Happy New Year, everyone! May this new year bring all of us inspiration and success! (and whatever else you guys wish for *wink wink*)
Disclaimer: I don't own it, whatever it is (Torchwood, Rover, etc.)
May you enjoy your reading...
Thirty-five years of flirting (his first moves had apparently been noted during his first hours of life, when he had been oddly smiling at all the beautiful nurses in the maternity, while all other newborns just screamed) and he found himself tongue-tied and incapable to react at the crossing into uncharted territory… also known as Ianto Jones' threshold.
As Jack Harkness strolled down the empty streets of Cardiff the next morning, he kept replaying over and over the last conversation he'd had with the young tailor, trying to figure out when exactly he had crossed over the apparently invisible line that separated "natural" Ianto from "careful, cautious, masked" Ianto. And while the latter was the most present of the two, he much more preferred the former, especially after having caught a glimpse or two of him.
Suddenly, he stopped and realised, among other things, that his stroll had turned into a marathon and that he had unconsciously reached the building made of red brick that sheltered the tailor shop. And that moment, while trying to catch his laboured breath, Jack Harkness understood something: Ianto Jones was a mystery wrapped up in a lovely package and he wanted to be the one to tear down that wrapping paper and red bow and be the first and only to discover the surprise inside. His instinct had never been mistaken before and he had a feeling he wasn't mistaken now either.
So, with a deep breath and a "now-or-never" thought, he walked up to the tailor shop's door and pulled the handle roughly… only to find the door locked… securely so.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" the man in the long blue coat let out a fierce roar, startling a couple of pigeons that had flown down from the surrounding rooftops in order to peck at the occasional breadcrumbs fallen on the pavement.
"Can I help you?" a fair-haired head appeared from around the corner.
"Um, yes. Hi, I'm a customer here and I was wondering if the tailor shop is open… today…"
"Ah, the American best man." The stranger walked around the corner entirely. He was wearing one of the café's aprons and a calm smile. "I'm afraid the tailor shop doesn't open until two o'clock today. You see, it's Wednesday." Jack answered him with a blank stare, obviously unaware of the local habit of keeping the shop closed at such an unusual hour during the week. "Of course, you're not from around here…" the man understood and started stammering. He was sort of cute and appeared to be a very nice fellow, thus making Jack wonder once again why the hell he hadn't visited Cardiff during his teenage years. Apparently everyone here was lovely and quite attractive. But, as things were, Jack couldn't help but be saddened, and a bit concerned, by the fact that he wasn't even trying to flirt with the ginger-head, given that he was a man on a mission. "The boss takes his niece to the pool on Wednesdays. You see, she has some breathing problems and an asthma tendency, so she's been recommended to take up swimming. But don't worry, he's never late, so we'll be open at two o'clock sharp." The man explained and smiled again. For a long moment, Jack remained unmoved, staring at the ground below his feet. Finally he looked up and curtly spoke back.
"Thank you. That would be all." He turned around and started down the street, once again at an almost breakneck speed.
"What the hell have you been doing? Taking showers with your coat on? I know you love that blasted old thing, but you're getting ridiculous!" Owen Harper exclaimed when, half an hour later, his best mate entered his small, but cosy apartment, looking as if he had run to London and back.
"You want to know what's ridiculous? I'll tell you what is ridiculous! Five women and three men gave me the look this morning and I just stared or, worse, glared back at them! No flirting, no innuendo, not even a wink! One tiny wink! Not to mention the lovely ginger-head, almost blonde that works in Mr. Jones' café and whom I would've usually chosen as breakfast menu. Nothing!" Jack started moving about the living room, gesturing dramatically.
"You don't have a fitting scheduled today. What the hell were you doing down there?" Owen inquired while skimming through the morning paper, not even bothering to look up at his distressed friend.
"Well…"
"Oh, for Heaven's sake… I thought I asked you not to flirt with the kid…" the medic finally closed the newspaper and threw it on the table, in front of him.
"He's hardly a "kid"!"
"Jack…"
"I know what you're going to say and don't worry, I haven't forgotten that this month's star is Diane!"
"That's not what I was going to say."
"Then what? Your pants aren't going to drop in the middle of the ceremony… and, sadly, neither will mine…"
"You've been through this before, Harkness."
"Not like this."
"You know, I remember a very similar dialogue occurring not even a week ago. Funny thing, how our roles changed." Owen sniggered.
"Yeah right."
"I've got only two words for you, mate: John fucking Hart. Remember how that came out in the end?"
"That was a very long time ago!"
"Look, I'm trying to get married here. And for that, I need a calm best man. So, I'm going to give you the same advice I used back when we were in college: fuck him, get him out of your system and never see him again. It shouldn't be that hard, especially concerning you."
"I can't do that."
"Why not?"
"Because my gut feeling tells me he's different."
"That's just because he hasn't given in to you yet. He's playing hard to get, but in the end he'll turn out just the same. Look at you, Jack. You're a great human specimen, you have all the success and charm you could possibly want… generally, you have a great life which you systematically try to overrun by special cases. Do you really need me to point out the highlights?" Owen asked, eyes staring up at him almost accusingly.
"No!"
"John Hart: in and out of rehab more times than I can count. You thought you could get him back on track, but you nearly ended up a wreck yourself. Then came Rose Tyler and her mysterious Doctor Smith. And boy, was that explosive. One minute I see you dancing with her in some London club, the next I hear about how you've left the academy for a year in order to have a world tour with those two. Then I receive a phone call six months later and you fly down from a bloody war-zone with an entire leg almost missing. Not to mention that you've run with the same love guru a second time five years ago, and then I could've sworn that you'd finally grown up. And last but not least, we have Gwen Cooper."
"Ugh, don't even go there." Jack turned away from Owen and began stomping down to his designated bedroom.
"Who kept wanting for you, but shagged me for an entire bloody year!"
"I don't have feelings for Gwen!"
"Maybe you don't, but maybe you do. And I can't blame you for that, I'd have to be a hypocrite to do so… but, I've managed to move on… I found Diane…"
"And look where that got you…" Jack turned around and found Owen standing just a few feet behind him. They simply stared at each other.
"I'm happy." The medic glared at his friend.
"You're miserable… Just like I was after all my disastrous relationships. How long until we start charming and shagging our way through the pubs of Great Britain again?" Jack spoke slowly, tiredly, as if pulling the words out of his heart.
"I'm happy." Owen repeated, but this time his eyes were lowered to Jack's feet and his voice was faltering. With a step towards his friend, he held out a small black box, pushing it into his best man's right hand.
"We're all human Owen… and we're entitled to make mistakes… up to the point where those mistakes destroy our lives. You were there to stop me and I'll always be grateful for that… but won't you let me do the same for you?" Jack almost begged as the future groom turned around and left the flat without a single word or glance behind him.
He sighed. All that had been said, or rather, yelled in the past minutes were one big, painful truth. His life had started wonderful, but, somewhere, on the way, had become one tremendous joke. But he could live with that. He could live with knowing that in his old age he would always go back to an empty house and a glass of whiskey. He was tough like that and could take it without shooting a bullet in his skull.
But Owen, unlike him, was just a step away from that bullet. He wasn't exactly needy, but he wanted, no, needed to settle down. That's why he and Katie had been such a lovely couple. They were both creatures that, once they found a perfect mate, nestled. Seven years earlier everything had been perfect: great job, great friends, great life. His best friends were about to get married and he couldn't be more happy for them. And then, reality bit as hard as possible: Jack found Doctor Smith again and disappeared. He returned hopelessly three months later, expecting to see Owen's then-girlfriend of two years in a lovely white dress. Instead, he found his friend in despair and a black suit. She'd been diagnosed with brain tumour and died shortly after. They'd never even seen it coming. All those years of plans and dreams and pure happiness… all gone in a heartbeat.
Then Gwen Cooper, with her freckles, gapped teeth and dark hair, got hired by Torchwood and things went from bad to worse. Drinking, pub brawls, a new body every night… those had become the major headlines in their friendship.
Jack shuffled along the flat's hallway and entered the bathroom instead: he turned on the lights and gazed at his reflection in the large mirror. Who was he kidding? Even if his instinct was right and Ianto Jones was indeed "the one", why should the young tailor want him? A walking, talking and flirting wreck like him? He himself hadn't been in a serious relationship for the past many years… would he even remember how those went on?
Beep! Beep! Beeeeeeeeeeeeep!
"Lookout!" a voice screamed down the street.
Zdrung!
"Dammit!" the female in the red Rover let out a very unfeminine string of swears, banged her hands on the wheel and got out of the car. In front of her, a nasty scene involving the crash of two vehicles, one of which her own, was displayed. The other car, a dark blue one, held two passengers, both males. "Watch where you're going!"
"I'm sorry, Miss. But I'm quite certain that you should have been the one to watch out." One of the two men came out and sent her a patronising gaze, accompanied by a hint of humour. Was the wanker actually laughing at her?
"Are you blind? That's the stop sign, right there?" she yelled, pointing towards a sign somewhere behind her.
"Yeah, just before the no turning left allowed one." The man answered calmly, while his companion, the actual driver, also got out and began talking hurriedly into his mobile.
"You think you can pull my leg just because I'm a woman, don't you?" she demanded, not turning around to look for the sign and, on the contrary, walking towards him with a confident angry stride.
"You know, you may have a car with an English number, but I can tell from your accent that you're Welsh. Is this, by any means, how you should treat your fellow countrymen upon returning from London?" the man, a typical ginger-head with his weight just a little bit above what should have been considered "lean", smiled at her reaction.
"What are you, some sort of stalker?" she demanded.
"No… it's just that my job requires me to be familiar with this sort of knowledge." He shrugged his shoulders.
"Really? Too bad it doesn't require having a driver who actually knows how to do his own job." She bit her words, her gapped teeth becoming visible for a snarl. The stranger just sighed.
"Look. I can tell you're new in town, so I'm going to let you easy on this one. Just give me your insurance number and we'll consider it done." He spoke as if she were a five-year-old not backing off from demanding her father a chocolate, and not the manager of the R&D division of Torchwood.
"This was your driver's fault! Not mine!"
"Sir, I've got a car coming down here." The said man finally made himself noticed.
"That wasn't necessary. I'm sure we can settle this between us." He turned back to the woman with an expectant smile and received a very unexpected and vicious kick in the shin.
"Bloody idiots! You think you can do something to me even at this hour, in the middle of the city! I'll have the cops on you before you know it." At that precise moment, a police car appeared from around the block, lights and everything, and sped down to their location. "And here they are!" the woman declared triumphantly at the sight of them, earning herself a groan from the fallen man and a disbelieving stare from his driver. "About time! These ones threatened to attack me!" she shouted at the policemen and got the surprise of her life when one of them caught her arms and handcuffed her, while the other offered the fallen man some assistance.
"I'm fine, I'm fine!" he kept the others at bay, got up on his own and, without the smallest hesitation, walked to her car, got out her bag and rummaged through it. "Gwen Cooper." He read out loud upon discovering her ID. "Well, Miss Cooper, I'm afraid you're going to have to come with us to the station. Don't worry, we'll have your car towed." He smiled again.
"What?" she shrieked. "Who the hell do you think you are?"
"DCI Williams. I don't believe we've met."
He was definitely mad.
Jack Harkness self-diagnosed himself as he paced back and forth the street entrance next to the tailor shop. He had arrived there approximately three minutes earlier and was still debating whether he should enter or not, pacing around, gesturing, muttering under his breath and fully aware of the fact that all by-passers could see him, but not anyone from either the café or the shop.
Still, at five past two sharp, upon another turn, he found himself face-to-face with his current living and breathing question mark. Jack stopped dead as he met the sight of a perfect-looking Ianto Jones, all wrapped up in a dark red shirt, with a black waistcoat and trousers, and a matching tie, holding a blue-stripped mug. He could see steam rising from the mug and, therefore, had a pretty good idea as to what exactly it contained… unless he had really, really upset the tailor, in which case he was about to receive some perfectly poisoned beverage.
Taking a leap of faith, Jack walked up to him, grabbed the mug and took a small, careful sip. And, at that moment, he found out that he didn't give a damn whether the coffee was poisoned or not, because, taste-wise, it was perfect… heavenly… orgasmic… whatever…
"Thank you. And I'm sorry for whatever it was that I did wrong yesterday."
"No, yesterday was probably my fault. And, you are most welcome." Ianto answered back, but didn't smile.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Jack sent him a curious gaze.
"You want me to pour my heart out to you in the middle of the working day, five minutes after I opened up the business, while standing outside my shop?"
"Good point. Name a time and a place."
"Why should I? You're my customer. I don't anything about you… apart from some of your body measurements. And you don't know anything about me… apart from the fact that I am awfully good at sewing suits… or mediocre, in the opinion of Dr. Harper's fiancée. Why should I pour my heart to you… and why should you listen at all?" the young man surpassed any expectation and directly attacked the main point.
"Because, despite me being horribly imperfect (and here I'm not talking about my looks, of course) and most likely not very good at this, I am interested. I am honestly, sincerely and very, very enthusiastically interested." Jack answered, eyes never leaving the tailor's.
"I don't do casual."
"I can tell. And I'm not interested in casual… not this time."
"This time?"
"Name a time and a place and I promise we'll pour our hearts out to each other." He took a final gulp and handed the mug back. "Delicious."
"Thank you. Come back for your fitting the day after tomorrow… and we'll decide on a time and a place." Ianto spoke and turned around, moving towards the shop's entrance. Right before disappearing around the corner, he called out over his shoulder. "When's the wedding exactly?"
"Next week's Saturday." He answered and watched the red and black outfit disappear. A moment later, he let out a loud whistle and started walking down the street, away from the said red brick building. For an entire quarter of hour, it seemed that nothing was capable of bringing the American down from his ninth cloud. None of Owen's sarcastic remarks, not Diane's superior tone, not even the annoying Chihuahua that almost got its small teeth embedded in his beloved RAF coat. Life, in a long time, seemed to be perfect again.
That is, until his mobile rang loudly.
"Hello? This is your hot stud speaking."
"Jack. I'm in a bit of a pinch."
Yeah, so I've decided to be nice to Gwen in this fic, but only because, when thinking about how I should depict Rhys, he came out so... funky. Also, Gwen will be having some anger issues because, upon browsing through the series again, I notice that she is pissed off a lot of times... when she's not trying (and failing) to be sympathetic anyway...
Owen and Jack sort of wrote themselves down... their dialogues weren't this big when I thought about them, at first, but they just came out like that. Hmm, that must be my subconscious trying to tell me something... don't know what though ^^
So, please scroll down further and abuse the review link... you know you want to *wiggling eyebrows*