
"Yes. What I mean to say is, he left... and I don't know where he is."
"Right."
"Yeah. So... can you tell me if he's been assigned to anybody else?"
"Certainly, what's his name, sir?"
"Jones. Ianto Jones."
Jack tapped the toe of one of his Oxfords against the table leg in his impatience, noticing that the shoe wasn't up to his usual standard of glossiness and allowing a fresh wave of guilt and anxiety to flow through him in response.
"The most recent record we have of his employment is with a Mr Jack Harkness."
"That's me!"
"And... he is no longer with you, sir?"
"No. We had... a disagreement. He mentioned something about having to inform the agency that he was leaving me. My employ, I mean."
"Mr Jones hasn't been in contact with us, sir."
Jack exhaled slowly with relief. It had to be a good sign that Ianto hadn't yet made his decision so final as to actually tell the agency or move to a new gentleman.
"Perhaps the police would be your best option sir, if you're concerned about his whereabouts."
"What? No! I'd like to find him myself" Jack hurriedly replied. "I just don't know how to go about it."
With a sickening clench of his stomach, Jack realised just how little he knew about Ianto. Of course, he'd not bothered with all the boring paperwork and the references that might give him a clue... damn damn damn.
"Perhaps you have his next-of-kin information? Something that would give me an idea" he implored.
"Do you not already have a copy of Mr Jones' personal paperwork, sir?"
Jack bit his lip. "No. I... misplaced it."
The woman on the other end of the line didn't bother to suppress her sigh. Jack instinctively knew he would have to try harder.
"I didn't catch your name" he said, pushing out all of the concern from his voice and replacing it with his most syrupy charm.
A pause, and then "Carys" she said.
"You have a beautiful voice, Carys. I can see why they put you on the telephones, but you'd be far better suited to the wireless. Where are you from?"
He could hear her becoming flustered. "Uh... Splott."
"Splott" Jack repeated, emphasising the double 't' in an attempt to make it sound sexy. "Your accent is to die for. Though if I did die listening to it, I'd ensure I came back, just to hear it again."
He heard the young lady's breath catch slightly, and grinned. And she didn't even have to see this face to fall for it...
"The next-of-kin is a Mrs Rhiannon Davies, sir. Sister to Mr Jones" she said, her tone a great deal softer than before, and she reeled off an address which Jack scribbled down at lightening speed.
"Carys, you are a saint!" Jack praised, holding his scrap of paper like a trophy.
"Just doing my job, Jack. I mean... Mr Harkness. I mean, sir!" Carys babbled.
"Keep up the good work, honey. I'm going to bring my valet back!"
When Ianto had turned up on his sister's doorstep, she was already looking at him as if this was expected. He swallowed down the bile that rose in response to the pity in her eyes, and allowed her to wordlessly throw her arms around him.
"I thought to myself this morning, if there's ever a time for Ianto to come around, it's today" she sighed as she passed him sub-par cup of coffee which he was inordinately grateful for. He glanced around his sister's cosy little home, revelling in the fact that it was the polar opposite of every household he had ever worked in or visited with a gentleman.
"How are you holding up?" Rhiannon quietly asked, placing a hand on top of his and gazing at him with intensely tender dark eyes.
"Not especially well" he admitted.
"We knew it was going to be hard. Those kinds of memories... they don't go away. It's only been a year."
"I know."
"It'll probably be the same every year..."
"You're not helping" Ianto said flatly, extracting his hand and wrapping both palms around his cooling mug.
"Sorry" Rhiannon murmured, with the mournful look she'd inherited from their mother.
"It isn't your fault, Rhi" Ianto breathed. "You're right. It probably will always be hard. But I didn't expect... I don't know. Can I... would I be able to stay here for a few nights?"
Rhiannon flushed with glee and Ianto had to force his eyesight not to stray towards the ceiling.
"Of course!" she enthused. "I miss you, you know? I mean, it's better now that you're not all the way in London, but still, you never come to see me..."
"I'm here now" he murmured, forcing a small smile.
"But what about work?"
"Work can wait" he said, but he could already tell that she had something bubbling to the surface, some small piece of gossip about him that she'd latched onto because they so rarely spoke save for the odd letter.
"Alright, what is it?" he said, exasperated but glad of the distraction.
"Susan said she saw you" Rhiannon blurted.
"Again, with coherence?" Ianto patiently requested.
"Susan! You know Susan, down the road? Well, she told me she saw you trailing after a man."
"I spend a great deal of my time trailing after men, for better or worse."
"She said he was gorgeous, like Errol Flynn!"
Ianto couldn't help but allow a smirk. If anything, Jack would insist that he was far more handsome than Errol Flynn.
"He's my new employer."
"Doesn't sound like your usual type... I thought you were always lumbered with the doddery old codgers?"
"I am, but I was offered Mr Harkness and took the job as a challenge. It's... different" Ianto shrugged.
"He's good to you then, is he?"
"Yes" Ianto immediately answered, wincing a moment later when he remembered Jack's tone on telling him to leave.
"And...?"
"And what?"
"Is he gorgeous? Does he really look like a film star?"
Ianto chuckled, amazed at his sister's innate ability to give him something pointless to focus on.
"He is very handsome" he conceded.
Ianto's short time in the Davies household dragged on, interspersed with insomnia and long bouts of staring into space. He had spent that first day with Rhiannon relentlessly badgering him to talk to her about his feelings, despite the protestations that it wasn't his strong point. However, by the end of an exceedingly tiresome evening he had finally yielded, and once he began, it was remarkably easy to let his thoughts and emotions spill out. By midnight he was tearstained and exhausted, and Rhiannon had helped him up to the minuscule spare bedroom, wherein he switched his brain to autopilot and dozed, aware of his surroundings but blissfully unheeding of them.
Afterwards, with the need to mourn slowly receding, the guilt began to set in; guilt at having left Jack thinking he abandoned him just because of a bloody oboe, and knowing that his employer wouldn't know how to contact him. As he continued to tell himself he wasn't quite ready to return to the flat and apologise, the hours turned into days and his concern only increased. Perhaps Jack had immediately hired a new valet... Ianto liked to think that he meant more to Jack, that he couldn't just replace him... but Jack's moods swung so violently when heightened, it was impossible to tell. His gut twisted unpleasantly in response to the idea of him having found somebody else so quickly, though it seemed unlikely.
Rhiannon had been reasonably restrained in her enquiries regarding Jack, but he knew she was wondering why he still hadn't gone back or made any attempt to contact him. He hadn't lied; he'd explained that his emotions had gotten the better of him and he needed the space, but he left out any details of the oboe, their argument and his dramatic exit. On the morning when finally he felt enough like himself to bite the bullet and return with his tail between his legs, he was astonished to wander into the lounge and find his sister sitting with none other than his employer, who was smiling politely as she giggled at something.
"Sir" Ianto interrupted, subconsciously flattening his jumper. Jack glanced up at him and immediately beamed, before reeling the smile back into something more contrite and standing to look him in the eye.
"Jones" he said, unbelievably grateful to see him again. "I was just telling your sister that good looks must run in the family!"
Ianto didn't stop himself from rolling his eyes this time, and Rhiannon seemed to preen in response.
"Your charm remains boundless I see, sir" he stated, manner and diction immediately returning to the professional, in which he found a great deal of comfort. "Can I get you anything?"
"What? Oh, no, of course not. I just... umm..." Jack stammered, and Ianto raised his eyebrows in wonderment that even Jack Harkness could be lost for words occasionally.
"I'll leave you to it" Rhiannon said in a theatrical whisper, creeping out of the room and leaving the two men standing awkwardly in the centre of it. Ianto smiled at her in thanks and then returned his gaze to Jack, who seemed lost.
"The thing is, Jones, I..." he began, and then grabbed the long leather case that had been lying on the sofa behind him. Ianto winced at the sight of it.
"I was wondering if you knew where I could find a home for this" Jack said, indicating towards the box which contained his formerly precious oboe.
"You wish to rid yourself of it, sir?" Ianto asked, hoping beyond hope.
"It turns out I'm not very good" Jack explained sheepishly. "And... I don't really enjoy it any more so I thought there might be a deserving cause to which we could... donate it."
"Might I suggest the November the fifth celebrations, sir? They are always on the lookout for cheap bonfire kindling."
Jack laughed a true, deep belly laugh and Ianto felt a warmth spread through his chest.
"I'll even let you throw it in Jones, you must be longing to do so by now" he grinned, and dropped the case carelessly back onto the sofa.
"Anyway... I also wondered if you'd like to return to your post at the flat" he said, suddenly serious again and pleading with his eyes. Ianto didn't need to think about it.
"I would be honoured to sir, if you wish it."
"I do wish it, Jones... I do" Jack took a step forward and searched the young man's face in a manner which made Ianto feel utterly exposed.
"You look tired" Jack said softly.
"I have been sleeping in an alien bed sir, it takes time to adjust" Ianto explained.
"I'm reasonably certain you haven't been sleeping at all, Jones" Jack frowned. "You didn't leave just because of the oboe, did you?"
Ianto's eyes widened and he cursed himself for not giving Jack enough credit. Apparently he was more perceptive than herealised.
"Sir?" was all he said, that knotted feeling returning to his abdomen.
"That day, and for a few days before that, you weren't yourself, Jones. You were short-tempered and you left me alone with Manger – that's not you" he shook his head. Ianto wondered if he could face exposing his secrets to somebody as emotionally unstable as Jack. He might start crying, or organise a cuddle workshop, neither of which Ianto was equipped to handle. Then again... he couldn't think of a plausible excuse.
"I apologise, sir" he muttered.
"No, I apologise, Jones. I pushed you, and I didn't realise in time that you were feeling out of sorts. I'm afraid that's my style... speak first, think much, much later... but you already knew that" he said. Ianto offered a shaky smile and a tiny nod.
"And that's why I need you back" Jack continued, "to reel me in and anchor me when I'm being an imbecile."
"I shall do all I can to rise to the challenge, sir" Ianto replied dryly in an attempt to not show how the words had caused a swell of emotion deep within him.
Jack looked into his valet's world-weary eyes and dragged him into a hug, not giving him time to pull away. He wrapped his own arms tightly around Ianto's shoulders and squeezed, attempting to pour into him a little warmth and comfort. He couldn't claim that it was an entirely selfless act, but if it benefited them both, where was the harm?
Ianto stood stock still for a long moment, startled enough by the gesture to not complain that Jack was clinging to the point of discomfort. When his brain finally managed to send a message to his arms, they loosely encircled Jack's waist and he slumped into the embrace, finding that patch of space within his own mind in which there was nothing and allowing himself to languish there for while.
"Ready to go, Jones?" Jack whispered, patting his back. Ianto pulled away and nodded.
"Allow me a few minutes to pack, sir" he replied, running a hand through his uncharacteristically unkempt hair as he disappeared from the room. Rhiannon slipped back in so immediately that if Jack was a suspicious man, he might have thought she'd been listening at the door.
"He explained it to you, did he? Why he ran off?" she asked, padding back towards the handsome man she was rather pleased to have in her house.
"Oh, no, I already knew why" Jack nodded, though it occurred to him that it still hadn't been explained why Ianto had been in a dreadful mood to start with, but he hoped to discover that with a little gentle persuasion. More important was bringing his friend home and returning to normal.
Rhiannon looked surprised.
"You knew?"
"Yes, of course. It was my fault anyway, I pushed him about it and aggravated the situation" Jack sighed. Rhiannon gaped at him, her cheeks turning pink.
"You knew, and you intentionally made it worse?" she hissed. "How could you! Ianto is incredibly sensitive about it! He absolutely adored Lisa and losing her completely shattered him, so if you think I'm just going to let this slide, you-"
"WAIT! Wait... what the hell are you talking about, and who is Lisa?" Jack growled, struck with the sudden understanding that he was completely out of his depth.
