This story is set in/inspired by engagemythrusters's ao3 series Triptych, in which Lisa is uncyberified and Ianto sustains a back injury at Canary Wharf, and they're in a relationship with Jack. So go read their series! It's absolutely incredible. I know I post my stuff both here and on ao3, but I've been there much more in the past year or so, so I might move over permanently at some point. But in the meantime - please read and enjoy, and let me know what you think!
The flat they picked was on the ground floor. No danger of the lift breaking that way, less time needed to walk from the car to the front door. A door in the back of the flat led out to a courtyard.
"A balcony," Lisa said at first, then sheepishly looked down. "My parents called it that."
She'd lived with a similar layout when she'd been small. Not a balcony—balconies were off windows, seemed like fall risks—but a garden.
She left Jack and Ianto behind and walked from the living room to the yard, the clacking of her shoes muffled by the porous brick path. Some elevated flower beds stood by the fence—vegetable beds? She looked back at Jack and Ianto with a wide smile, finding only Jack's eyes; Ianto had sat down.
"I like it!" she yelled back at them.
Jack beamed.
She twirled in place, arms wide, then stopped and closed her eyes. Fifty-first century eyesight. Jack bit the inside of his cheek and left Ianto, took Lisa's arm and led her back inside.
"It's perfect," she said, taking off her shoes and pressing her feet into the floor, her side into Jack's—forcing her nerve damage away, smiling when the initial wave of discomfort passed. She didn't pretend, let Jack press a kiss down on her head—her headscarf patterned with flowers to match the garden she and Ianto had been excited to see, that Ianto still hadn't seen because he couldn't stay standing for long today.
"What sort of flowers would you like?" Jack heard Lisa ask as he left them alone and went to the kitchen. He heard a rustle of fabric as Ianto shrugged.
The kitchen was separated from the living room by a half-wall; the living room was separated from the dining area by a decorative ceiling beam. The open space carried sound well and was smaller than the other places they'd looked at. Easy to move through. No walls, a hindrance for Ianto when he used them for balance rather than his crutches, but Jack had voiced the concern once and had been rebuffed.
Ianto liked the natural light, the large window and sliding door leading out into the yard, the open space that the smell of food—which Ianto couldn't cook unless he focused fully on it—traveled easily through with a welcoming air.
Jack had voiced a concern about the garden. About rain and animals and the danger of the glass door breaking all over them during a natural disaster.
Ianto had laughed him out of the room.
Jack had voiced a concern about the garden, not quite "Please reconsider," not ready to crush his partners' dreams. But in their idealism, they looked through plant catalogues, each as clueless as the other, and eventually settled on some bulbs and seeds as well as nice outdoor furniture.
Jack had voiced a concern about the garden, about the furniture and the need to move it when it rained—not quite "I'm the only one that can do it," but hoping that his hint would reach their ears.
It didn't.
They set up the furniture several days later, and the smiles on Lisa and Ianto's faces at the mellow spring chased away Jack's apprehension.
.oOo.
Ianto took the left chair and Lisa the right, both placed in the shade and facing the sun. The garden sat in front of them, the first buds pushing up through the soil. Around them, small weeds already danced in the wind.
They were holding hands, acknowledged Jack when he came home, and lifted their faces up for kisses; unlinked hands and held Jack's, keeping him between them. Jack sat on the short outdoor table, scraping its legs on the brick floor as he moved it closer, and closed his eyes, feeling the sun on his face, as Lisa and Ianto kissed his cheeks.
Softly. Squeezing his hands, firm, warm, bracketing him in, not letting him go but not keeping him. Holding. Smiling at him gently when he opened his eyes and let them take in the garden, the neat vegetable patches and the wild flower beds below.
He squeezed their hands in return and talked about his day, about the team and Myfanwy and the slime monster that they'd missed on their day off.
He didn't ask how their day went. They told him about shopping and napping, taking a bath together around midday, off-handedly mentioning the garden but passing a look to each other above Jack's head.
He kissed their hands. As if he wasn't their third, as if he didn't know their silent communication, as if he didn't partake in it just as often.
He kissed but didn't speak. There was a reason they were sitting and the flower beds were wild. They were lower than the vegetable garden, too low to kneel and bend towards for long periods of time, too involved to work on when there was something else—shopping, vegetables, rest—to do as well.
Jack knew that. He'd been worried about the garden. Whatever worry Lisa and Ianto had held was eclipsed by their excitement, which had likewise overpowered their knowledge of limitations.
He kissed them once more. He knew the drive to do-do-do, damn the consequences. So did they. And, damn the consequences, they had a flower garden now. It looked nice, green and lively, tall weeds eclipsing budding tulips, bright in the warm sun.
.oOo.
Bookshelves dotted the entire flat, three individual tastes creating an eclectic but extensive collection, some filled with knickknacks and DVDs rather than books, others overflowing with reading material.
With Lisa and Ianto snug in bed, Ianto reaching across the bed to hold her hand—Jack's, too, if he was there, always unconsciously seeking companionship—Jack snuck out, avoiding the single squeaky floorboard that they'd already hired someone to replace in the coming week. He resisted snapping a picture of them for fear of waking them up and made his way to the bookshelves.
The bedroom shelf was dedicated to light reading, to well-worn torn spines and words that flowed from one to another as quickly as thoughts did. No new gardening books would be kept there.
Jack moved from shelf to shelf, running his fingers over the titles, searching for something crisp but read—a new book that had been bought before they'd moved in, dedicated to the flowers Lisa and Ianto had tried to grow before they quietly accepted that they couldn't.
Gardening techniques, information on flowers. How much sun they needed, how much water. How weeds affected them, what sort of fertilizer helped them grow. What sort of flowers they had, when they were supposed to bloom, how likely they were to cause allergies.
Jack found his prey under the coffee table and curled up on the couch, missing his partners' warmth, and began to read.
When the bedroom alarm went off in the morning, Jack was discarding used trowels and dusting dirt off his boots. He closed the door to the garden behind him, not quite managing to do so soundlessly, but without disturbing Lisa and Ianto, who—when he peeked his head into the bedroom on his way to shower—had pressed snooze.
The quick utilitarian shower gave Jack the boost he needed to plow through the rest of the day. He'd catch up on sleep later, providing both Ianto and Lisa with warmth—him more than her, the damned heat-thief—and now jaunted out of the bathroom to wake them up.
Wet hair and wet kisses were always romantic, weren't they?
Lisa and Ianto certainly thought so, grimacing at the water droplets that woke them up but hungrily tracing the ones making their way down Jack's throat and chest.
.oOo.
Jack didn't wake up early the next day and thoroughly made fun of Ianto for burying his face into his shoulder when the alarm went off. Sometimes it was easy to see that Ianto was still so young, despite all the pain he went through and the things he'd seen; when he struggled to make dinner because he wasn't sure if he'd turned on the oven, when he hated waking up despite loving his job, when he eagerly watched Star Wars and James Bond and argued over the fact that he had an obsession.
Lisa laughed with him, then left them in bed and went to get ready, leaving Jack with a kiss on the lips and Ianto with a light swat to the thigh.
Jack watched her go and absently rubbed circles into Ianto's shoulder until he was awake as well. He let Ianto get ready at his own pace and went to make breakfast.
Breakfast, a thing he now did. With the people he loved. Sometimes toast, sometimes oatmeal, but usually something more involved. Something with vegetables for Ianto—always the plan until Ianto pouted and got fruit instead. Something with jam for Lisa, who ate her vegetables during the day and so didn't need to be reminded.
Jack set the table and greeted Lisa and Ianto when they joined him, then drove them to the Hub.
Yet another thing he hadn't expected. And yet again, Jack wasn't arguing.
Not about the important things. About why the forks were never in the right drawer? All the time.
.oOo.
On the weekend, when Lisa and Ianto decided to make a pie, Jack was knee-deep in the flower bed.
He didn't know they were baking inside. He was weeding and watering and telling the plants about the latest broken tech that had come through the Rift. He and Tosh were on their way to reconstructing it, and when he'd told Ianto and Lisa about the project, they'd stared at him in an odd way. Taking his words in, of course—Ianto remembered everything and Lisa was too stubborn to let him be better than her at it—but not really understanding.
It was cute.
"It's hot," Lisa told him unapologetically the first time Jack apologized for taking the time to technobabble, Ianto nodding beside her. "And sometimes I feel like I can understand it. You know what you're talking about, it's—"
She didn't say what exactly it was. Jack had kissed her too quickly. He was unused to compliments and affirmations no matter how often Lisa and Ianto provided them, and it was easier to show, not tell.
It was easier to smell, too.
When Jack got up, covered in pollen and dirt and sweat, he not only smelled the tulips and daffodils, but the sweet and fruity juices of Lisa and Ianto's pies from inside, even through the glass door. He shook most of the gardening off himself and stomped his boots on the bricks before heading inside to wash up.
The pies were on the kitchen counters and on the dining table, and Ianto and Lisa were on the couch, watching a film but mostly eating pies.
"You didn't wait," Jack said, though what he really meant was Pies?
"You were outside," Lisa said, though what she really meant was We didn't even notice that we made so many.
"Pie?" Ianto offered, and what he meant was Join us.
.oOo.
The tulips bloomed for two weeks. Each day, Jack walked into the cool spring weather and tended to the flowers, watching them open and grow. The largest were bigger than his hand: red and vibrant, black in the middle, showing off and swaying in the breeze. The smallest were modest and light.
Lisa and Ianto had bought many sorts of flowers and the garden looked eclectic. In a separate bed, bright yellow and white daffodils, and some that hadn't opened yet, sent out pollen and invited Jack to come outside. They would likely bloom longer than the tulips, would see the lilies that had also been planted but had yet to even bud.
Jack looked at the garden with love.
He looked with more love at Lisa and Ianto sitting in front of it, whispering between themselves. He couldn't hear through the closed door and joined them after a moment.
After another moment, not yet tired, he moved over to the vegetable garden and picked up his tools, his back to his partners and a smile on his face—he knew the effect he had. It wasn't vanity. It wasn't proper, either, perhaps. But it was fun.
Another few minutes and Jack let his shirt fall to the ground. Ianto clicked his tongue. "Laundry."
"I'll pick it up," Jack promised.
Lisa was laughing.
Jack would never let Ianto to be the one to deal with his discarded clothes, not even with his own hatred of laundry. For Ianto, he'd fill the washing machine and hang the delicates up to try rather than shoving them into the dryer. For Ianto, he wouldn't say why he did it; for Lisa, he'd turn around brandishing a red and ripe tomato, and threaten to feed it to Ianto.
Lisa's hand clenched on the chair's handle. A moment, tense. Jack didn't turn back around to the garden but didn't stare. Another moment. She relaxed, rubbed a leg against the coarse chair cushion. Gripped Ianto's hand with her free one, hard, chasing away the pain of damaged nerve endings.
Ianto held her back; for Jack, he kissed the back of her hand where the skin was still whole; for Jack, whose hands were covered in dirt and who would only agitate Lisa's hurt.
A moment, and Lisa laughed once more. The conversation continued.
Jack turned around and closed his eyes—a moment, just one, and calmed his racing heart.
.oOo.
When most of the tulips had shed their petals and the daffodils took over the flower bed, Jack snipped the stems of the remaining flowers and put them in a vase that he left on the kitchen table.
It had been raining.
Ianto had barely made it out of bed. Lisa took soothing baths as the moisture in the air irritated her skin and drove her to tears. Both of them kissed Jack when they had dinner with the flowers in the middle of the table.
"They smell so fresh," Ianto said.
"I didn't know you'd gone to the store," Lisa said.
Jack ducked his head. He didn't want to nod and lie, and he didn't want to gesture to the garden; just as they read each other's nonverbal cues, Lisa and Ianto read his.
"They're beautiful," they said, and they meant Thank you. For the flowers, for something else—the flowers were the least Jack could do for them, had done it for them but not for them, and to be thanked for something like this made his words stick in his throat.
He shoveled dinner into his mouth to prevent a response and was brought back to reality when he choked and they had to thump his back.
.oOo.
The first time Jack left with the Doctor, he didn't have a home to return to; he came back changed and unchanged, terrified and hurt and not bearing a single mark of what he'd gone through; he came back returned and abandoned, with a new understanding of life and a new hollowness in his chest.
The second time Jack was taken by the Doctor, he looked back at the home he was whisked away from; at the garden and the bed and the open living area; at Ianto and Lisa looking at him with the same desperation, but none of them could say no to the Doctor, and so Jack went.
He came back changed, breathless, breathing in an air that was suddenly too sweet and looking at a sun that was too bright, a flat that was the same and yet.
There was a new carpet under the coffee table.
They'd replaced the handrails in the bathroom.
The pasta pot was different.
"It kept sliding around."
"I needed more help."
"He burned dinner the first night without you."
It had only been a month and the house was different. There were flowers on the windowsills, in a large pot by the door to the garden. Outside, the autumn that had just turned the leaves brown when he'd left had finally given way to winter: a thin sheet of snow lay over the brick pathway and the nice chairs and the raised vegetable garden.
Inside, Lisa and Ianto followed Jack to the couch and sat on either side of him. The coffee table was the same despite the rug. The plate on it showed evidence of another baking spree; the vase on it held a small bouquet.
"He brought me back too late," Jack chocked out when they pushed the vase to him, then, when Lisa and Ianto looked at him with wide eyes, remembered himself and said, "He fixed me."
"He fixed me," Jack said, which was important, which needed to be said, when he really wanted to say You got me flowers, because finally the flowers would wilt along with the three of them, not just with Lisa and Ianto, leaving Jack all alone.
He paused. Lisa and Ianto looked at him, held his hands—jumped when something beeped in the kitchen.
"Dinner," they chorused, smiled at each other, then at Jack.
"Nothing fancy," Ianto said, standing, walking to get the food, using his hand to lever himself up but otherwise steady on his feet. "Pasta."
"He learned not to burn it."
The table was set for three for the first time in a month; for the first time in a month, Jack sat in his own seat, surrounded by people who would never leave him.
The garden didn't need looking after in the winter, and they hadn't kept up with it; but the flowers in their house, potted, easy to reach, needing less care, were bright and soft and sweet, most in their pots but some gathered in a vase—a gift for Jack.
A gift for Jack. They hadn't even known he was coming back. A month later, and things changed. Little things. The things he'd memorized of the flat that he had to get used to. But this? Sitting together, talking, feeling their presence on either side of him… It was cemented into Jack's very bones, and no amount of time or distance could change that.