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Entry tags:
On the Peripheral (LAS #4)
Title: On the Peripheral
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sariagray
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto, Rhiannon, OCs
Word Count: ~1000
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Specific spoilers for Fragments and for the familial relationships as explained in COE. Takes place, mostly, pre Season 1.
Warning: None
Disclaimer: I do not own Torchwood. I do not make money off of Torchwood. In fact, it seems as though Torchwood owns and makes money off of ME. This is for entertainment purposes only.
Author’s Note: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
jack_ianto_las . The prompt was "Childhood Memories." This…may be considered slightly AU, but maybe it is canon and we just don’t know it? I have no idea. Thoughts? Ideas? Drugs to get me through this next monster prompt??
On the Peripheral
May, 1988
Ianto Jones tenaciously climbs to the top of the slide and surveys his surroundings. He can see a small patch of purple flowers over by the swings; they seem to reach for the warm sunlight and he momentarily lifts his arms to mimic them. He waves at his mam, who sits reading a book on a nearby park bench. He waits until he has her full attention before pushing his body forward.
When he reaches the bottom, his mam applauds. He trots over to her with a beaming smile.
“Did you see?” he demands, his voice high with excitement. “Did you? I flew and –”
He is cut off by a low, ferocious growl that freezes his blood and roots him to the spot. His mam throws down her book and jolts from the bench, looking at him sharply.
“Don’t you move, love,” she orders, her voice tight. “Stay right here. I’ll be back before you can count to one hundred.”
He stares at her, wide-eyed, and nods as she runs toward a small copse of trees. She reaches underneath her light jacket and pulls out something metallic, but Ianto can’t tell what it is from his current position.
“Lizzy!” an unfamiliar voice calls cheerfully. “And here I thought you were taking the day off.”
Frowning, Ianto hazards a glance to his left; the voice had sounded a lot like the voices in the old movies his tad liked to watch late at night, and he wants to know if his mam is friends with a real life cowboy.
All he can see, though, is the quick swish of blue-grey. Disappointed, he begins to count.
August, 1991
His parents have been arguing a lot more lately, ever since Tad was let go from his job and Mam had to be at work for days at a time.
“Political unrest,” she had said regretfully. Although Ianto is aware that she hadn’t been lying, he can tell that there is more to it than that.
The riots have kept him inside for the better part of the day and Ianto is beyond bored. He rises from his bed and grabs his coat from the back of the door. He doesn’t plan to be out long, just a quick trip down the block. Sneaking passed Rhiannon’s room, he tiptoes down the stairs and out the back door. It clicks quietly behind him, but his imagination makes the sound echo with damnable volume.
The summer light is still bright as he shuffles down the cracked sidewalk. The roadway is surprisingly deserted, cars and people all tucked safely away from the threat of irate radicals. His curiosity piqued, he turns a corner and proceeds down another lane.
Ahead of him, police cars congregate at peculiar angles around a large roped off area. Their lights flash erratically as men and women from various emergency services rush about, shouting into handheld radios. He pauses for a moment to watch the chaos and then rushes forward to get a better look.
A hand on his shoulder stops his progress and he looks up. A man with dark hair and bright eyes smiles down kindly at him. He isn’t wearing the usual uniform of a PC, so Ianto suspects that he must be a detective of some sort. A very strange detective, if the clothing the man wears is any indication.
“You shouldn’t be here,” the man informs him, his voice light. He has an American accent, which Ianto finds almost as peculiar as his attire.
Ianto nods, speechless, and the man squeezes his shoulder reassuringly before letting go. He doesn’t want to leave, but the idea of being a disappointment makes him nervous. He takes a couple of steps backwards before turning around fully and retreating with haste.
November, 1995
His mam had been missing for over a week before she had finally turned up at Providence Park. They had put up posters and filed a missing persons’ case and then, out of the blue, she had appeared in Room 172A with “Schizotypal Personality Disorder” penciled neatly into her chart.
His tad had warned them that she was spouting nonsense about an endless sea of darkness. He also said that she kept repeating foreign-sounding words, and would occasionally shout senseless premonitions.
Ianto glances up and down the bland, pristine hallway. Just the idea of this place makes him shuddery and anxious. The air is thick with unspoken words and disinfectant and every sound that breaks the silence echoes hollowly, including the rapid-fire beating of his heart.
He steels himself before walking into the sterile white room while his tad wanders off with Rhiannon to get a cup of coffee. His mam is sleeping. A man is seated next to her bed, his head in his hands.
Despite an errant sunbeam illuminating the forlorn figure like a spotlight, Ianto doesn’t fully register his presence. He barely notices as the man rises, claps a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and then departs in a swirl of storm-cloud colored wool. All Ianto feels, all he knows, is complete numbness. He drops into the vacated seat, takes hold of his mam’s clammy hand, and watches her.
July, 2006
Jack stares at him, rather pointedly, as though he’s trying to broadcast a message with his eyes. Ianto feels whatever hope he’d been able to maintain these past few days flicker weakly in his chest. If this doesn’t work, he only has one more backup plan, and that one is outrageous at best. The desperation claws at his insides as Jack sizes him up once more.
“There is no job for you here and there never will be,” Jack declares before storming off.
Ianto’s heart pounds in his chest. Panic rises in his throat like bile and temporarily chokes him.
And if Ianto detects an underlying note of protectiveness in the captain’s resolute tone, that is simply because the constant stress has made him slightly delusional.
The End
Author:
sariagray Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto, Rhiannon, OCs
Word Count: ~1000
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Specific spoilers for Fragments and for the familial relationships as explained in COE. Takes place, mostly, pre Season 1.
Warning: None
Disclaimer: I do not own Torchwood. I do not make money off of Torchwood. In fact, it seems as though Torchwood owns and makes money off of ME. This is for entertainment purposes only.
Author’s Note: Written for
jack_ianto_las . The prompt was "Childhood Memories." This…may be considered slightly AU, but maybe it is canon and we just don’t know it? I have no idea. Thoughts? Ideas? Drugs to get me through this next monster prompt??May, 1988
Ianto Jones tenaciously climbs to the top of the slide and surveys his surroundings. He can see a small patch of purple flowers over by the swings; they seem to reach for the warm sunlight and he momentarily lifts his arms to mimic them. He waves at his mam, who sits reading a book on a nearby park bench. He waits until he has her full attention before pushing his body forward.
When he reaches the bottom, his mam applauds. He trots over to her with a beaming smile.
“Did you see?” he demands, his voice high with excitement. “Did you? I flew and –”
He is cut off by a low, ferocious growl that freezes his blood and roots him to the spot. His mam throws down her book and jolts from the bench, looking at him sharply.
“Don’t you move, love,” she orders, her voice tight. “Stay right here. I’ll be back before you can count to one hundred.”
He stares at her, wide-eyed, and nods as she runs toward a small copse of trees. She reaches underneath her light jacket and pulls out something metallic, but Ianto can’t tell what it is from his current position.
“Lizzy!” an unfamiliar voice calls cheerfully. “And here I thought you were taking the day off.”
Frowning, Ianto hazards a glance to his left; the voice had sounded a lot like the voices in the old movies his tad liked to watch late at night, and he wants to know if his mam is friends with a real life cowboy.
All he can see, though, is the quick swish of blue-grey. Disappointed, he begins to count.
August, 1991
His parents have been arguing a lot more lately, ever since Tad was let go from his job and Mam had to be at work for days at a time.
“Political unrest,” she had said regretfully. Although Ianto is aware that she hadn’t been lying, he can tell that there is more to it than that.
The riots have kept him inside for the better part of the day and Ianto is beyond bored. He rises from his bed and grabs his coat from the back of the door. He doesn’t plan to be out long, just a quick trip down the block. Sneaking passed Rhiannon’s room, he tiptoes down the stairs and out the back door. It clicks quietly behind him, but his imagination makes the sound echo with damnable volume.
The summer light is still bright as he shuffles down the cracked sidewalk. The roadway is surprisingly deserted, cars and people all tucked safely away from the threat of irate radicals. His curiosity piqued, he turns a corner and proceeds down another lane.
Ahead of him, police cars congregate at peculiar angles around a large roped off area. Their lights flash erratically as men and women from various emergency services rush about, shouting into handheld radios. He pauses for a moment to watch the chaos and then rushes forward to get a better look.
A hand on his shoulder stops his progress and he looks up. A man with dark hair and bright eyes smiles down kindly at him. He isn’t wearing the usual uniform of a PC, so Ianto suspects that he must be a detective of some sort. A very strange detective, if the clothing the man wears is any indication.
“You shouldn’t be here,” the man informs him, his voice light. He has an American accent, which Ianto finds almost as peculiar as his attire.
Ianto nods, speechless, and the man squeezes his shoulder reassuringly before letting go. He doesn’t want to leave, but the idea of being a disappointment makes him nervous. He takes a couple of steps backwards before turning around fully and retreating with haste.
November, 1995
His mam had been missing for over a week before she had finally turned up at Providence Park. They had put up posters and filed a missing persons’ case and then, out of the blue, she had appeared in Room 172A with “Schizotypal Personality Disorder” penciled neatly into her chart.
His tad had warned them that she was spouting nonsense about an endless sea of darkness. He also said that she kept repeating foreign-sounding words, and would occasionally shout senseless premonitions.
Ianto glances up and down the bland, pristine hallway. Just the idea of this place makes him shuddery and anxious. The air is thick with unspoken words and disinfectant and every sound that breaks the silence echoes hollowly, including the rapid-fire beating of his heart.
He steels himself before walking into the sterile white room while his tad wanders off with Rhiannon to get a cup of coffee. His mam is sleeping. A man is seated next to her bed, his head in his hands.
Despite an errant sunbeam illuminating the forlorn figure like a spotlight, Ianto doesn’t fully register his presence. He barely notices as the man rises, claps a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and then departs in a swirl of storm-cloud colored wool. All Ianto feels, all he knows, is complete numbness. He drops into the vacated seat, takes hold of his mam’s clammy hand, and watches her.
July, 2006
Jack stares at him, rather pointedly, as though he’s trying to broadcast a message with his eyes. Ianto feels whatever hope he’d been able to maintain these past few days flicker weakly in his chest. If this doesn’t work, he only has one more backup plan, and that one is outrageous at best. The desperation claws at his insides as Jack sizes him up once more.
“There is no job for you here and there never will be,” Jack declares before storming off.
Ianto’s heart pounds in his chest. Panic rises in his throat like bile and temporarily chokes him.
And if Ianto detects an underlying note of protectiveness in the captain’s resolute tone, that is simply because the constant stress has made him slightly delusional.
The End
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First thing: I love fics where Jack lurks around in Ianto's past, whether he be time travelling or drifting in linear time.
I love your focus on Ianto's mum, who honestly always receives little treatment in fandom, and that you made her Torchwood and.. *hugs fic*
I loved this. :)
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And thank you. :)
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Beacuse its perfect. Absolutely perfect. and if you didn't get votes for this, than i will be shocked.
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Well done.
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Hey, hey now. What're you trying to say? ;) lol Thanks! I'm glad it made sense. :)
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I think the details about Ianto's past, especially focus on his mother, and the little bits about the political unrest and all of that feel like a really unique take on his backstory, and just...like some others have said, it just makes a lot of sense, while still feeling fresh. *nods* And Jack being there is sort of the icing on the cake. Really great job. :D
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I'm also really pleased that it makes sense to people, as...it made sense to me, but that doesn't always translate well! lol
Thank you! <3
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Thanks for commenting!
hmm
Re: hmm
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Great job!
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