bluecastle | Torcwood: fic “Cat’s Paw” (Reply)

Title: Cat's Paw
Pairing(s)/ Characters: Suzie, Ianto, with a tiny cameo from Jack
Warning(s): set the morning after the capture of Myfanwy.
Word Count: 850
Disclaimer: The sand and the sandbox belong to the BBC. The sandcastles are mine.
Summary: Suzie contemplates the new boy's place in the universe.

a/n: This was sparked by amand_r's bit of Ianto/Suzie pron "Un-bell the Cat." I think there's more to say about this pairing, and had thought this might be longer. But it seemed to want to end with just this for now.

Cats Paw

The fog comes

on little cat feet.

It sits looking

over harbor and city

on silent haunches

and then moves on.

--Carl Sandburg

If I had been the kind of woman who cared about other people's feelings, I might have let him sleep. It was almost a shame to wake him, he made such a pretty picture lying there half naked, hair sticking up, marks from the pillow creasing his cheek. The rumpled sheets were doing nothing to obscure the boy's... assets.

It was easy to see what Harkness saw in this one.

But now it was time to find out whether he was more than just a pretty face.

"On your feet, London," I said flicking on the lights.

"Jesus Fuck!" he cried, clutching the sheets to him.

"Jesus can't help you now, little mouse," I told him as I sat on the edge of his bed, and slid my hand up his sheet clad thigh.

"Welcome to your Torchwood Three employee orientation, Ianto Jones. I think you'll find us somewhat less formal than the London branch..."

I couldn't stop myself from laughing as he flushed the most appealing shade of pink.

"How..." he gasped, not yet quite awake enough to focus completely.

I had him right where I wanted him. Making lovely young things uncomfortable is something of a hobby of mine.

"Are you or are you not the Ianto Jones who mere hours ago was offered employment by one Captain Jack Harkness?"

"Yes. That's right." And after a long pause he added a wobbly "Ma'am?"

"Well as I said, Jones, on your feet. One time special company carpool. And unlike Jack I'm not someone who can be distracted by shiny prehistoric animals. You have fifteen minutes."

Bastard was ready in twelve.

Stood there sleek as a seal in a charcoal grey suit and black silk tie.

"Shall I drive Ms. Costello?"

"I don't remember telling you my name."

"And I don't remember giving you a key," came his smooth reply, eyebrow raised.

The price of keeping Jack Harkness happy is always too high, but you get good value for your money.

Those hours, that with gentle work did frame

The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,

Will play the tyrants to the very same

And that unfair which fairly doth excel;

For never-resting time leads summer on

To hideous winter, and confounds him there;

Sap check'd with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone,

Beauty o'ersnow'd and bareness every where:

--William Shakespeare, Sonnet V

I watched him that first day as he took the Hub in stride, fielded several calls from Whitehall that none of us wanted to deal with, instituted regular tea and coffee breaks, provided lunch and dinner, wrestled all of Jack's dirty shirts in a bag to take to the cleaners, sorted a blocked drain in the loo, and dug up a binder full of research on the care and feeding of pterodactyloids.

I watched him as his fingers flew across the keyboard of the little computer workstation he and Toshiko set up at a strategic spot between the kitchenette and the boardroom on the second level. He wasn't stupid. You had to give him credit for picking the one spot where he could be out of the way, but could still keep an eye on things.

I felt Jack's hands on my shoulders as he came up behind me.

"You have to admit, Suzie my sweet, that he's got potential."

"That's not all he has."

"I know. Isn't it great?" he said with a smile.

It was time to show Ianto Jones the ropes.

He sees the cat with stealthy step, and form

Pressed closely to the ground, come creeping through

The whitewashed fence, and with a loud alarm

He flies; and they -- they swift pursue.

-- Henry Beck Hirst

I found him at the end of the day, standing at the sink washing up an odd assortment of crockery.

"You seem eager," I said to him.

He just shrugged, those ever busy hands scrubbing at at particularly nasty looking mug.

"Tomorrow, Ianto, you are going to listen very closely while I teach you how to make people appear and disappear."

"By magic?" he asked with a grin.

"No. With skill. Now go home and get some rest," I told him as I dropped a master key on the countertop.

"Be in bright and early tomorrow morning. Make Jack some more of that awe-inspiring coffee of yours."

"I live to serve," he replied with a sardonic laugh.

As I turned to go back to my bench and continue cataloging that strange glove we dredged out of the bay yesterday, I wondered when he'd figure out the truth of this place. The cold, hard truth is that, at Torchwood... your service is your life.

My life closed twice before its close;

It yet remains to see

If Immortality unveil

A third event to me,

So huge, so hopeless to conceive

As these that twice befell.

Parting is all we know of heaven,

And all we need of hell.

--Emily Dickinson