The Academy
"This is a bad idea," Jack muttered, pacing anxiously.
Ianto leaned on the podium and watched him pace the length of the stage, back and forth. "It'll be alright, Jack," he assured his frantic lover.
They were standing in the House of Commons, a half hour early. Ianto had booked the room for the Open House of the air force, where they would offer fifty spaces to cadets under twenty to start the Academy.
But Jack did have a point, Ianto thought to himself. Ianto wasn't the greatest with kids, and Jack had a longstanding phobia of children since the death of his grandson, Steven. Maybe this was a bad idea.
He sighed. Two people were not enough to be an entire air force, he thought derisively. They'd been stretched so thin during the Scanran War. Jack had run himself ragged, and Ianto had been captured and stolen away to Scanra, where Jack could not reach him. Those awful weeks still haunted his dreams.
Toward the end of the war, or rather the end of their involvement with the war, Alanna had somehow cornered Jack and convinced him that they needed to bulk up their air force, and that meant taking cadets. It would be a relief, but in the mean time it meant more stress.
"Alright? Alright? Ianto, it's Lily all over again!" Jack hissed, still pacing.
Ianto swallowed, heart tugging at the mention of the little girl he'd taken under his wing at Haven. It was a low blow from Jack. She'd been kidnapped by the Scanrans, and Blayce had experimented on her, trying to create… well, the Hag only knew what he was trying to do. Ianto had found her, half-converted and horrible; Jack had killed her because Ianto had been unable, frozen and terrified, never mind that he didn't have a dyne. Both of their nightmares for weeks after had been horrific; Lily was another child to add to Jack's frighteningly long list, and she bore such resemblance to Lisa that Ianto sometimes woke sweating and gasping, sure that Cybermen were coming to kill them all.
"It won't be like Lily," Ianto assured him quietly, and prayed to the Hag that he wasn't lying. "Lily was an orphan in a warzone, Jack. These will be students—cadets. Alanna's right; we'll be teaching them to fight."
"So they can fall from the sky in a ball of flame?" Jack spat bitterly, but Ianto heard the fear in his voice.
"I haven't done that yet," Ianto reminded him. Jack took in a sharp breath and rushed over, crouching beside Ianto and pressing close.
"That was what Alanna said," he mumbled into Ianto's shoulder. "But the possibility—" he shook.
"Hush," Ianto murmured, and pressed a kiss to the top of Jack's head. "In case you've forgotten, I'm a very good pilot. I was taught by the best, remember? And they will be, too." He gestured to the empty seats. "It's going to be alright, Jack. You'll see."
Jack squeezed his eyes shut and didn't say anything. Ianto stroked the back of his neck. "I promise," he added and Jack was so close Ianto felt him swallow. Someone pounded on the door to the auditorium and Jack exhaled slowly. His warm breath whispered across Ianto's neck.
"Showtime," Jack muttered reluctantly, and stood up. Ianto stood with him and straightened Jack's coat, which had been rumpled. He smoothed a hand down the rising phoenix embroidered in the right lapel.
"It's going to be fine," he said again, and kissed him. Jack leaned heavily into him, murmuring something against his lips, but Ianto pulled back before it got out of hand. There were people outside, and when Jack kissed him like that for too long, well, they might never let anyone in after all. "I'll get the door," Ianto whispered and then turned to do so.
"You—you know that I love you, right?" Jack said, almost too softly to hear. Ianto looked back and smiled. The words were rare and they never failed to curl warmth in his stomach.
"You have told me before," he teased gently. "But yes, Jack. I love you too. May I open the doors, now?"
Jack nodded, face lighting in a beaming, welcoming grin that was not entirely faked. "Showtime," he said again, with a little more enthusiasm.
.
.
Dan Markam grinned to himself from where he leaned on the far wall.
The room was huge, one of those rooms used by the House of Lords or Commons or whatever, and the Captains far down below were likely annoying quite a lot of people by using it as an auditorium. Dan closed his eyes briefly and listened to the voices of the two men rise and fall below, appreciating the acoustics of the place for a moment. Captain Harkness was speaking about cadets and brilliance and aerodynes and Dan smiled to himself.
Really, this was a great way to throw off his brothers. Dan's favorite past time was confusing people, and this one sort of took the cake.
Captain Jack Harkness was a man of honor, he remembered that. The Captain of the Gwen Cooper Mark I had made a huge deal out of it, and if Dan was quite honest, he was a little worried about meeting him. Well, meeting him for real, anyway.
Dan's father was a Player in a traveling show, and Dan had grown up on tall tales and fantastical, theatrical stories. The troop sometimes whispered that Dan's father was mad, but Dan saw the act for what it was. He'd approved wholeheartedly of Dan's decision, if his delighted laughter was anything to go by, and it was. Dan had his father's blessing, although that didn't mean much.
Captain Harkness had landed in Blue Harbor during the Scanran War, where Dan's father's company was hiding out, performing plays to ease the terror of a country at war. The Gwen Cooper Mark I had made a huge amount of noise, Dan remembered, howling as she landed, and when Captain Harkness had hopped out of the cockpit with a grin, Dan had seen stars. The gloomy future as an actor had disappeared like one of his father's illusions.
Dan wanted to fly. It had been three years ago – Dan had been barely seven – but he'd known, right there in his twisted, insane heart, that he'd wanted to fly.
So here he was, at the information session of the air force, when they were opening their division to the public, offering to train new people. Dan was watching the man who was secretly his hero and the man who was not-so-secretly Captain Harkness's lover speak about physics, and work, and excellence.
Dan was smart. He knew he was smart. He could out-smart the smartest of the company at home; he made a game of talking people in circles. He'd learned his letters faster than the other boys, and at eight he'd managed to calculate his father's profits and make several improvements. He learned scripts so quickly that the actors of his father's troop were convinced that he was some sort of devil's child. Even at ten, he spoke grandly, using vocabulary he'd learned from his father's plays, vocabulary that even educated nobles' children of his age did not know. Mostly, he did it to see the looks on the adults' faces. It was fun when they stared at him as though he had two heads.
Captain Jones asked for more questions. Dan stayed in his seat and asked, projecting his voice as he'd been taught by the traveling show, "What's the price of this endeavor?"
"Forever debt to the air force!" Captain Harkness shot back with a devilish grin. Dan's face split in a responding smile. Nay, he positively beamed at the Captain.
The good Captain had read the mockery in his voice. He'd joked. At home, no one but his father ever joked. But here-Captain Harkness had replied in kind.
He was Dan's damn hero, and when Captain Jones amended that the price could either be paid before or after training, Dan didn't care.
