A fairly long snippet this time. It comes with an unremitting fluff warning. 'First date' from Jack's POV.
(If you're trying to put any of these into a timeframe, you could think of it as a prequel to Heatwave.)
Jack paced outside the restaurant. He was early, quite pathetically early. First he'd had to get out of the bunker before he started fixing his hair again, or changed his mind about the shirt, when two dozen (yes, he'd counted) were currently strewn across the room. Then, it wasn't long before the Hub felt just as confining as the bunker, and the restless movement seemed to make Myfanwy think Jack was playing a game, so she started swooping, which meant he had to fix his hair again after all. Jack finally left the Hub altogether after finding himself perilously close to checking just which program it was that Tosh left running.
Heads turned on the other side of the glass as Jack swept past the restaurant again. Brilliant. The people-watchers inside were starting to get curious. Any moment now, someone large and intimidating and well-paid not let themselves be flirted to distraction, would emerge to suggest that he stop cluttering up their shop-front.
And if that happened, how did someone like Jack Harkness explain he was waiting outside because he didn't know how he'd handle the embarrassment if his office assistant stood him up on their first date?
The problem was, Jack mused, letting his anxious feet take him a bit further along the block, that he just didn't know the etiquette for this. Rules were made to be broken, perhaps, but the art of rule-breaking lay in knowing exactly where the lines were before you stepped over them.
People constantly made the assumption that Jack had no morals. That he had no respect for relationships. It wasn't true. Of course Jack had morals. It was just that they were the ones he'd been brought up on; in a frontier settlement where spreading genetic diversity was a survival mechanism.
Besides which, morals on Earth changed every day - well, every decade - which could feel bewilderingly fast to someone who'd lived over a century. Damn, the sixties were fun, though.
Jack reached the end of the block, resisted the temptation to check his watch again, turned on his heel, and recommenced his musings. He had it partially sorted, he congratulated himself. With a woman, Jack knew exactly what to do. Old-world courtesy might not be required, but it was rarely rejected. Pick her up no more than five minutes early, no more than five minutes late. Even the late twentieth century 'empowered' woman conceded the logic of not using two cars. Jack could have taken flowers or chocolate, or both, if he felt the need to impress, and she might have been slightly uncomfortable at the excess, but not offended.
With another man, though…..Sadly enough, nearly all of his Earth-based relationships with another man had been clandestine affairs. For the longest time it was actually illegal, then there was the stage where it was socially unacceptable, then there was…now. Legal, of course. Socially acceptable – supposedly. In reality, still a minefield.
There was the homophobic segment to pacify, because however unjustified the attitude, that sort of encounter would really kill the mood. So, no overt displays, which left Jack feeling somewhat wistful. The fluttering in Jack's chest which accompanied Ianto's presence since his return cried out to be justified. Jack wanted to do it all - the flowers, the chocolates, the displays of affection which proclaimed 'I'm happy to be with you and I don't care who knows it'. But Jack had come to the regretful conclusion that Ianto wouldn't welcome any of that, at least in public, given the glares shooting across the railing of the medical bay to where Jack hovered the last time Ianto was injured in the field. Jack smiled as he remembered the compromise they'd reached - he was allowed to kiss it better after Owen left. And he got to drive Ianto home afterwards.
The wind whipped errant leaves along the pavement, where they swirled around Jack's ankles before finding something warmer to play with. This 'meet you there' thing they'd agreed on was the pits. Next time, Jack vowed (and there was going to be a next time) he'd at least narrow it down to 'meet you outside' or not. The icy wind wasn't having any problems finding its way through the greatcoat, and Jack didn't have the leather jacket as an extra layer tonight. Ianto always did that tiny shudder thing when Jack wore that particular jacket. Not that Jack was averse to making Ianto shudder – far from it – but he wasn't aiming for shudders of distaste.
Jack frowned at the restaurant door as he paced past it for what had to be the… well, he'd lost count, but it was certainly into double figures. It looked cozy in there, and warm. If he went inside, doubtless he'd be escorted to the table. But what then? When Ianto arrived, would he consider it a silent rebuke to his sense of punctuality that Jack had gone in without him? Or worse still, what if Ianto didn't arrive? What if he stood Jack up? There'd be no end to the sympathetic looks from the various wait-staff. And sure, Jack might end up with a pity date from one of them, probably less date and more action…..but that wasn't what he wanted. Not anymore.
The long years of waiting were over. Jack had found his Doctor and had his answer. It was different, returning to Earth this time. This was his choice. This was where he wanted to be, where he wanted to stay. After a century of being ready to flit off across the universe at a moment's notice, Jack was more than ready to settle in one place. With one person, even, now that the ring on Gwen's finger had dispelled Jack's last qualms of uncertainty.
Jack finally gave into the temptation to check his watch. Still another fifteen minutes left before Ianto was officially late for their date. Still a quarter of an hour before he had to contemplate the possibility that Ianto really had changed his mind about dating a man, about dating Jack.
The notion chilled Jack more effectively than the icy wind. It'd been hard enough to get himself to the point of asking Ianto on an actual date. He didn't know how he'd be able to face the beautiful young Welshman after being handed hard evidence they'd never be anything more than friends, with or without benefits.
With ten minutes to spare, footsteps sounded on the pavement behind Jack. Footsteps he recognized. Jack turned with a smile tingling its was across his chilled lips. It was Ianto, even if half of his face was muffled in a scarf. A red scarf, of course. Tucked into a thick grey coat which the wind was doing an admirable job of wrapping closely around Ianto's legs. Nice legs.
"You shouldn't have waited out here in the cold," Ianto chided.
"Figured it'd be less embarrassing if you stood me up," Jack answered; surprised into blunt honesty by the way Ianto's hand slid around his and tugged him towards the door of the restaurant.
Jack's heart thawed abruptly, and then rose to float along beside them as Ianto used his free hand to shove the door open. Jack's cold fingers curled around Ianto's, and he briefly cursed the gloves the other man was wearing. Jack wanted to feel skin against his own. Ianto's skin, warm and pulsing with life.
Further warmth wrapped around Jack as the door whined shut behind them. He shivered as the contrast informed him exactly how cold it was outside, but he warmed from the inside out as he felt Ianto's arm press against his ribs.
The admittedly dopey smile melted from Jack's face as he realised that Ianto wasn't so much delivering a caress as an impatient nudge. Jack collected his wits and informed the greeter than their table was booked under 'Harkness.'
There was a smile, a nod, and a "Make I take your coats, Sirs?"
Jack hesitated. Habit expected Ianto to scurry forward and relieve him of his greatcoat, but tonight was a date, and habit warred with the impulse to assist Ianto out of his coat, instead. And impulse fought with caution, because an eye-roll would be a really bad way to kick off the evening.
All of which resulted in a kind of paralysis, on Jack's part, anyway, and meant they both peeled off their own outerwear. Which was a good thing, because Jack doubted he could have trusted his hands to stop at the coat.
Jack had spent some of his waiting time wondering which suit Ianto would wear tonight. He was, of course, hoping for a red shirt. But for the suit itself, Jack was spoilt for choice as to his favorite. Pinstripes had their advantages, but he really could do without the threat of drooling tonight, and Ianto was unlikely to be bending over anyway – at least, not in the restaurant. The charcoal grey jacket did amazing things for Ianto's shoulders, but the trousers which went with the black suit – well, let it be said that Jack would really like to congratulate the tailor. While finding out how he managed to make them fit like that without the risk of bursting the seams.
Leave it to Ianto not to do the expected. The red shirt, made from a thick dark silk which cried out to be touched, was tucked into not suit pants but dark jeans. Jeans which, while not tackily tight….obviously the tailor made jeans, too.
"At least you didn't use Torchwood," Ianto said approvingly, as they followed the black-aproned figure towards a sheltered corner table, winding their way around tall potted ferns too stiff to be real.
"I'm not Owen," Jack parried.
"Obviously not," Ianto agreed. "No force on Earth, or anywhere else, would get me on a date with Owen."
There was a brief flurry over seating, as the officious employee tried to hold a chair out for Jack while Jack was trying to hold a seat out for Ianto. Amidst much eye-rolling, Ianto sank into the nearest chair and waited for Jack to occupy the other. Jack dropped into his seat, munching on his lower lip as he wondered how much more of an idiot he could make of himself tonight.
"You look nice, Jack," Ianto said politely. Jack dragged his eyes upward, meeting blue ones dancing with amusement and something else which made Jack grateful for the way the tablecloth draped over his lap. "I like you in blue," Ianto added. That wasn't said quite so politely. The vowels, perhaps.
Blue. For a moment Jack couldn't even remember which outfit he'd spent well over an hour selecting. But yes, he'd settled on a blue shirt, hadn't he? On the basis that these unaccustomed galloping nerves were never going to concede that he looked right, in which case he might as well go with what felt comfortable. So, a blue shirt, with the black vest and trousers, and the fob watch to give it a hint of formality. None of which stopped him from feeling slightly overdressed in comparison to the man glowing at him from across the table. The man who'd just paid him a compliment and was waiting with a hint of awkwardness for Jack to say something.
Well, never let it be said that Jack Harkness was at a loss for a compliment. "Thanks," he murmured, "And you, Ianto Jones, you look….edible."
Ianto spluttered, grabbed for his water glass, found that it was empty, and spluttered some more.
"Well, you do," Jack insisted, feeling like he'd stepped back onto firm ground as Ianto's cheeks turned a fetching shade of pink. "Nothing on the menu could possibly compare," Jack continued. "A true Welsh rare-bit, you are."
A noise of what might possibly be disapproval accompanied the arrival of menus. Jack tried to believe the waiter was offended by the slight against the menu itself rather than the sound of two men flirting, because otherwise he'd have to take steps. In fact, given the way Ianto seemed to have shrunk into his seat, steps seemed quite appropriate.
"Don't," Ianto said, his voice soft but urgent. "Please Jack, just leave it."
The hand on Jack's wrist anchored him in place and drew his attention to the fact that he'd begun to rise from the table – when had that happened? Jack subsided back into his seat and followed Ianto's hand with his eyes as it retreated across the table. Ianto - his date – was once again slumped against the backrest of his chair and staring fixedly at the menu in his hands, while studiously ignoring the curious glances from other patrons which had no doubt accompanied Jack's eruption from his seat.
Jack sighed. And he'd wondered if it could get worse. If not for that steadying hand on his wrist he'd probably have gotten them thrown out. "Sorry," he said softly. "I'm sorry, Ianto."
Ianto's eyes flickered up to meet Jack's. Whatever he saw looking back at him resulted in the straightening of his spine and lit a quite gratifying fire behind those blue eyes.
"Don't be, Jack," Ianto said staunchly. "That is, if you're apologizing for being yourself, then don't. And," Ianto added, flicking his menu closed with a snap. "If you're apologizing for selecting a restaurant where the wait-staff were recruited with regard to the length of the stick up their arses, well, you probably didn't know that when you booked."
A stifled sound of outrage echoed from behind the nearest potted fern. Ianto smiled angelically as the waiter re-emerged. "We haven't decided yet," he said politely. "But perhaps you could bring us a jug of water to begin with?"
Jack fought back the laughter bubbling inside him as they watched the rigid retreat of the black apron.
"Hope it's OK with you that I didn't order wine," Ianto said, as if he hadn't just sent their server off mumbling ominously under his breath. "I thought we shouldn't, just in case we get called out. The Rift's been pretty active lately."
"The world had better be ending," Jack muttered. "But yeah, you're right. And…um…"
"Eavesdroppers never hear well of themselves," Ianto said placidly.
Jack shook his head. Ianto never ceased surprising him, in increasingly pleasant ways.
"You handled it far better than I would have," he admitted with a sigh. "Which I suppose," he added ruefully, "Means you've noticed I've got no idea what I'm doing here."
Ianto's eyebrows did their thing. Several things. Jack decided that if he ended up having to complain about the waiter, he'd also congratulate them on the tablecloths.
"You're not trying to imply you've never been on a date, are you?" Ianto asked incredulously.
Jack's laughter rolled across the room, causing several heads to turn, and turn away again, expressions ranging from indulgence to forbearance to outright offence. His gaze flicked back to Ianto, looking for signs of discomfort, and finding none. At which Jack thought his heart actually swelled, mortifying as it was to experience a phenomenon straight from the pages of those trashy novels at the airport.
"Not with another man," Jack confessed, then released a softer chuckle at the suspicion in Ianto's face.
"Not with a man on Earth, in any time where it wasn't illegal," he elaborated. "I've only ever been able to date women openly. With men, it's always been hiding, or hiding in plain sight. And even now," Jack sighed, letting his gaze flicker once more around the restaurant. "Even now, when no-one has the right to actually say anything, we're getting the sniffs, and the looks."
Ianto's gaze took its own trip around the restaurant, making a much more deliberate circuit than Jack had. Jack watched with pained amusement as several pairs of eyes retreated from the unwavering blue orbs.
Ianto turned back to Jack, his lips quirking into a determined smile. "I'll never stare at animals in the zoo again," he muttered.
Jack's heart made a valiant attempt to hide under the table.
"We can leave, if you like," he offered, trying not to show his disappointment. "The last thing I want is for you to feel uncomfortable about being here with me."
Jack didn't know what triggered it, unless it was that embarrassing hint of vulnerability which had somehow crept into his voice, but he could practically hear the vertebrae crackle as Ianto straightened again. "I haven't spent all day working myself up to restaurant-wide outrage to crumble at the first raised eyebrow," he said firmly. "Or the second, or third, for that matter."
Jack's smile lit up the room. "That's my boy," he said, in a way that should have been condescending, but wasn't.
Ianto paused to peruse his menu again, and then peered at Jack over the top of it. "I do better eyebrows than the lot of them, anyway," he confided, eyes dancing with mischief.
"You certainly do," Jack agreed, "But you shouldn't have to…."
"And some of them were smiling," Ianto added encouragingly.
Jack shook his head. "I thought it would be me doing the encouragement."
Ianto smiled at him, a gentle, fond smile which shouldn't really have the power to lift Jack's spirits like that.
"To hell with them, then," Jack announced.
Of course, the waiter arrived with their water just in time to catch that. And it was true, Ianto did much better eyebrows.
They listened to the recitation of today's specials while Ianto played very deliberate eye games, which entranced Jack sufficiently to ensure he didn't remember a single one of the dishes. He was just about to fall back on carbonara when Ianto obviously decided he wasn't finished indulging the vindictive side of his personality, which Jack didn't think he'd seen before but was currently working its way into his personal list of top ten turn-ons.
"A few more minutes," Ianto suggested smoothly. "And we might have a look at the wine list, after all. Something for you to do since we've kept you waiting."
Jack didn't know Ianto could do patronizing that well, either, but he was terribly impressed. He'd damned near patted the oaf on the head without so much as twitching a finger.
The waiter stalked off again, stick much in evidence.
"Might keep him out of the way for a minute or too," Ianto murmured darkly. "Honestly, that man could write a handbook on how not to get tipped." At which he buried himself behind the menu again, emerging to look enquiringly at Jack, who was yet to open his own menu. "If we order he might actually leave us alone for a while."
Jack obediently opened his menu, but he wasn't so much reading as scrutinizing Ianto over the top of it.
"I didn't expect you to be so…" he began.
Ianto smiled, waiting for Jack to sort himself out.
"I didn't know what to expect," Jack finished.
"Neither did I," Ianto agreed. "I've never dated a man before either. We'll just have to make it up as we go along, I suppose."
Jack grinned, relieved at finally recapturing an expression that didn't feel fake. "I should've known nothing would knock you off your stride, Ianto Jones."
"So you should," Ianto agreed. "Now, we have an annoying waiter about to hover and I'm running low on inspired put-downs. Have you decided?"
Jack threw his menu onto the table. "I know exactly what I want, Ianto Jones," he said, "And I was right. Nothing on this menu can possibly compare."
Thank you for reading.