Title: Intime
Pairing(s)/ Characters: Ianto/Lisa; Jack and Ianto (the early days); the Torchwood teams with and without Suzie; assorted dinosaurs, aliens, and Weevils.
Word Count: 7,639
Warning(s): Some language, and a bit of sexin' in the storage room.
Possible Spoilers: Set over a time period that runs from before “Everything Changes” to “Countrycide” with a soupcon of “Fragments.”
Disclaimer: The sand and the sandbox belong to RTD the BBC. The sandcastles are mine.

While it took on a life of its own, it was prompted by the word --
Intime: [an-teem] [French, from Old French, from Latin intimus, innermost; see intimate.] 1.) Adjective [life, diary] private; [friend, relationship] intimate; [gathering] intimate; [conversation] private; [dinner] quiet; [room] cosy GB, cozy US; [knowledge] intimate. 2.) Noun, masculine & feminine close friend.

Summary: A growing web of betrayals and the intimate moments of trust woven amongst them.

(with apologies for any wacky formatting... LJ's fightin' me...)

Early morning near Mermaid Quay…

Their second meeting on the pier was much like their first. Harkness supplied the ego. Jones supplied the coffee.

This time, however, when Jack flung open the door to the Tourist Information Center it wasn’t to chase Ianto away. This time, after the dramatic door flinging (the Captain was nothing if not dramatic, Ianto conceded), Captain Jack Harkness paused in the doorway, leaned against the door frame, crossed one leg over the other in studied casualness and said, “Well, don’t you want to see your pterodactyl’s new home?”

Ianto started towards to door with a, “Good morning to you too, Sir,” in that ultra-polite, slightly frosty Torchwood London tone that Jack loathed.

“I thought you might like some coffee, what with…” Ianto continued, only to be stopped by Jack’s forefinger pressed just under the precise knot in his navy blue and white silk tie, holding him a stride-length from the threshold. Jack waited until he was sure he had Ianto’s full attention, idly noting the tiredness in the boy’s eyes, but attributing it to all the late nights Ianto had put in stalking him lately.

“Make sure this is what you really want, Ianto Jones. This is Torchwood Three. There’s no going back.”

Jack watched the sweep of dark lashes against pale skin as Ianto blinked twice and then quietly met Jack’s gaze. Ianto knew only too well the price that Torchwood had extracted from him. But as far as he could see, Torchwood was as much salvation as damnation, and there was only one choice he could make. If damned he were, he intended to fight the devil every step of the way. He took half a step forward, pushing himself just past the periphery of Jack’s personal space before replying resolutely.

“May I ask a question, Sir?”

Jack nodded and crossed his arms waiting for Ianto to continue.

“Do you lot know anything about Wales, to be running a Tourist Information Center?” he asked, with what Jack decided was an oddly appealing touch of insolence.

“We do OK,” Jack told him as he ushered Ianto indoors, and shut the door behind them, perhaps a little more firmly than was strictly necessary.

Ianto unscrewed the top off the coffee thermos, poured coffee into the cap, and then handed it to Jack after a quick look around, and a quirk of an eyebrow which asked, as clearly as if it had been spoken, “who’s stupid idea was it to invite tourists in here?”

“There’s an office back there that will be your primary workstation,” Jack said with a vague wave as he sipped the coffee Ianto handed to him. He watched as Ianto wandered through the bead curtain and set about hanging up his coat. Jack fought the urge to smile in amusement as his newest employee ran his fingers across the tops of the dusty equipment in the little office, and sighed quietly.

Jack had come and gone from Torchwood Three for over a century, and for most of that time its public face was a telegraph office. It had been good cover for the various people that had needed not to be noticed as they came and went from the Hub. For many of those years it had been especially important to give Torchwood’s female employees an excuse to be seen on the Cardiff docks in the rough company of sailors and dockworkers. But the telegraph office allowed them to appear to be sending or receiving messages from their loved ones. They had even hired their first female receptionist in 1902. In addition to being a dead accurate shot, Johanna was also a fully trained Marconi operator.

Jack had enjoyed watching the earnest fumblings of Marconi and the Welshmen, Preece and Kemp, during the spring of 1897. He had even gotten himself invited out to Flat Holm for the trials, and had cheered with the rest of those assembled when the station at Lavernock had responded to their message “ARE YOU READY.” The cynical side of Jack’s nature had caused him to wonder how eager Victorian Torchwood would be to adapt to the changes coming in the 20^th Century. He himself hoped to witness as little of the administration of Torchwood as possible. Two World Wars helped him out in that regard.

After the Second World War, the port activity in Cardiff slowly dwindled, and the little telegraph office went through many incarnations as various heads of Torchwood Three tried to camouflage their activities. It had been (or had appeared to be), among other things, a pawnshop, a photography studio, union headquarters, an electronics repair shop, and a surveyor’s office.

Jack brought himself back to the present as he drained his cup of coffee, and answered Ianto’s unasked question.

“After they finished renovating the Plass in 2004 it seemed to me to be a good way to keep us from being too noticeable,” Jack told Ianto. “No budget for skyscrapers…” Jack added, with noticeable acrimony.

The shabby little tourist center with the fly specked posters and the dusty postcard racks was as far from the sleek office complex of Torchwood One as was possible to imagine, Ianto realized, with a disconcerting mix of bitterness and gratefulness.

“You could do with a bit of local knowledge, if you don’t mind my saying so, Captain.”

“Don’t try and take over the whole organization on your first day here.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it Sir.”

“We’re pretty casual around here. You can drop the titles.”

“Noted. Captain.”

Jack looked at the young man standing quietly in front of him in a well-made suit and a very expensive tie, and wondered just what made him tick. He knew that underneath this formal, almost stoic exterior there was spark, and wit, and fire. He had seen it. The boy had guts and tenacity, and Jack was eager to see what other qualities Ianto Jones was hiding behind that well-tailored façade.

“If you’re ready for the grand tour, just pr…”

“Press this button?”

His newest recruit pressed the big blue button behind the counter, and smiled when the outside door locked, and the concealed door swung open.

“Ianto, how…??”

“Local knowledge, Sir. Good for knowing which buttons to press.”

During Ianto’s initial tour of the Torchwood Hub…

Ianto spied the hand, bubbling away in its containment jar. He turned with sharp surprise to Jack and asked in hushed tones, "Do I even want to know why you have that?"

"Probably not," said Jack, in his 'ask me no questions' tone.

Some perverse part of Ianto enjoyed ignoring that tone.

"Do YOU want to know how much trouble I got in when Director Hartman discovered it went missing from the archives, Sir?"

"Probably not," Jack replied with a particularly toothy smile. “Now let me show you where we keep the Weevils. Barbara wants to say hello.”

The following Tuesday afternoon…

Ianto had been fighting a losing battle, trying to make sense out of the files stuffed into the cabinet in the corner of Jack’s office when the rift alarm sounded. He took a moment to smooth his waistcoat and resettle his tie to cover his inadvertent flinching at the sound.

Although his reactions were lessening somewhat over time, ever since the battle he had found himself reacting badly when confronted with loud noises and flashing lights. The staff at Tesco’s had been very kind (and just a wee bit condescending) the night he shattered an entire jug of milk on the floor of the checkout lane when the store’s security alarm was triggered by a hyperactive toddler. But the rift alarm was a call to action and Ianto was grateful for the distraction of the tasks at hand as he moved around Jack’s office gathering the things he would need.

He could hear Jack, who had been meeting with Suzie in the conference room above, yelling at Tosh for an update. By the time Jack was clattering down the stairs, yelling “Ianto I need my…” Ianto was standing at the bottom of the steps, with the greatcoat slung over his arm, handing Jack a set of keys and his Webley. Jack turned to Suzie who was still on the steps and tossed her the keys to the SUV before holstering his weapon. As he turned back towards Tosh, and before either man realized exactly what was happening, Ianto had slipped the greatcoat up his Captain’s arms, running his hands over Jack’s shoulders settling the coat and smoothing the coat’s epaulettes. Jack had continued to shout orders to Owen who was unlocking the armory and digging out the big gun.

Without conscious thought, Jack had turned to face Ianto, and Ianto, without realizing it, had reached out to refold the collar of the coat and run his fingers down the coat’s lapel. He had always enjoyed feel of fine wool against his fingertips. He looked up in surprise when he felt Jack’s hand on his arm and found Jack’s eyes focused on his hands, which were clutching the coat.

They stared at each other for a brief, still moment when they realized what had just happened. Ianto, who had been about to tuck Jack’s shirt collar back inside the coat, snatched his hands away, shocked that he had allowed himself (and that Jack had allowed) such an intimate contact.

Jack hadn’t been dressed for battle in a long time, but finding himself wrapped in his coat by his newest employee had set off routines drilled into him long ago. Ianto hadn’t stood in his father’s tailor shop for close on a decade, but he too had found old patterns reasserting themselves as he slipped the wool coat over Jack’s shoulders, smoothing seams and tweaking lapels.

“Ianto?”

“You’re all set, Sir,” Ianto replied steadily, looking somewhere just above Jack’s left ear. The slight blush staining Ianto’s cheeks sent a frisson of anticipation down Jack’s spine.

“Here, newbie,” Owen said, stuffing a clipboard into Ianto’s hands. “Here’s a nice supply inventory for you to play with while the grownups go to work.”

Owen looked from Jack to Ianto, and not missing a beat turned to Tosh, who was settling her earpiece in her ear and feeding coordinates to the SUV, and said, “Swat the puppy if he chews on anything while we’re gone. Coming, Jack?”

“Yeah. On my way,” Jack called and started after Owen. Halfway through the cog door Jack stopped and turned back to look at Ianto.

Ianto gave him the barest of nods, and went down the steps into the autopsy bay, clipboard in hand, grateful to finally have access to Owen’s medical supplies. There were so many things he needed…

Just after sundown, on a Saturday evening…

Jack came through the tourist center door, hair windblown and his collar askew, announcing, "Your captain has been to sea, Ianto."

"Quite a sensible sort of a place to go, for a Captain."

"But I am not a sensible sort of Captain."

"I believe that's why you've employed me, Sir."

Jack responded with a hearty laugh. Then his eyes darkened a bit, and he leaned over the counter looking towards Ianto sitting at his desk behind the beaded curtain.

“So tell me, employee mine. Are we alone?”

Ianto came out of his office. “What did you have in mind, Sir?”

“What would be the sensible thing to do, Ianto?”

Ianto stared at Jack, thinking of all the possible ways to answer that question.

In the end they went out for fish and chips, Jack telling wild stories of eight-limbed lovers, and dogs with no noses until they found themselves breathless with laughter. They walked back along the pier, and said goodnight on the dock, the wind ruffling their hair as they went their separate ways.

Jack walked back to the Hub, and hummed with pleasure as he lay in his bunk and built castles in the air.

Ianto sat in his car for hours, staring at his hands and hating himself for wanting things he could never have.

The Tourist Information Office, one quiet morning…

Tosh came up to the Tourist Office to drop off a costing analysis for Ianto to look over when she noticed the book laying on the filing cabinet next to his desk.

“I can help you with that if you want. I didn’t know it was something you were interested in.”

“Might do, Tosh. Could use the practice.”

“You’ll let me know about those figures?” she asked, as she headed back downstairs.

“Yep,” he replied.

Once she was through the door and he was left alone he allowed himself a quiet, “Fuck,” as he slipped his copy of “Teach Yourself Conversational Japanese” back into his messenger bag.

At the end of an uneventful day…

The team was in high spirits as they headed out the Information Center door. Owen was first out, as usual, shrugging into his coat and teasing Suzie. Ianto assumed it was an inside joke, as the team found it hilarious, but Ianto couldn’t see anything amusing about “matching scorch marks.” Tosh had waved vaguely at him as she went by, but she was concentrating on some calculations she was reviewing on her handheld scanner. Jack followed them out, with his usual innuendo about “bringing up the rear.”

Ianto had been watching them over the CCTV network for the last hour.

Just as Ianto started for the door, Jack popped his head back in from outside.

“Ianto!”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Hey. It’s Pub Quiz night. Owen’s lousy at it, but Tosh and Suzie usually get us stood to some free drinks. You should come.”

“Not sure I can, Sir. I’ve got some calls to make. Still trying to get things sorted, what with the move from London and all.”

“Right. OK. So we’ll see you if we see you.”

Before Ianto could even respond, Jack was back out the door. Ianto switched his computer to the exterior CCTV feeds and watched Jack and the rest of the team until they were across the Plass.

Then Ianto grabbed his keys and his jacket and, he too was out the door, for he had promises to keep.

In a previously unused storeroom…

Lisa lay in her newly installed bed, muzzy from the painkillers. She and Ianto were both exhausted from the move. Everything was finally in place and she was as comfortable as he could make her. He smiled down at her, and dug a small box wrapped with a gold bow out of his jacket pocket. He sat it on her tummy as she lay there looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. She picked it up and opened it to reveal four small chocolates.

“They’re your favorite,” he said. He leaned down, propping an arm on the metal bar on the edge of her life support unit, and fed her a coffee-flavored chocolate truffle. He ran his cocoa dusted fingers across her lips and laughed softly when she licked the rest of the chocolate off them. Discovering her love of truffles early in their relationship, he had found ways to exploit her weakness ever since. Saving the rest for later, he tucked the box back into the pocket of his jacket, which was draped over the chair next to the bed.

As Ianto leaned over Lisa, triple-checking the cables and connections that now linked her to the Torchwood power grid, she grabbed his tie and pulled him to her. Blessedly, the feel of Lisa’s mouth on his had not changed since the attack. Kissing her was one of the few ways left for him to give her physical, tactile, pleasure. And it had always pleased him to please her. They shared a sweet kiss, one that tasted of Lisa, of chocolate, of coffee, and an odd coppery tang, which they had both learned to ignore.

He hitched his hip onto the unit’s frame, perching on the edge as she put her arms around his waist and pulled him down on top of her for another kiss. He took his time kissing her with slow, deep kisses, as she untucked the back of his shirt and ran her fingertips up his spine. At one point, they paused, catching their breath, and Ianto turned his head, resting his cheek on Lisa’s. Ianto trailed his fingers across her eyebrow, his fingernail tickling her lashes then wandering down the gentle contours of her nose, and across her kiss-swollen lips. He caressed every lovely warm soft bit of flesh he could.

In the beginning of her recovery, he had wanted to touch every part of her, to show her that he loved all of her, regardless of the new shapes, the new textures. She said she didn’t mind if he wanted to touch her, but told him she couldn’t feel anything there, so he had eventually stopped trying to fight the past, and concentrated on exploring the bits of skin that had been left. From the morning after their first date, when he found that Lisa kissing him awake was not a dream, he had loved her unreservedly. He gave himself to her wholly that morning as he pressed her back into her crisp white sheets, loving the way her dark skin gleamed in the early morning sunlight. That was the first of many mornings when they barely made it to work on time.

Now as she lay under him, he smiled down at her, and sighed with relief knowing that tonight, finally, she was secure, tucked up in a damp, deserted corner of the Hub. He ached with need when she suddenly nipped his fingertips with her teeth and then moaned as she sucked on them, laving her tongue across the bite marks. Controlled solely by desire in that moment, he shifted lower to busy his tongue with the cleft between her breasts, as she continued to suck his fingers.

The conversion had taken from Lisa nearly all of the sensitive parts of her body. He couldn’t please her as he once had, and her range of motion was limited, but entranced by her little gasps of pleasure, he attempted to find new ways to tease, to touch. He found he could work her cleavage with his lips, his tongue. There were fingertips to suck, and some ticklish spots he found on her stomach to tease her with. There was the crease between her hip and her leg to lick, and there was one super-sensitive spot on the inside of her thigh that had been left exposed, and he loved the deep moans he could elicit from her as he stroked that spot. When they had first moved in together, he had spent the better part of a rainy Sunday afternoon exploring that very spot (and eventually others near it) with his tongue, teeth, and lips. She had shivered and bucked as he worked those spots over and over again.

Sensing his wandering thoughts, she ran her fingers through his hair, and then pulled him back into a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss, their fingers twining together, wet with spit. They kissed for a long time; one of her hands cupped against the back of his neck, holding him to her, and the other roaming. The conversion had left her with a strip of metal across her palm, and Ianto had found he rather enjoyed the sensation of the cool metal sliding across his skin. She wrapped her hand as far around his bicep as she could and stroked his arm until he shivered with delight. She smoothed her hands across the muscles of his lower back, dipping her fingertips under the waistband of his trousers. She sucked his tongue into her mouth and listened to him groan.

“Lisa… please…” he whispered, sitting up and looking down at her, neither of them completely sure what he was asking for.

She slid her fingers across the front of his trousers, working her fingertips against the material and felt him hardening further under her touch. She rubbed her palm against him, using the friction of the rough wool of his trousers, and the cotton beneath them to add some extra stimulation, watching him closely as he pressed himself against her hand.

“I want to see you,” she whispered, untucking the front of his shirt and running her palms across his stomach, dipping her thumbs beneath his waistband and rubbing as low as she could reach.

She managed to undo his belt, but her fingers couldn’t manage the buttons at his waist or his zipper.

“Help me, Ianto,” she said as she guided his hands to the front of his trousers.

A quick flick of both buttons, a pull on the zipper, and an earnest shimmy on the edge of the metal frame and his trousers and underpants were pushed out of the way as he sat on the edge of the bed. She pulled on his tie, and he untied it, leaving it hanging around his neck. When she went to move his shirttails out of the way, he unbuttoned his shirt, all the while watching her watch him. She trailed her fingers down the gap where his shirt hung open, and then ran her fingers over his exposed cock, watching him shiver with pleasure, his eyes darkening, and his breath catching as she traced her fingers gently along his shaft. Her fingers wandered, drawing random patterns over his skin, teasing whorls in the dark hair and exploring him as he had lately explored her.

She twined her fingers with his right hand and tugged him a bit closer, drawing their hands to her mouth. She kissed his palm and then sucked on both their fingers, running her tongue teasingly in the gaps between their fingers. He suddenly grabbed the metal bed frame with his left hand when she guided their slick fingers back to his cock and wrapped his right hand around himself. With her hand around his she stroked him slowly at first, her thumb a teasing counterpoint. He let her set the rhythm, content to enjoy the friction of push and pull and twist. As the tension built, he found himself panting with the effort to hold back as long as he could.

A pleading, “Faster, honey…” slipped out at one point and she gripped him tighter and increased the speed of their hands, as he moaned with pleasure. His head snapped back as he came suddenly with a tight sob, tears and sweat mixing on his face. They stroked him through a few small aftershocks, as he smiled down at her. Sitting next to her, he ran sticky fingers across her stomach, caressing her waist with his thumb.

“I wish I could…” he started.

She interrupted, saying, “I know sweetheart.”

He slipped off the edge of the bed, and cleaned them both up with some wipes from the supply cart next to the bed, and then tucked her under a light blanket to ward off the damp chill of the basement room.

“Try and sleep, Lisa. I’ll be right here.”

He administered her next dose of painkillers, and kissed her, whispering, “I love you” against her lips. Pulling the chair up near the foot of her bed, he sat watching her until exhaustion pulled him under and he fell asleep. While he slept, the lights in the room flickered, then dimmed. The controls on the cyber-conversion unit came to life in the darkness, and Lisa smiled up into the shadows.

Thirty-one hours after Suzie Costello’s first death…

Ianto sat in the boardroom, cupping a glass of scotch in his hands. The first three fingers of Scotch he had tossed back quickly, the next two glasses he sipped, staring out through the glass window-wall watching the water sliding down the central column of the Hub. Myfanwy gliding by prompted a rare half-smile.

Jack found him, slumped in his chair, sleeves rolled up, waistcoat unbuttoned, tie askew, staring at the refraction of light in the cut crystal of the glass in his hand.

“Ianto?”

Ianto’s only reply was to nudge the chair across from him away from the table with his foot. Jack slipped into the chair and Ianto pushed the decanter toward him.

“Drink?” he asked Jack tiredly.

“Maybe later. Do you have a status report for me?”

“Yes, Sir. Some days this is a crap job.”

“If you’re not up to it, Ianto, you only have to say so.”

“On the contrary, Captain,” Ianto replied, standing angrily, hands on his hips, “I have become quite experienced at packing up people’s lives and putting them into boxes.”

Ianto’s ire faded a bit as he caught a flicker of surprise sweep across Jack’s face at his sudden outburst. He took a couple of breaths, and tried to continue in his usual composed manner.

“I have been unable to locate any next of kin among Suzie’s records. Her personal effects have been boxed and placed in storage. The key to the storage unit is on your desk along with the relevant paperwork. I will call her estate agent as soon as possible...”

As he continued to brief Jack on the disposition of the body, he busied his hands with buttoning buttons and straightening his tie, hoping to hide the trembling that even the liquor hadn’t calmed. He had knelt over her body when they brought Suzie down on the lift from the Plass, murmuring a near silent prayer for the dead. Jack had carried her to autopsy. Ianto trailed behind with her bag and the weapons. When Jack went to deal with Gwen, Ianto was left alone, staring down at a dead woman laid out on a steel autopsy table. It took him a moment for his eyes to focus, as all he could see was Lisa, lying seven levels below Suzie on another steel surface.

He shook himself out of his reverie, and undressed and washed her, by now ruthlessly efficient at sponge baths. He rinsed the blood from her hair and watched as it swirled down the drain at his feet. He dressed her in the scrubs Owen kept handy, and tucked her into a body bag, ready for transfer to the morgue, although he couldn’t quite bring himself to zip up the zipper and obscure her face. He wound his fingers in the curly hair that was loose around her face for just a moment, and then he bolted up two flights of stairs and threw up in the lavatory. He sat there for a long time; resting against the cool tile walls as he considered how much blood he had on his hands. Then he pulled himself up off the floor, and went and poured himself several large drinks and waited for Jack to return.

He finished his status report as he and Jack walked down the steps and stood at the railing of the autopsy bay, looking down at Suzie.

“Torchwood is an ugly lover who seduces with private passions,” Jack said, finally breaking the silence.

Ianto wondered whether Jack was speaking to him, or to Suzie, or to ghosts unseen.

“Very poetic, Sir. She liked poetry, judging from the books in her flat. Also, it seems, red satin undergarments,” he added smiling at Jack for the first time since Suzie’s suicide.

“Suzie liked to read between the lines. You’ve done a good job with this Ianto,” Jack said stepping behind Ianto and laying a warm hand in the center of his back. Ianto gripped the railing in front of him to keep himself from leaning back into Jack, as he replied with a murmured, “Thank you, Sir.”

“I’m going to need you close for the next few days. There’s going to be a lot of work to do that will require your administrative expertise. Suzie’s duties will have to be reassigned, and I’m bringing Gwen Cooper in as a member of the team. I suppose that means even more paperwork.”

Then Jack wandered off to his office, a casual, “Bring me a coffee?” thrown over his shoulder.

Ianto turned his back on the autopsy bay, and, as he did at the start of every new day, went to make coffee for his Captain.

continue to part 2...