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19 November 2008 @ 11:29 pm
nov 19: twfanfic: your hands are cold [Jack/Ianto]  

your hands are cold;
Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones;
U-Rated; Coda “Plant Life”; 400words;
["Plant Life" as in the short story in the Torchwood Yearbook.]

Jack would not see Ianto for days after the incident. And Ianto sought not to seek Jack out either. There existed between them an awkwardness which neither seemed able (nor wanting) to transcend. Jack for shame at failing to realise the severity of the situation as it transpired right beneath his nose. Ianto for shame at being so easily manipulated by the plant life and then later at being so easily dismissed by Jack himself. 

It was four days after before Jack came to see him. Owen was taking further blood samples from Ianto at the time, in a bid to verify that the plant had not altered him in some way or chosen to make him a carrier for its seed. He sat glumly and in silence and let Owen do his work. They shared no words between them for there was nothing to say.

Jack appeared above them in silence a half-hour into the examination. Ianto felt his presence long before he chose to announce it however. There were no words exchanged between any of them, but from the corner of his eye, Ianto saw Owen nod and gather up his samples before escaping his own lab.

Jack's footsteps sound moments later as he stomped his way down the stairs towards Ianto. Ianto who did not look up at his approach nor move to show any acknowledgement of his arrival at all. They said nothing at first. With Jack not knowing what to say and Ianto having nothing to say in return. The silence grew thick and heavy between them and one (or both) of them began to shift in the quiet, growing fidgety and frustrated.

Jack sighed softly, sadly. Ianto looked up despite himself. They met gazes for a time before Jack held out his hands towards him and Ianto- hesitating only a heartbeat longer- reached for his extended fingers, clasping them tightly with his own. Jack stepped closer, drawing Ianto’s hands to his mouth and kissing softly at each of his knuckles. Ianto watched him in silence. Jack’s gaze flickered from his eyes, away, then back again.

“Your hands are cold,” he breathed out, his voice a whisper between them, his eyes a silent plea.

“I’ve had no one to hold them.” Ianto said. There’s an accusation there and Jack nods. Ianto squeezes his fingers and Jack squeezes back and maybe, just maybe, it’ll be alright.

[ end. ]
[ written as part of Caspe-Wri-Mo ] 

mood: contentcontent
music: watching the devils whore
Erin Giles: torchwood - janto - save the last danceerin_giles on November 19th, 2008 11:47 pm (UTC)
Awwwww. I like it. So understated and so brilliant! *wishes she'd brought her yearbook to Wales* Nice coda hun! :)
Campaspe: Torchwood \\ 2.07 \\ Ianto/Rissen Mittencs_whitewolf on November 30th, 2008 06:32 pm (UTC)
Thank you, hun! ::snuggles tight::

The good thing about this Caspe-Wri-Mo business, is that it's letting me get all these little niggling fic ideas out of my head and onto the page. It's rather theraputic in a way. heh.