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sariagrayTitle: Pretend
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sariagray
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto, ridiculously brief mentions of Gwen/Rhys and Weevils.
Rating: PG?
Word Count: 1240
Spoilers: None, except, you know, the Jack/Ianto dynamic. If you didn't know about it, though, what are you doing here? Did you get lost? *Hands you a GPS and pats you on the head*
Warnings: Angst!Fluff. Yep.
Disclaimer: There was once a person who owned all of Torchwood. I am not that person.
Author’s Note: This was originally written for the new Anon Meme over at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
tw_proper . The prompt was "Jack and Ianto go out on a date, roleplaying/pretending that they are in a world where there is no TW3 and Jack is mortal. FLUFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" As I began writing, I realized that I was not quite reaching "FLUFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" and was leaning towards "Angst!" So, I felt bad posting it in response. It's like someone asking you for a hug, and you give it to them, but only after you punch them in the stomach first. But I still like it, so I'm inflicting it on all of you instead. If you're the secret anonymous requester, I offer my most heartfelt apologies.
A/N2: Yes, I am still working on Linger. But RL just punched me in the stomach (and DID NOT bother to hug me after...) and my brain is all fuzzy and thick and "Ohhh, Shiny Object." That, and I realized that I didn't want to listen to RTD AT ALL, and so am going to have to redo some of the chapters I've written. Don't hate me? Please? *Pout*
Jack bows his head slightly.
“Tomorrow,” he murmurs into an attentive ear, “I think we should go for a walk in the park. Or maybe we can see a movie. Take a drive?”
Ianto snorts, indignation marring his features.
Jack pulls away and shoots him a look. Ianto sighs, giving in.
“I’d like that. But I know we both have a hard time getting off of work,” he responds, cautiously. “And anyway, I’d rather spend all day lying in bed with you.”
The last comment gets him off the hook.
They watch as the sun makes a languid descent into the water to be extinguished and for a moment there really is no Torchwood, no aliens, no rift, no immortality, no danger of losing everything they had worked so hard to build. For a moment, it isn’t just a game they play.
Ianto sighs again, contentedly this time, and Jack nudges him, tightening his embrace.
“C’mon,” Jack urges. “We’ll be late for dinner.”
The restaurant is quiet (empty, really, since Wednesday-into-Thursday was the only time they could convince anyone to cover for them, Ianto muses bitterly), and they are served with an attentive efficiency; being on the receiving end of such care still makes Ianto feel vaguely uncomfortable, though Jack regularly insists that he deserves it.
Their food is well-prepared, elegant against simple white plates. It isn’t displayed like architecture or sculpture, and it is generous in portion. Both Ianto and Jack are silently grateful that they chose rustic Italian over illusory French; it suits them, complements what they've become.
Over wine and bread and pasta layered with heady sauces, Jack reaches out to Ianto, clasps his hand and implores with sparkling eyes.
Ianto quirks an eyebrow, unsure what’s expected of him.
“I want,” Jack begins, a lump forming in his throat that makes his voice gravelly. He searches for the right words. “No. I intend. I intend to make an honest man out of you, Ianto Jones.”
This is a new and decidedly confusing part of their play-acting. His eyebrow reaches new heights.
“Oh?” is all he manages.
“Will you…I mean…I want….” Jack fumbles. Ianto finds it both endearing and terrifying.
As realization dawns, the two men share a blush. Part of him wants to burst into joyous tears and clap his hands together, while the other wants to shove himself away from the table and run for days.
“Are you asking, or is this where we keep pretending everything is fine and then wind up back in the Hub tomorrow night as if nothing ever happened, so Gwen can catch a movie with Rhys while we run after a Weevil or two?” he queries instead.
Jack looks floored, broken. There is pain in his eyes and desperation, too. He opens his mouth to speak but is silenced by a raised hand.
“Because,” Ianto ploughs on, “if it’s the latter, then no. Absolutely not. Never in a million years, and trust me, you’ll have all that and more.”
He pauses, letting the acrimony in his voice seep in, and then continues.
“But if it’s the former,” he whispers, his tone softening, “then yes.”
Jack is silent. This is even more disconcerting than fumbling, and so Ianto tries to ease him back into words.
“Look,” he offers, “I chose you.” He pauses, ponders. “No, actually, I didn’t have much choice in the matter. My heart chose. And it did it with full knowledge of the pain and hardship that is bound to happen, being with you. Isn’t that better than pretending otherwise?”
Jack is still silent, gaping now. His mouth is open as if he would speak, but no sound comes out.
“Don’t you see, Jack? I honestly love you. I would rather commit myself to a month of something real, knowing that it could all end at any moment, than a lifetime of something fake, some game of pretend. I don’t want delusions. I want you.”
Ianto thinks it must be the wine that makes him so free with speech, or maybe it’s the unsettling silence with which his words are received bidding him to fill the void with sound. Still, he is himself, and those words are heavily weighted. And with Ianto Jones, talk never comes cheap.
Jack grasps this as firmly as he grasps that Ianto will die some day while he lives on, alone and barren and lost. But it’s not that knowledge that leaves him speechless. It’s that suddenly, despite everything that he knows will happen, he realizes that this is the first person in his entire life that truly accepts him. No,” accepts” isn’t strong enough. Understands, needs, wants, loves him. Loves him even with all of his faults and complications.
That man, the one who does all of those inexplicable and wondrous (and foolhardy! a tiny voice taunts him) things, is looking at him with patient expectance. Finally stirring to some form of action, Jack reaches for his wine glass and takes a long draught.
“Why?” is all he can say after he swallows the golden liquid. So much for loosening tongues, he thinks as his mouth gums up over the simple word.
“Why what? Why do I love you even though you’re a complete idiot?”
Jack tenses and nods, realizing that that is exactly what he was asking. Leave it to Ianto to figure it out instantly. The thought leaves him breathless and he wonders briefly how he will ever be able to cope without Ianto’s steady comprehension and guiding tolerance.
“Because you’re my idiot. And I’m yours. Sometimes, I’m even a bigger idiot than you. So tell me,” he says, forestalling the protestations he knows are trying to make their way through Jack’s lips, “who’s asking me?”
“I am,” Jack manages, and looks at Ianto, who gazes back diligently. “I, the immortal idiot Jack Harkness, am asking you, Ianto Jones, to marry me.” Although there is an edge to his tone, a wryness not unfamiliar to his Welsh ears, Ianto knows it to be the most pointed, honest thing the Captain has ever said.
Ianto smiles with a brightness that dims the sun and it hits Jack that it’s the first time he has ever seen that look on the man’s face. Pressing back tears of joy (and yes, pain; he isn’t stupid), he propels out of his seat and kneels in front of Ianto. Expecting a scene (it is Jack, after all), Ianto moves to raise him up. Instead, he is encircled by firm arms as Jack presses his face against his welcoming chest.
“What?” Ianto asks with a hint of amusement in his voice. “No ring?”
Jack looks up, stricken. And Ianto sees the thoughts play out on his features. This is the first time that the unflappable Captain had ever done something quite so spontaneous in the name of love. Hell, Ianto thinks with a bit of unabashed pride, it’s probably the first time he ever let himself do anything for love.
“No,” Jack replies, drawing out the word to buy time for the appropriate answer to pop into his brain and out of his mouth.
Ianto cuts off his attempt with a kiss, long and lingering with tender passion.
“We’ll pick them up together,” Ianto supplies the missing answer as he pulls away to reveal the grateful relief shining on Jack’s face.
As they leave the restaurant, arms around each other’s waists, they each think that they are the luckiest man in the universe, if only for one more day. And that’s enough.
Author:
sariagray Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto, ridiculously brief mentions of Gwen/Rhys and Weevils.
Rating: PG?
Word Count: 1240
Spoilers: None, except, you know, the Jack/Ianto dynamic. If you didn't know about it, though, what are you doing here? Did you get lost? *Hands you a GPS and pats you on the head*
Warnings: Angst!Fluff. Yep.
Disclaimer: There was once a person who owned all of Torchwood. I am not that person.
Author’s Note: This was originally written for the new Anon Meme over at
tw_proper . The prompt was "Jack and Ianto go out on a date, roleplaying/pretending that they are in a world where there is no TW3 and Jack is mortal. FLUFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" As I began writing, I realized that I was not quite reaching "FLUFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" and was leaning towards "Angst!" So, I felt bad posting it in response. It's like someone asking you for a hug, and you give it to them, but only after you punch them in the stomach first. But I still like it, so I'm inflicting it on all of you instead. If you're the secret anonymous requester, I offer my most heartfelt apologies.A/N2: Yes, I am still working on Linger. But RL just punched me in the stomach (and DID NOT bother to hug me after...) and my brain is all fuzzy and thick and "Ohhh, Shiny Object." That, and I realized that I didn't want to listen to RTD AT ALL, and so am going to have to redo some of the chapters I've written. Don't hate me? Please? *Pout*
Pretend
Jack bows his head slightly.
“Tomorrow,” he murmurs into an attentive ear, “I think we should go for a walk in the park. Or maybe we can see a movie. Take a drive?”
Ianto snorts, indignation marring his features.
Jack pulls away and shoots him a look. Ianto sighs, giving in.
“I’d like that. But I know we both have a hard time getting off of work,” he responds, cautiously. “And anyway, I’d rather spend all day lying in bed with you.”
The last comment gets him off the hook.
They watch as the sun makes a languid descent into the water to be extinguished and for a moment there really is no Torchwood, no aliens, no rift, no immortality, no danger of losing everything they had worked so hard to build. For a moment, it isn’t just a game they play.
Ianto sighs again, contentedly this time, and Jack nudges him, tightening his embrace.
“C’mon,” Jack urges. “We’ll be late for dinner.”
The restaurant is quiet (empty, really, since Wednesday-into-Thursday was the only time they could convince anyone to cover for them, Ianto muses bitterly), and they are served with an attentive efficiency; being on the receiving end of such care still makes Ianto feel vaguely uncomfortable, though Jack regularly insists that he deserves it.
Their food is well-prepared, elegant against simple white plates. It isn’t displayed like architecture or sculpture, and it is generous in portion. Both Ianto and Jack are silently grateful that they chose rustic Italian over illusory French; it suits them, complements what they've become.
Over wine and bread and pasta layered with heady sauces, Jack reaches out to Ianto, clasps his hand and implores with sparkling eyes.
Ianto quirks an eyebrow, unsure what’s expected of him.
“I want,” Jack begins, a lump forming in his throat that makes his voice gravelly. He searches for the right words. “No. I intend. I intend to make an honest man out of you, Ianto Jones.”
This is a new and decidedly confusing part of their play-acting. His eyebrow reaches new heights.
“Oh?” is all he manages.
“Will you…I mean…I want….” Jack fumbles. Ianto finds it both endearing and terrifying.
As realization dawns, the two men share a blush. Part of him wants to burst into joyous tears and clap his hands together, while the other wants to shove himself away from the table and run for days.
“Are you asking, or is this where we keep pretending everything is fine and then wind up back in the Hub tomorrow night as if nothing ever happened, so Gwen can catch a movie with Rhys while we run after a Weevil or two?” he queries instead.
Jack looks floored, broken. There is pain in his eyes and desperation, too. He opens his mouth to speak but is silenced by a raised hand.
“Because,” Ianto ploughs on, “if it’s the latter, then no. Absolutely not. Never in a million years, and trust me, you’ll have all that and more.”
He pauses, letting the acrimony in his voice seep in, and then continues.
“But if it’s the former,” he whispers, his tone softening, “then yes.”
Jack is silent. This is even more disconcerting than fumbling, and so Ianto tries to ease him back into words.
“Look,” he offers, “I chose you.” He pauses, ponders. “No, actually, I didn’t have much choice in the matter. My heart chose. And it did it with full knowledge of the pain and hardship that is bound to happen, being with you. Isn’t that better than pretending otherwise?”
Jack is still silent, gaping now. His mouth is open as if he would speak, but no sound comes out.
“Don’t you see, Jack? I honestly love you. I would rather commit myself to a month of something real, knowing that it could all end at any moment, than a lifetime of something fake, some game of pretend. I don’t want delusions. I want you.”
Ianto thinks it must be the wine that makes him so free with speech, or maybe it’s the unsettling silence with which his words are received bidding him to fill the void with sound. Still, he is himself, and those words are heavily weighted. And with Ianto Jones, talk never comes cheap.
Jack grasps this as firmly as he grasps that Ianto will die some day while he lives on, alone and barren and lost. But it’s not that knowledge that leaves him speechless. It’s that suddenly, despite everything that he knows will happen, he realizes that this is the first person in his entire life that truly accepts him. No,” accepts” isn’t strong enough. Understands, needs, wants, loves him. Loves him even with all of his faults and complications.
That man, the one who does all of those inexplicable and wondrous (and foolhardy! a tiny voice taunts him) things, is looking at him with patient expectance. Finally stirring to some form of action, Jack reaches for his wine glass and takes a long draught.
“Why?” is all he can say after he swallows the golden liquid. So much for loosening tongues, he thinks as his mouth gums up over the simple word.
“Why what? Why do I love you even though you’re a complete idiot?”
Jack tenses and nods, realizing that that is exactly what he was asking. Leave it to Ianto to figure it out instantly. The thought leaves him breathless and he wonders briefly how he will ever be able to cope without Ianto’s steady comprehension and guiding tolerance.
“Because you’re my idiot. And I’m yours. Sometimes, I’m even a bigger idiot than you. So tell me,” he says, forestalling the protestations he knows are trying to make their way through Jack’s lips, “who’s asking me?”
“I am,” Jack manages, and looks at Ianto, who gazes back diligently. “I, the immortal idiot Jack Harkness, am asking you, Ianto Jones, to marry me.” Although there is an edge to his tone, a wryness not unfamiliar to his Welsh ears, Ianto knows it to be the most pointed, honest thing the Captain has ever said.
Ianto smiles with a brightness that dims the sun and it hits Jack that it’s the first time he has ever seen that look on the man’s face. Pressing back tears of joy (and yes, pain; he isn’t stupid), he propels out of his seat and kneels in front of Ianto. Expecting a scene (it is Jack, after all), Ianto moves to raise him up. Instead, he is encircled by firm arms as Jack presses his face against his welcoming chest.
“What?” Ianto asks with a hint of amusement in his voice. “No ring?”
Jack looks up, stricken. And Ianto sees the thoughts play out on his features. This is the first time that the unflappable Captain had ever done something quite so spontaneous in the name of love. Hell, Ianto thinks with a bit of unabashed pride, it’s probably the first time he ever let himself do anything for love.
“No,” Jack replies, drawing out the word to buy time for the appropriate answer to pop into his brain and out of his mouth.
Ianto cuts off his attempt with a kiss, long and lingering with tender passion.
“We’ll pick them up together,” Ianto supplies the missing answer as he pulls away to reveal the grateful relief shining on Jack’s face.
As they leave the restaurant, arms around each other’s waists, they each think that they are the luckiest man in the universe, if only for one more day. And that’s enough.
The End
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-10-22 04:44 am (UTC)i love this. you are amazing.
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Date: 2010-10-22 09:46 am (UTC)