"The Flat" Torchwood Fic
Dec. 18th, 2009 01:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bluecastleTitle: The Flat
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
valancy_joy
Word Count: 5549
Characters: Ianto Jones, Lisa Hallett, Yvonne Hartman, Jack Harkness, and various Torchwood One Employees (and perhaps one Companion, you decide).
Author’s notes: Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
reel_torchwood challenge. Based on the 1960 Academy Award winner for Best Picture "The Apartment" written by Billy Wilder and I.A.L. Diamond (who gets bonus points for a very original nom de plume). Original trailer here: http://www.alltrailers.net/the-apartment.html if you're interested. I didn't have to do too much to the plot, it actually worked into the Torchwood universe rather better than I expected it to, although it's probably safe to say this is more AU than not.
Beta'd by: the marvelously helpful and dynamic duo ofstuffphile and misswinterhill .
Summary: Baby it's cold outside when you can't get into your own flat...not that things are all that much better when you do!
He saw her, and his Tuesday got a little bit brighter. As he swiped his security badge at the turnstile Ianto watched Lisa Hallett as she stood behind Torchwood's main reception desk. She had on a red blouse, a dark pinstriped skirt with a matching waistcoat and her signature gold hoop earrings. As she leaned over to show a co-worker something on the computer monitor, Ianto could see just a flash of lace beneath her blouse.
“Sodding head cold,” he thought to himself as his sneeze echoed across the lobby, and he dug around in his pockets for a tissue.
He shifted his messenger bag to sit more firmly on his shoulder, and headed for the lifts, pleased to see Ms. Hallett heading the same way. Normally he counted a trip in the lift with her as a very good day. She smelled great, although he had no idea what kind of perfume she used, and when she smiled, Ianto's insides went all funny. He knew she was out of his league, but deep down, he supposed there was always a chance she would notice him. But with this cold, all he could manage was trying not to sneeze on anyone.
He suddenly realised there was something different about her.
“You've cut your hair,” he said, holding the door for her.
“Wanted a bit of a change is all; but maybe change isn’t always a good thing?” Lisa said, her hand smoothing the back of the new shorter hairstyle.
He tried to tell her he liked it, but could only give her a thumbs up as he sneezed repeatedly.
“Taking anything for that cold, Jones?” he heard her ask.
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to gib you my cold,” he said, trying to minimize how stupid he sounded with a stuffed-up nose.
“S’alright," Lisa said smiling at his attempt. "I never get colds. Never have. Must have a constitution of iron or something, eh?”
The lift stopped at the third floor, and everyone squeezed a bit closer together as the head of research, Mr. Kirke stepped on.
“Ms. Hallett,” Mr. Kirke said, leering at her.
“Good morning, Mr. Kirke,” she said, seeming oblivious to the man's roving eyes, until she stepped on his foot as his hand started to wander towards her backside.
“Watch those hands, Mr. Kirke,” she said, warningly.
“Beg pardon?” he asked innocently.
“One of these days, Mr. Kirke…”
When the lift stopped at the eighth floor, Ianto held the door for his boss and nodded goodbye to Lisa as he started sneezing again.
“You should have stayed in bed this morning,” she called after him as the lift doors closed.
“I should hab stayed in bed las' night” he muttered to himself as he hung up his coat and headed towards his desk.
Mr. Kirke was still hanging around the coffee pot, stirring sugar into his coffee when Ianto went to fix himself a cup of tea to combat his stuffy head.
“That Hallett lass…what a woman. Wouldn’t I love to get her somewhere private…”
“She’s very efficient,” Ianto replied, trying very hard to remain tactful. Mostly he just wanted to punch his boss in the face.
“I must be off my game, m'lad. She just won’t give me a tumble.”
“Perhaps you need a new game,” Ianto said, gripping his mug tightly as he tried to control his temper.
“All kinds of fellas have tried it, and no go. I don’t know what she thinks she’s trying to prove.”
“Perhaps she’s already seeing someone.”
“Excuses, excuses…” Mr Kirke said as he wandered off towards his office.
Disgusted, Ianto went back to his desk, and tried not to wallow in self-pity. He was sick. He hadn't slept much the night before, and his boss was a complete pain in the arse. He took a sip of his tea, logged into his computer, and skimmed his emails. Then as he glanced around to make sure no one seemed unduly interested in what he was doing, he opened the office instant messaging program.
1 November 2005 / I.Jones: message J.Dobish:
I.Jones: Dobish?
J.Dobish: Was about to message you. Super sorry for leaving that mess on your wall last night. Debate over relative merits of modern art between he and me got a bit heated.
I.Jones: Modern art is rubbish anyway. Point – you were supposed to leave the key under the mat.
J.Dobish: Distinctly remember putting key there.
I.Jones: WRONG key. Woke landlady at four in the a.m. I don’t think she believed I’d locked myself out when I went out for a smoke.
J.Dobish: Shame. Will messenger you key.
J.Dobish: btw, efficiency reports are going up to Yvonne today. I think you will be pleased.
I.Jones: Thank You.
J.Dobish leaves conversation
I.Jones: message W.Vanderhoff:
I.Jones: Vanderhoff?
W.Vanderhoff: Jones?
I.Jones: I need to cancel tonight.
W.Vanderhoff: Cancel? But I’ve already ordered the birthday cake!
I.Jones: Hate to disappoint, but you can't have the place tonight.
W.Vanderhoff: Not like you to be churlish. And I was just saying to Yvonne how reliable you are, old man.
I.Jones: Thanks. But I have nasty cold – fever – and I’ve got to go home and get right to bed.
W.Vanderhoff: Suggest Turkish bath. Best thing for a cold. Sweat it out.
I.Jones: Dislike pneumonia. Do not wish to be made sicker and as a consequence be in bed for weeks…
W.Vanderhoff: Point. Would Wednesday work? Only other night I can get away.
I.Jones: Wednesday spoken for. Let me get back to you.
W.Vanderhoff leaves conversation.
I.Jones: message D.Eichelberger:
I.Jones: Eichelberger?
D.Eichelberger: Problem?
I.Jones: This Wednesday's not good. Would Thursday night work for you?
D.Eichelberger: Thursday? No. What about Friday?
I.Jones: Let me get back to you.
D.Eichelberger: leaves conversation.
I.Jones: message A.Kirke:
I.Jones: Kirke?
A.Kirke: ?
I.Jones: Instead of Friday, could you switch to Thursday?
A.Kirke: Must check.
A.Kirke: message S.Shaw:
A.Kirke: kiss kiss Sylvia...
S.Shaw: Why yes, I DID get home all right last night u wanker. You owe me cab fare.
A.Kirke: Yes. Fine. Whatever. Instead of Friday, could we do Thursday?
S.Shaw: Thursday? But that's when "Bikini Cops" is on the telly, and it's my favorite show!
A.Kirke: WHAT? All right, so we’ll watch it at the flat. Big Deal.
S.Shaw leaves conversation
A.Kirke: message I.Jones:
A.Kirke: Okay for Thursday.
I.Jones: THANK YOU.
A.Kirke leaves conversation.
I.Jones: message D.Eichelberger:
I.Jones: Okay for Friday.
I.Jones: message W.Vanderhoff:
I.Jones: Vanderhoff? It’s okay for Wednesday.
I.Jones signs out.
Later that day, Ianto found himself summoned to the office of the Director. He hoped for the best, but at Torchwood, you never knew whether being asked to meet with Ms. Hartman was a very good thing, or a very bad thing.
"Do you want to tell me, Jones, why four of my section managers are suddenly sending me requests to have you transferred to their departments? You, a lowly junior researcher."
Yvonne Hartman sat in a big chair, behind a big desk, in a corner office with big windows, watching Ianto squirm. He stood in front of her, nervously fiddling with his tie. He attempted to respond to the Director, but was overcome with a fit of coughing.
"Adeola," Yvonne said into her intercom, "could you bring young Mr. Jones a glass of water, please?"
"I'm fine, really," Ianto said, trying to get his breath back.
"Take a seat, Jones," Yvonne snapped, coming around her desk to hand him a box of tissues.
"Wipe your nose," she said, and perched on the edge of her desk watching him.
Ianto took the glass of water from Adeola, gulped it down, and then stuffed a handful of tissues in his jacket pocket and sat holding his empty glass awkwardly.
"I know everything that goes on in this building, Jones. Every office, every floor, every department. And there's been a certain key floating around the Administrative Board Room lately. The key to a certain flat. Your flat in fact."
Hartman paused, and Ianto stared at her as she asked, "Are you going to deny it?"
"I'd like an opportunity to explain."
Yvonne returned to her chair, steepled her fingers together, and replied finally: "Go on."
"It started innocently enough about six months ago. When I can, I’ve been helping out a mate evenings and weekends with this catering business he's trying to get started. One of the blokes in our department, he was going to a convention and he needed a place to change his clothes. Since I was going to be out, I gave him the key to my place. Word must have got 'round, because the next thing I know all sort of blokes are suddenly ringing me up asking if they can borrow my flat. And when you give your key to one, you can't say no to another, and well, the whole thing has just gotten out of hand!"
Ianto thumped back into his chair, thinking it might be a relief if he got fired.
"This key, Jones, how exactly does it work?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As office Christmas parties went, the ones at Torchwood were generally at bit over the top.
The employee canteen was festooned with blue and white fairy lights, and the tree in the corner was covered in tinsel, Union Jacks, and red Christmas balls printed with the Torchwood logo. At some point, someone had tied a plush green alien to the top of the tree with a tag around its neck that read "...it's ours!"
Ianto stood in the corner of the room nervously sipping his glass of champagne, and fiddling with the cocktail napkin in his hand, also imprinted with the company logo.
He was hoping to find an opportunity to speak to Ms. Hartman discreetly. When she came over to the drinks table, he managed to get her to step out into the hallway with him. Making sure that no one was in hearing distance, he pulled a necklace out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her.
“I found this in the flat when I got home last night. It looked expensive, and I wanted to make sure you got it back.”
"It's not..." Yvonne started to say as she stared at the necklace in her hand. Then she thanked him and walked back into the canteen.
Ianto heaved a sigh of relief. He’d found the necklace when he’d come home from helping with a wedding his mate was catering. It was long hours, but he usually came home with great leftovers. Last night there had been a whole foil dish of spaghetti bolognese, two bottles of champagne, and several bridesmaids’ phone numbers scrawled on cocktail napkins. Ianto had tucked the food into his fridge, and went to wash his face. There on the side of the sink was a silver chain from which hung a gold and diamond encrusted sphere.
He'd tucked it into his bag to take to work and give back to the only other person he knew had been in his flat that night.
Somewhere around his fourth drink, someone brought out a couple trays of mini-pizzas, turned down the Christmas carols, and cranked up something a bit more danceable and the party started loosening up a bit.
Ianto had been watching Lisa for a while. She had on a grey wrap dress that clung in all the right places, and black suede boots that made her legs look great. He felt a bit like a stalker as he tracked her around the room, but he also told himself to just enjoy the view. He finally talked himself into asking her to dance. He found her laughing with a bunch of the guys from accounting, and tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around and smiled at him. That’s when he noticed the necklace hanging around her neck – a familiar looking silver chain with an unmistakable sparkly golden pendant.
And suddenly he understood. The Director's need for discretion became clear. And it was also very clear to him that his little romantic fantasy was not going to end the way he wanted it to. He stood there staring at Lisa for a moment, trying to figure a way out of what had become an awkward situation for him.
“H-h-happy Christmas,” he stammered at last, and then he excused himself from the party, went back to his desk, kicked his wastebasket across the room, and left the building.
Ianto wandered the streets for a while, and at last found a pub that was busy enough for him to remain anonymous, but empty enough that there was still room at the bar. He slid onto a bar stool, and dug a wad of bills out of his pocket. He intended to wipe the events of the afternoon from his memory, and Torchwood’s Christmas bonus would, ironically, be just the thing to help him achieve that goal.
“Double martini, and keep ‘em coming,” he said to the redhead behind the bar.
He pushed a twenty-pound note at the bartender, and set about drowning his sorrows. He picked up his drink, plucked out the olive on its little spear, and drank. Then he ordered two more.
By the time he noticed that the blue-eyed guy sitting around the corner of the bar was watching him, he’d made a half circle of those olives on the bar, and was intent on finishing the pattern.
The guy moved a few seats closer to Ianto when two women carrying their Christmas shopping got up and left, but before he could speak, a fat man in a Santa costume leaned between them to get the bartender’s attention.
"How's about a shot of bourbon, darling – and be quick about it – my sleigh’s double parked!!”
This was obviously not Santa’s first drink of the evening, and when he laughed himself silly at his own joke and clapped Ianto on the shoulder, Ianto stared at him coldly, and then turned back to arranging his olives on the bar top. Santa tossed back his drink, and then moved off down the bar in search of someone with more holiday cheer.
The blue-eyed stranger slid into the empty seat left by Santa’s vacancy.
“Buy a lonely out-of-towner a drink?” he asked, putting his glass down in front of Ianto.
“Scotch,” he said, not even waiting for Ianto’s nod of acceptance, and went off to put something on the jukebox. Ianto swiveled around on his stool and watched the stranger stride confidently across the pub.
The man's coat rippled behind him as he wound his way across the small dance floor. A few coins, a few punched buttons, and the stranger leaned back against the jukebox and smiled at Ianto as Sinatra’s “Come Fly with Me” started to play.
Turning back to the bar, Ianto signaled for the bartender.
“Scotch, and another martini,” he said, and went back to finishing his drink.
The stranger slid in next to Ianto, picked up the scotch, caught Ianto’s eye in the mirror behind the bar, and raised his glass to him. Then they both sat in silence for a while, drinking to forget.
After their third drink together in companionable silence, the stranger turned to Ianto and asked,“You married?”
Ianto tossed back the last swallow of his latest drink and replied curtly, “No.”
“Family?”
“No.”
“A night like this,” the stranger said, “a guy oughtn’t go home to an empty apartment.”
“I said I had no family…I didn’t say I had an empty flat.” Ianto said as he ordered them both another drink.
Five hours later, it was just the two of them and Santa left in the pub, singing along to the Christmas carols playing on the jukebox.
The bartender finally pulled the plug on the music and started putting the stools up on the bar top.
“Oi! Belt up, lads,” she shouted as the men continued singing even without the musical accompaniment.
“Time for you three to pack it in, yeah?”
Ianto handed the stranger his coat, which had gotten flung over a nearby table at some point during the evening. When the stranger couldn’t get his arms into the right sleeves, Ianto stepped over and held the collar of the coat for him.
“This...this is a really great coat,” Ianto said, and then began to giggle.
“Great greatcoat! You get it?” he said, poking the stranger in the chest, still giggling and repeating “greatcoat” to himself.
The stranger slipped his arm through Ianto’s as they headed outside.
“The night is young…and I have this great coat…” the stranger said, as he grabbed Ianto suddenly and spun him around.
“Look up,” the stranger said in Ianto’s ear. “All those stars up there…so much possibility…so few limits…”
They stood on the sidewalk as the lights in the pub winked out behind them and Santa wandered off down the street. The stranger held Ianto close, arms beneath his jacket, warming his back even as their breath created a fog around them.
“I’d rather not be alone tonight…” the stranger said quietly resting his forehead against Ianto’s.
Breathless and dizzy, Ianto heard himself say: “We might as well go to mine…everyone else does.”
When the stranger stepped away to hail a cab, Ianto suddenly felt cold, and he pulled his jacket closer around him and stuck his hands in his pockets.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ianto lead the stranger up the steps to his flat. They were laughing over a story the stranger was telling about a pair of acrobats. The stranger tripped up a step, and catching hold of the banister, spun around to sit on the stair. Ianto stood a few steps below him, and they found themselves eye-to-eye in the dimly lit hallway. The stranger broke the sudden hush.
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
Ianto was not in the mood for personal questions. “No.”
The stranger continued anyway, “You got a girlfriend? Boyfriend?”
Ianto sighed before answering, rapidly coming down from the nice floaty feeling he’d been able to maintain for most of the evening. “She may be a girl, but she’s no friend of mine.”
“Stuck on her, huh?”
“Stuck on her? Obviously, you do not know me very well,” Ianto said, poking the stranger in the chest and trying very hard not to slur his words.
“I don’t know you at all…” the stranger replied as he stood and pulled Ianto up the few steps to the landing, “…yet.”
“Permit me,” Ianto said, with a little bow, “Jones…Ianto Jones. Junior Researcher. Cataloguer of aliens…”
The stranger leaned in, one hand over Ianto shoulder, pressing him back against the door. “Captain Harkness. Jack. Perfect jaw-line…alien lover…”
Ianto’s keys slid from his hand, and Jack knelt to pick them up, one hand slipping down Ianto’s shirtfront, fingers wandering and coming to rest on his right hip.
Ianto’s head thumped back against the door to his flat as Jack stood and unlocked the door. As he handed the keys back to Ianto he asked: “Are you going to want to remember this in the morning?”
Ianto pulled him into his flat saying, “I’ll let you know in the morning…”
Inside, Ianto paused to flick on the lamp next to the couch. He hung his coat on the pegs by the door, and stepped over to Jack and helped him out of his coat, which he then hung next to his own.
“Cosy little place you got here,” Jack said, looking around.
Jack started to unknot Ianto’s tie, but Ianto stepped back out of his reach.
“There’s a bottle of wine in the fridge, and glasses next to the sink. Why don’t you get us a drink to celebrate.”
“What are we celebrating?” Jack asked, stepping back towards Ianto.
Ianto glanced at the clock on the mantle.
“It’s after midnight. Happy Christmas, Captain.”
Jack pulled Ianto closer, and pressed a kiss to his temple.
“Jack,” he said softly, catching Ianto’s chin in his hands and kissing him softly on the lips.
“Get us that drink, Jack,” Ianto said, pushing him gently towards the kitchenette. “I’ll be right back.”
Ianto slipped into his bedroom intending to hang up his suit jacket when he saw someone lying on his bed. As he stepped closer the person’s face was outlined in a sliver of light coming from the ensuite. Lying there on his bed, wrapped up in her green duffle coat, was Lisa Hallett.
Ianto pulled the bedroom door closed, and then stepped over and knelt on the edge of the bed. He shook Lisa, and said in hushed tones, “Ms. Hallett? It's time to wake up. It’s past checking-out time and the management would very much appreciate you buggering off home now!”
“Look,” he continued, “there’s no denying that I like you a lot, but if you’re going to end up in my bed, I’d rather it was me you wanted in there with you. Ms. Hallett? Lisa?”
He rolled her over, and as he did, a small red pill bottle rolled out of her hand, and fell onto the carpet at Ianto’s feet. Ianto picked up the bottle, and read the label. He dashed back out into his living room, where he found Jack holding the wine bottle and sucking on his finger.
“I cut my finger trying to get the bottle open. You need a new corkscrew…”
Ianto dashed past Jack and out into the hallway.
“I didn’t mean right now…” Jack called out the door.
Ianto pounded on the door of the flat next door.
“Please be home… please be home…” he kept repeating, until finally the door opened a crack and a set of dark eyes peered at him above the chain on the door.
“Owen. It's Ianto Jones, from next door. Please, you’ve got to help me. There’s a girl in my bedroom…”
“Well, mate, from what I hear through these walls, that's never been a problem before…”
“What? No! She’s ... she’s taken a bunch of pills. Please, I need your help. She won’t wake up.”
“I’ll get my bag,” the doctor replied and shut the door with a bang.
Ianto raced back to his apartment. The wine had been poured. Soft music was playing on the CD player, and there was Jack, standing in front of the fireplace, braces down around his hips, shirt untucked, and unbuttoned.
“Why all the running around? Unless of course there’s someone else interested in joining us? The more the merrier, I always say.”
Ianto took the drink out of Jack’s hand.
“Good night.”
“Not yet it’s not.”
Ianto tossed Jack’s coat at him, and started to shove him towards the door.
“Ooh. Masterful. I like that in a man…”
“I’m sorry, but you’ve got to leave.”
“Cold feet?”
"No. Not…no. I just can’t do this right now. Please.”
He tried again to shove Jack towards the door as Doctor Harper barged in.
“In there, Doctor,” Ianto said pointing towards the bedroom.
“Doctor?" Jack said, staring hard at the newcomer.
"So...the Doctor gets access to your bedroom, but I don’t?” Jack asked angrily, pulling on his coat.
“I don’t know what I’m interrupting here, mate, but suppose you show me where this friend of yours is," the doctor said staring at the other two men.
“Please, Jack. You have to go now. I’m sorry.” Ianto held the door open and watched as Jack strode from his apartment and clattered down the steps. “She’s in here, Owen.”
The doctor went into the bedroom. He knelt on the bed next to Lisa and checked her pulse.
“How many pills did she take?” he demanded.
“I’m not sure.”
Ianto slipped his hands into his pockets and was about to show the doctor the bottle, when he realized that the contents of the bottle were not something he could share with the doctor.
“Help me get her into the bathroom. I’ve got to get that stuff out of her stomach. Meanwhile you’d better go and put some coffee on. A lot of it. As strong as you can make it.”
Ianto stood in his kitchen waiting for the coffee to brew listening to the muffled sounds coming from the next room. There was the unmistakable sound of retching, followed by more murmuring, and running water. Ianto paced back and forth as the coffee percolated, and as finally noticed the envelope sitting there, stamped with the Torchwood seal and bearing just one, handwritten word on the outside: “Jones.”
He stood there staring it, trying to decide what to do with it, when the doctor called to him.
“Help me get her out into the living room.”
Ianto stuffed the note into his back pocket and went to help the doctor get Lisa into an armchair in the living room. The doctor fished a bottle and a syringe out of his bag.
"Roll up her sleeve," the doctor said as he prepared the injection. "You want to tell me what happened?"
He searched for a vein, and administered the shot.
"I don't know. I wasn't here." At Owen's confused look, Ianto burbled on: "See... we had some words earlier ... nothing serious, mind ... just a little spat..."
"And you went right out and picked yourself up another date," the doctor said accusingly.
"Something like that."
"Jonesy, you're a real twat, you know that?"
Ianto just stood there; ready to accept whatever opinion he had to in order to make sure that Lisa was going to be OK.
She stirred, and moaned softly.
"You know, if you'd have come home half an hour later, you'd have had one hell of a Christmas present."
Ianto stood there and watched as Dr. Harper slapped Lisa across the face. He slapped her again as she struggled to remain conscious. Ianto slipped off into the kitchen to fetch the coffee.
There was more slapping and moaning, and when Ianto arrived with the coffee, the doctor forced the cup between Lisa's lips and poured it into her mouth. She resisted, instinctively, and at least half of the coffee dribbled over her chin and down her dress. But the doctor kept making her drink the coffee.
"If you can open a window, we could use some fresh air in here."
Ianto pulled up the shades and opened the windows that looked out over the street.
"What's her name?" the doctor asks.
"Ms. Hallett. Lisa."
"Lisa. Listen, sweetheart, I'm a doctor. Doctor Harper. I'm here because you took too many sleeping pills. Do you understand?”
Lisa muttered something, and the doctor repeated himself, asking for more coffee, and repeating the slapping when Lisa would slip back into incoherence.
On the third round of coffee, the doctor pointed to Ianto, asking Lisa, "Do you know who this is?"
Her head lolled to the side, and her grabbed her chin and made her focus on the man standing in front of her.
"Do you know who this is? Look at him!"
"Mr. Jones. Research. Eighth floor..."
"Hello, Ms. Hallett."
"Such politeness," the doctor scoffed.
"We work at the same company. We try to keep things discreet."
Lisa looked up at Ianto. "What are you doing here?"
Ianto rolled his eyes at the doctor as if to indicate Lisa must still be out of it.
"Don't you remember? We were at the office party together..." Ianto desperately tried to string together a lie that would satisfy both Lisa and the doctor.
"The office party?"
"That's right." Improvising for Owen's benefit, Ianto continued to try and construct a story. "I told you; we'd had a fight. That's what it was about. I had this other date..."
"But I don't understand," Lisa said, trying to make sense out of things.
"It's not important right now, Lisa. The main thing is that I got here in time, and you're going to be all right." He looked at the doctor for confirmation. "She is, isn't she?"
"I'm so tired, everything's so hazy. I can't seem to remember..." Lisa said closing her eyes and leaning back into the chair. The doctor made her take the cup of coffee Ianto had been holding.
"Drink this."
She tried to push him away but was still too weak.
"Please, just let me sleep," she pleaded.
"You can't sleep, Lisa. You have to drink this. Come on sweetheart, open your eyes."
"Let's get her walking," he said looking up at Ianto. "We've got to keep her awake for the next couple of hours."
They lifted her from the chair, draping her arms over their shoulders and then walked her back and forth across the living room. At first they were doing little more than dragging her across the room, but gradually she responded to the rhythm of it, and began to put weight on her feet and walk along with them. Hours later, as the first light of dawn began to filter its way into the flat, Ianto slammed his windows shut, and sat exhausted on his sofa. The doctor was in the bedroom, assisting Lisa as she slipped off her dress and crawled under the covers. She was still not completely coherent, but the danger of an overdose had passed. Ianto could only wait to see what effect the retcon laced sedatives would have on Lisa's memory.
Owen plunked down on the sofa next to Ianto, and rubbed his eyes.
"She'll sleep off and on for the next twenty-four hours. And of course, she'll have a right nasty hangover when she does wake up."
"As long as she's okay."
"This kind of thing is harder on the doctor than the patient. I ought to charge you by the mile. Is there any of that coffee left?"
Ianto went into the kitchen to fix the doctor a cup, and when he returned the doctor was writing in a small notebook.
"How do you spell her last name?"
"Hallett? Two L's."
"Her address?"
Hearing no response from Ianto, Owen looked up.
"Come on mate, where does she live?"
"Why do you need to know? You're not going to report this are you?"
"It's regulations."
"She didn't mean it. It was an accident. She had a little too much to drink, and she didn't know what she was doing. I mean, there was no suicide note or anything. Believe me, I'm not thinking about myself..." Ianto said as he handed Owen a cup of coffee.
"Aren't you?"
Ianto paced a bit. It was becoming something of a habit. "It's just that she's got a family, and there are the people at work. Our firm does some sensitive stuff with the government from time to time and it wouldn't look good if... Look. Can't you just forget you're a doctor? Can't you simply be my neighbor?"
"You know as well as I do that this wasn't an accident. And if I cared, I'd kick your arse over what you've done to this girl. But as I'm just the guy next door, I'll settle for helping myself to your quality liquor."
The doctor poured himself a very large whiskey from the bottle on the sideboard, and drank it all in one go.
"I don't know what you did to that girl in there, and don't tell me, but you got off lucky this time. Just take care, since she might try and do this again. If she does, you know where I am."
Ianto saw Owen out and then snapped off all the lights in the living room. He wandered into the bedroom and spied Lisa's dress laying by the side of the bed. He put it on a hanger and hung it on the hook on the back of the bathroom door. He switched on the electric heater in the corner of the room, and slumped down against the wall at the foot of the bed, staring at the broken woman sleeping in his bed. As he was pulling off his tie, he remembered the note.
With trembling fingers he tore open the envelope. The note read:
Jones,
Here's your key back. I no longer have a need for it.
If you want her, take her. I've seen the way you look at her.
Either way, she will not remember me...us. I've made sure of that. Which I suspect you've guessed by now.
Nothing must be allowed to get in the way of Torchwood's mission.
Take care of her. Y.
He stuffed the note and the key back in his pocket, and got up to sit on the edge of the bed. He tucked the covers in around Lisa's shoulders and kicking off his shoes, he lay down on top of the duvet. Hands behind his head he stared at the ceiling, thinking. His train of thought was interrupted when Lisa curled onto her side, slid her arm across his stomach, and nestled her head onto his shoulder.
He wrapped his arms around her, unsure of what the future would bring, certain only that they were better off facing it together.
And as Christmas day dawned outside the flat, the two people inside it slept peacefully on.
Author:
valancy_joy Word Count: 5549
Characters: Ianto Jones, Lisa Hallett, Yvonne Hartman, Jack Harkness, and various Torchwood One Employees (and perhaps one Companion, you decide).
Author’s notes: Written for the
reel_torchwood challenge. Based on the 1960 Academy Award winner for Best Picture "The Apartment" written by Billy Wilder and I.A.L. Diamond (who gets bonus points for a very original nom de plume). Original trailer here: http://www.alltrailers.net/the-apartment.html if you're interested. I didn't have to do too much to the plot, it actually worked into the Torchwood universe rather better than I expected it to, although it's probably safe to say this is more AU than not. Beta'd by: the marvelously helpful and dynamic duo of
stuffphile and misswinterhill . Summary: Baby it's cold outside when you can't get into your own flat...not that things are all that much better when you do!
He saw her, and his Tuesday got a little bit brighter. As he swiped his security badge at the turnstile Ianto watched Lisa Hallett as she stood behind Torchwood's main reception desk. She had on a red blouse, a dark pinstriped skirt with a matching waistcoat and her signature gold hoop earrings. As she leaned over to show a co-worker something on the computer monitor, Ianto could see just a flash of lace beneath her blouse.
“Sodding head cold,” he thought to himself as his sneeze echoed across the lobby, and he dug around in his pockets for a tissue.
He shifted his messenger bag to sit more firmly on his shoulder, and headed for the lifts, pleased to see Ms. Hallett heading the same way. Normally he counted a trip in the lift with her as a very good day. She smelled great, although he had no idea what kind of perfume she used, and when she smiled, Ianto's insides went all funny. He knew she was out of his league, but deep down, he supposed there was always a chance she would notice him. But with this cold, all he could manage was trying not to sneeze on anyone.
He suddenly realised there was something different about her.
“You've cut your hair,” he said, holding the door for her.
“Wanted a bit of a change is all; but maybe change isn’t always a good thing?” Lisa said, her hand smoothing the back of the new shorter hairstyle.
He tried to tell her he liked it, but could only give her a thumbs up as he sneezed repeatedly.
“Taking anything for that cold, Jones?” he heard her ask.
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to gib you my cold,” he said, trying to minimize how stupid he sounded with a stuffed-up nose.
“S’alright," Lisa said smiling at his attempt. "I never get colds. Never have. Must have a constitution of iron or something, eh?”
The lift stopped at the third floor, and everyone squeezed a bit closer together as the head of research, Mr. Kirke stepped on.
“Ms. Hallett,” Mr. Kirke said, leering at her.
“Good morning, Mr. Kirke,” she said, seeming oblivious to the man's roving eyes, until she stepped on his foot as his hand started to wander towards her backside.
“Watch those hands, Mr. Kirke,” she said, warningly.
“Beg pardon?” he asked innocently.
“One of these days, Mr. Kirke…”
When the lift stopped at the eighth floor, Ianto held the door for his boss and nodded goodbye to Lisa as he started sneezing again.
“You should have stayed in bed this morning,” she called after him as the lift doors closed.
“I should hab stayed in bed las' night” he muttered to himself as he hung up his coat and headed towards his desk.
Mr. Kirke was still hanging around the coffee pot, stirring sugar into his coffee when Ianto went to fix himself a cup of tea to combat his stuffy head.
“That Hallett lass…what a woman. Wouldn’t I love to get her somewhere private…”
“She’s very efficient,” Ianto replied, trying very hard to remain tactful. Mostly he just wanted to punch his boss in the face.
“I must be off my game, m'lad. She just won’t give me a tumble.”
“Perhaps you need a new game,” Ianto said, gripping his mug tightly as he tried to control his temper.
“All kinds of fellas have tried it, and no go. I don’t know what she thinks she’s trying to prove.”
“Perhaps she’s already seeing someone.”
“Excuses, excuses…” Mr Kirke said as he wandered off towards his office.
Disgusted, Ianto went back to his desk, and tried not to wallow in self-pity. He was sick. He hadn't slept much the night before, and his boss was a complete pain in the arse. He took a sip of his tea, logged into his computer, and skimmed his emails. Then as he glanced around to make sure no one seemed unduly interested in what he was doing, he opened the office instant messaging program.
1 November 2005 / I.Jones: message J.Dobish:
I.Jones: Dobish?
J.Dobish: Was about to message you. Super sorry for leaving that mess on your wall last night. Debate over relative merits of modern art between he and me got a bit heated.
I.Jones: Modern art is rubbish anyway. Point – you were supposed to leave the key under the mat.
J.Dobish: Distinctly remember putting key there.
I.Jones: WRONG key. Woke landlady at four in the a.m. I don’t think she believed I’d locked myself out when I went out for a smoke.
J.Dobish: Shame. Will messenger you key.
J.Dobish: btw, efficiency reports are going up to Yvonne today. I think you will be pleased.
I.Jones: Thank You.
J.Dobish leaves conversation
I.Jones: message W.Vanderhoff:
I.Jones: Vanderhoff?
W.Vanderhoff: Jones?
I.Jones: I need to cancel tonight.
W.Vanderhoff: Cancel? But I’ve already ordered the birthday cake!
I.Jones: Hate to disappoint, but you can't have the place tonight.
W.Vanderhoff: Not like you to be churlish. And I was just saying to Yvonne how reliable you are, old man.
I.Jones: Thanks. But I have nasty cold – fever – and I’ve got to go home and get right to bed.
W.Vanderhoff: Suggest Turkish bath. Best thing for a cold. Sweat it out.
I.Jones: Dislike pneumonia. Do not wish to be made sicker and as a consequence be in bed for weeks…
W.Vanderhoff: Point. Would Wednesday work? Only other night I can get away.
I.Jones: Wednesday spoken for. Let me get back to you.
W.Vanderhoff leaves conversation.
I.Jones: message D.Eichelberger:
I.Jones: Eichelberger?
D.Eichelberger: Problem?
I.Jones: This Wednesday's not good. Would Thursday night work for you?
D.Eichelberger: Thursday? No. What about Friday?
I.Jones: Let me get back to you.
D.Eichelberger: leaves conversation.
I.Jones: message A.Kirke:
I.Jones: Kirke?
A.Kirke: ?
I.Jones: Instead of Friday, could you switch to Thursday?
A.Kirke: Must check.
A.Kirke: message S.Shaw:
A.Kirke: kiss kiss Sylvia...
S.Shaw: Why yes, I DID get home all right last night u wanker. You owe me cab fare.
A.Kirke: Yes. Fine. Whatever. Instead of Friday, could we do Thursday?
S.Shaw: Thursday? But that's when "Bikini Cops" is on the telly, and it's my favorite show!
A.Kirke: WHAT? All right, so we’ll watch it at the flat. Big Deal.
S.Shaw leaves conversation
A.Kirke: message I.Jones:
A.Kirke: Okay for Thursday.
I.Jones: THANK YOU.
A.Kirke leaves conversation.
I.Jones: message D.Eichelberger:
I.Jones: Okay for Friday.
I.Jones: message W.Vanderhoff:
I.Jones: Vanderhoff? It’s okay for Wednesday.
I.Jones signs out.
Later that day, Ianto found himself summoned to the office of the Director. He hoped for the best, but at Torchwood, you never knew whether being asked to meet with Ms. Hartman was a very good thing, or a very bad thing.
"Do you want to tell me, Jones, why four of my section managers are suddenly sending me requests to have you transferred to their departments? You, a lowly junior researcher."
Yvonne Hartman sat in a big chair, behind a big desk, in a corner office with big windows, watching Ianto squirm. He stood in front of her, nervously fiddling with his tie. He attempted to respond to the Director, but was overcome with a fit of coughing.
"Adeola," Yvonne said into her intercom, "could you bring young Mr. Jones a glass of water, please?"
"I'm fine, really," Ianto said, trying to get his breath back.
"Take a seat, Jones," Yvonne snapped, coming around her desk to hand him a box of tissues.
"Wipe your nose," she said, and perched on the edge of her desk watching him.
Ianto took the glass of water from Adeola, gulped it down, and then stuffed a handful of tissues in his jacket pocket and sat holding his empty glass awkwardly.
"I know everything that goes on in this building, Jones. Every office, every floor, every department. And there's been a certain key floating around the Administrative Board Room lately. The key to a certain flat. Your flat in fact."
Hartman paused, and Ianto stared at her as she asked, "Are you going to deny it?"
"I'd like an opportunity to explain."
Yvonne returned to her chair, steepled her fingers together, and replied finally: "Go on."
"It started innocently enough about six months ago. When I can, I’ve been helping out a mate evenings and weekends with this catering business he's trying to get started. One of the blokes in our department, he was going to a convention and he needed a place to change his clothes. Since I was going to be out, I gave him the key to my place. Word must have got 'round, because the next thing I know all sort of blokes are suddenly ringing me up asking if they can borrow my flat. And when you give your key to one, you can't say no to another, and well, the whole thing has just gotten out of hand!"
Ianto thumped back into his chair, thinking it might be a relief if he got fired.
"This key, Jones, how exactly does it work?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As office Christmas parties went, the ones at Torchwood were generally at bit over the top.
The employee canteen was festooned with blue and white fairy lights, and the tree in the corner was covered in tinsel, Union Jacks, and red Christmas balls printed with the Torchwood logo. At some point, someone had tied a plush green alien to the top of the tree with a tag around its neck that read "...it's ours!"
Ianto stood in the corner of the room nervously sipping his glass of champagne, and fiddling with the cocktail napkin in his hand, also imprinted with the company logo.
He was hoping to find an opportunity to speak to Ms. Hartman discreetly. When she came over to the drinks table, he managed to get her to step out into the hallway with him. Making sure that no one was in hearing distance, he pulled a necklace out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her.
“I found this in the flat when I got home last night. It looked expensive, and I wanted to make sure you got it back.”
"It's not..." Yvonne started to say as she stared at the necklace in her hand. Then she thanked him and walked back into the canteen.
Ianto heaved a sigh of relief. He’d found the necklace when he’d come home from helping with a wedding his mate was catering. It was long hours, but he usually came home with great leftovers. Last night there had been a whole foil dish of spaghetti bolognese, two bottles of champagne, and several bridesmaids’ phone numbers scrawled on cocktail napkins. Ianto had tucked the food into his fridge, and went to wash his face. There on the side of the sink was a silver chain from which hung a gold and diamond encrusted sphere.
He'd tucked it into his bag to take to work and give back to the only other person he knew had been in his flat that night.
Somewhere around his fourth drink, someone brought out a couple trays of mini-pizzas, turned down the Christmas carols, and cranked up something a bit more danceable and the party started loosening up a bit.
Ianto had been watching Lisa for a while. She had on a grey wrap dress that clung in all the right places, and black suede boots that made her legs look great. He felt a bit like a stalker as he tracked her around the room, but he also told himself to just enjoy the view. He finally talked himself into asking her to dance. He found her laughing with a bunch of the guys from accounting, and tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around and smiled at him. That’s when he noticed the necklace hanging around her neck – a familiar looking silver chain with an unmistakable sparkly golden pendant.
And suddenly he understood. The Director's need for discretion became clear. And it was also very clear to him that his little romantic fantasy was not going to end the way he wanted it to. He stood there staring at Lisa for a moment, trying to figure a way out of what had become an awkward situation for him.
“H-h-happy Christmas,” he stammered at last, and then he excused himself from the party, went back to his desk, kicked his wastebasket across the room, and left the building.
Ianto wandered the streets for a while, and at last found a pub that was busy enough for him to remain anonymous, but empty enough that there was still room at the bar. He slid onto a bar stool, and dug a wad of bills out of his pocket. He intended to wipe the events of the afternoon from his memory, and Torchwood’s Christmas bonus would, ironically, be just the thing to help him achieve that goal.
“Double martini, and keep ‘em coming,” he said to the redhead behind the bar.
He pushed a twenty-pound note at the bartender, and set about drowning his sorrows. He picked up his drink, plucked out the olive on its little spear, and drank. Then he ordered two more.
By the time he noticed that the blue-eyed guy sitting around the corner of the bar was watching him, he’d made a half circle of those olives on the bar, and was intent on finishing the pattern.
The guy moved a few seats closer to Ianto when two women carrying their Christmas shopping got up and left, but before he could speak, a fat man in a Santa costume leaned between them to get the bartender’s attention.
"How's about a shot of bourbon, darling – and be quick about it – my sleigh’s double parked!!”
This was obviously not Santa’s first drink of the evening, and when he laughed himself silly at his own joke and clapped Ianto on the shoulder, Ianto stared at him coldly, and then turned back to arranging his olives on the bar top. Santa tossed back his drink, and then moved off down the bar in search of someone with more holiday cheer.
The blue-eyed stranger slid into the empty seat left by Santa’s vacancy.
“Buy a lonely out-of-towner a drink?” he asked, putting his glass down in front of Ianto.
“Scotch,” he said, not even waiting for Ianto’s nod of acceptance, and went off to put something on the jukebox. Ianto swiveled around on his stool and watched the stranger stride confidently across the pub.
The man's coat rippled behind him as he wound his way across the small dance floor. A few coins, a few punched buttons, and the stranger leaned back against the jukebox and smiled at Ianto as Sinatra’s “Come Fly with Me” started to play.
Turning back to the bar, Ianto signaled for the bartender.
“Scotch, and another martini,” he said, and went back to finishing his drink.
The stranger slid in next to Ianto, picked up the scotch, caught Ianto’s eye in the mirror behind the bar, and raised his glass to him. Then they both sat in silence for a while, drinking to forget.
After their third drink together in companionable silence, the stranger turned to Ianto and asked,“You married?”
Ianto tossed back the last swallow of his latest drink and replied curtly, “No.”
“Family?”
“No.”
“A night like this,” the stranger said, “a guy oughtn’t go home to an empty apartment.”
“I said I had no family…I didn’t say I had an empty flat.” Ianto said as he ordered them both another drink.
Five hours later, it was just the two of them and Santa left in the pub, singing along to the Christmas carols playing on the jukebox.
The bartender finally pulled the plug on the music and started putting the stools up on the bar top.
“Oi! Belt up, lads,” she shouted as the men continued singing even without the musical accompaniment.
“Time for you three to pack it in, yeah?”
Ianto handed the stranger his coat, which had gotten flung over a nearby table at some point during the evening. When the stranger couldn’t get his arms into the right sleeves, Ianto stepped over and held the collar of the coat for him.
“This...this is a really great coat,” Ianto said, and then began to giggle.
“Great greatcoat! You get it?” he said, poking the stranger in the chest, still giggling and repeating “greatcoat” to himself.
The stranger slipped his arm through Ianto’s as they headed outside.
“The night is young…and I have this great coat…” the stranger said, as he grabbed Ianto suddenly and spun him around.
“Look up,” the stranger said in Ianto’s ear. “All those stars up there…so much possibility…so few limits…”
They stood on the sidewalk as the lights in the pub winked out behind them and Santa wandered off down the street. The stranger held Ianto close, arms beneath his jacket, warming his back even as their breath created a fog around them.
“I’d rather not be alone tonight…” the stranger said quietly resting his forehead against Ianto’s.
Breathless and dizzy, Ianto heard himself say: “We might as well go to mine…everyone else does.”
When the stranger stepped away to hail a cab, Ianto suddenly felt cold, and he pulled his jacket closer around him and stuck his hands in his pockets.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ianto lead the stranger up the steps to his flat. They were laughing over a story the stranger was telling about a pair of acrobats. The stranger tripped up a step, and catching hold of the banister, spun around to sit on the stair. Ianto stood a few steps below him, and they found themselves eye-to-eye in the dimly lit hallway. The stranger broke the sudden hush.
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
Ianto was not in the mood for personal questions. “No.”
The stranger continued anyway, “You got a girlfriend? Boyfriend?”
Ianto sighed before answering, rapidly coming down from the nice floaty feeling he’d been able to maintain for most of the evening. “She may be a girl, but she’s no friend of mine.”
“Stuck on her, huh?”
“Stuck on her? Obviously, you do not know me very well,” Ianto said, poking the stranger in the chest and trying very hard not to slur his words.
“I don’t know you at all…” the stranger replied as he stood and pulled Ianto up the few steps to the landing, “…yet.”
“Permit me,” Ianto said, with a little bow, “Jones…Ianto Jones. Junior Researcher. Cataloguer of aliens…”
The stranger leaned in, one hand over Ianto shoulder, pressing him back against the door. “Captain Harkness. Jack. Perfect jaw-line…alien lover…”
Ianto’s keys slid from his hand, and Jack knelt to pick them up, one hand slipping down Ianto’s shirtfront, fingers wandering and coming to rest on his right hip.
Ianto’s head thumped back against the door to his flat as Jack stood and unlocked the door. As he handed the keys back to Ianto he asked: “Are you going to want to remember this in the morning?”
Ianto pulled him into his flat saying, “I’ll let you know in the morning…”
Inside, Ianto paused to flick on the lamp next to the couch. He hung his coat on the pegs by the door, and stepped over to Jack and helped him out of his coat, which he then hung next to his own.
“Cosy little place you got here,” Jack said, looking around.
Jack started to unknot Ianto’s tie, but Ianto stepped back out of his reach.
“There’s a bottle of wine in the fridge, and glasses next to the sink. Why don’t you get us a drink to celebrate.”
“What are we celebrating?” Jack asked, stepping back towards Ianto.
Ianto glanced at the clock on the mantle.
“It’s after midnight. Happy Christmas, Captain.”
Jack pulled Ianto closer, and pressed a kiss to his temple.
“Jack,” he said softly, catching Ianto’s chin in his hands and kissing him softly on the lips.
“Get us that drink, Jack,” Ianto said, pushing him gently towards the kitchenette. “I’ll be right back.”
Ianto slipped into his bedroom intending to hang up his suit jacket when he saw someone lying on his bed. As he stepped closer the person’s face was outlined in a sliver of light coming from the ensuite. Lying there on his bed, wrapped up in her green duffle coat, was Lisa Hallett.
Ianto pulled the bedroom door closed, and then stepped over and knelt on the edge of the bed. He shook Lisa, and said in hushed tones, “Ms. Hallett? It's time to wake up. It’s past checking-out time and the management would very much appreciate you buggering off home now!”
“Look,” he continued, “there’s no denying that I like you a lot, but if you’re going to end up in my bed, I’d rather it was me you wanted in there with you. Ms. Hallett? Lisa?”
He rolled her over, and as he did, a small red pill bottle rolled out of her hand, and fell onto the carpet at Ianto’s feet. Ianto picked up the bottle, and read the label. He dashed back out into his living room, where he found Jack holding the wine bottle and sucking on his finger.
“I cut my finger trying to get the bottle open. You need a new corkscrew…”
Ianto dashed past Jack and out into the hallway.
“I didn’t mean right now…” Jack called out the door.
Ianto pounded on the door of the flat next door.
“Please be home… please be home…” he kept repeating, until finally the door opened a crack and a set of dark eyes peered at him above the chain on the door.
“Owen. It's Ianto Jones, from next door. Please, you’ve got to help me. There’s a girl in my bedroom…”
“Well, mate, from what I hear through these walls, that's never been a problem before…”
“What? No! She’s ... she’s taken a bunch of pills. Please, I need your help. She won’t wake up.”
“I’ll get my bag,” the doctor replied and shut the door with a bang.
Ianto raced back to his apartment. The wine had been poured. Soft music was playing on the CD player, and there was Jack, standing in front of the fireplace, braces down around his hips, shirt untucked, and unbuttoned.
“Why all the running around? Unless of course there’s someone else interested in joining us? The more the merrier, I always say.”
Ianto took the drink out of Jack’s hand.
“Good night.”
“Not yet it’s not.”
Ianto tossed Jack’s coat at him, and started to shove him towards the door.
“Ooh. Masterful. I like that in a man…”
“I’m sorry, but you’ve got to leave.”
“Cold feet?”
"No. Not…no. I just can’t do this right now. Please.”
He tried again to shove Jack towards the door as Doctor Harper barged in.
“In there, Doctor,” Ianto said pointing towards the bedroom.
“Doctor?" Jack said, staring hard at the newcomer.
"So...the Doctor gets access to your bedroom, but I don’t?” Jack asked angrily, pulling on his coat.
“I don’t know what I’m interrupting here, mate, but suppose you show me where this friend of yours is," the doctor said staring at the other two men.
“Please, Jack. You have to go now. I’m sorry.” Ianto held the door open and watched as Jack strode from his apartment and clattered down the steps. “She’s in here, Owen.”
The doctor went into the bedroom. He knelt on the bed next to Lisa and checked her pulse.
“How many pills did she take?” he demanded.
“I’m not sure.”
Ianto slipped his hands into his pockets and was about to show the doctor the bottle, when he realized that the contents of the bottle were not something he could share with the doctor.
“Help me get her into the bathroom. I’ve got to get that stuff out of her stomach. Meanwhile you’d better go and put some coffee on. A lot of it. As strong as you can make it.”
Ianto stood in his kitchen waiting for the coffee to brew listening to the muffled sounds coming from the next room. There was the unmistakable sound of retching, followed by more murmuring, and running water. Ianto paced back and forth as the coffee percolated, and as finally noticed the envelope sitting there, stamped with the Torchwood seal and bearing just one, handwritten word on the outside: “Jones.”
He stood there staring it, trying to decide what to do with it, when the doctor called to him.
“Help me get her out into the living room.”
Ianto stuffed the note into his back pocket and went to help the doctor get Lisa into an armchair in the living room. The doctor fished a bottle and a syringe out of his bag.
"Roll up her sleeve," the doctor said as he prepared the injection. "You want to tell me what happened?"
He searched for a vein, and administered the shot.
"I don't know. I wasn't here." At Owen's confused look, Ianto burbled on: "See... we had some words earlier ... nothing serious, mind ... just a little spat..."
"And you went right out and picked yourself up another date," the doctor said accusingly.
"Something like that."
"Jonesy, you're a real twat, you know that?"
Ianto just stood there; ready to accept whatever opinion he had to in order to make sure that Lisa was going to be OK.
She stirred, and moaned softly.
"You know, if you'd have come home half an hour later, you'd have had one hell of a Christmas present."
Ianto stood there and watched as Dr. Harper slapped Lisa across the face. He slapped her again as she struggled to remain conscious. Ianto slipped off into the kitchen to fetch the coffee.
There was more slapping and moaning, and when Ianto arrived with the coffee, the doctor forced the cup between Lisa's lips and poured it into her mouth. She resisted, instinctively, and at least half of the coffee dribbled over her chin and down her dress. But the doctor kept making her drink the coffee.
"If you can open a window, we could use some fresh air in here."
Ianto pulled up the shades and opened the windows that looked out over the street.
"What's her name?" the doctor asks.
"Ms. Hallett. Lisa."
"Lisa. Listen, sweetheart, I'm a doctor. Doctor Harper. I'm here because you took too many sleeping pills. Do you understand?”
Lisa muttered something, and the doctor repeated himself, asking for more coffee, and repeating the slapping when Lisa would slip back into incoherence.
On the third round of coffee, the doctor pointed to Ianto, asking Lisa, "Do you know who this is?"
Her head lolled to the side, and her grabbed her chin and made her focus on the man standing in front of her.
"Do you know who this is? Look at him!"
"Mr. Jones. Research. Eighth floor..."
"Hello, Ms. Hallett."
"Such politeness," the doctor scoffed.
"We work at the same company. We try to keep things discreet."
Lisa looked up at Ianto. "What are you doing here?"
Ianto rolled his eyes at the doctor as if to indicate Lisa must still be out of it.
"Don't you remember? We were at the office party together..." Ianto desperately tried to string together a lie that would satisfy both Lisa and the doctor.
"The office party?"
"That's right." Improvising for Owen's benefit, Ianto continued to try and construct a story. "I told you; we'd had a fight. That's what it was about. I had this other date..."
"But I don't understand," Lisa said, trying to make sense out of things.
"It's not important right now, Lisa. The main thing is that I got here in time, and you're going to be all right." He looked at the doctor for confirmation. "She is, isn't she?"
"I'm so tired, everything's so hazy. I can't seem to remember..." Lisa said closing her eyes and leaning back into the chair. The doctor made her take the cup of coffee Ianto had been holding.
"Drink this."
She tried to push him away but was still too weak.
"Please, just let me sleep," she pleaded.
"You can't sleep, Lisa. You have to drink this. Come on sweetheart, open your eyes."
"Let's get her walking," he said looking up at Ianto. "We've got to keep her awake for the next couple of hours."
They lifted her from the chair, draping her arms over their shoulders and then walked her back and forth across the living room. At first they were doing little more than dragging her across the room, but gradually she responded to the rhythm of it, and began to put weight on her feet and walk along with them. Hours later, as the first light of dawn began to filter its way into the flat, Ianto slammed his windows shut, and sat exhausted on his sofa. The doctor was in the bedroom, assisting Lisa as she slipped off her dress and crawled under the covers. She was still not completely coherent, but the danger of an overdose had passed. Ianto could only wait to see what effect the retcon laced sedatives would have on Lisa's memory.
Owen plunked down on the sofa next to Ianto, and rubbed his eyes.
"She'll sleep off and on for the next twenty-four hours. And of course, she'll have a right nasty hangover when she does wake up."
"As long as she's okay."
"This kind of thing is harder on the doctor than the patient. I ought to charge you by the mile. Is there any of that coffee left?"
Ianto went into the kitchen to fix the doctor a cup, and when he returned the doctor was writing in a small notebook.
"How do you spell her last name?"
"Hallett? Two L's."
"Her address?"
Hearing no response from Ianto, Owen looked up.
"Come on mate, where does she live?"
"Why do you need to know? You're not going to report this are you?"
"It's regulations."
"She didn't mean it. It was an accident. She had a little too much to drink, and she didn't know what she was doing. I mean, there was no suicide note or anything. Believe me, I'm not thinking about myself..." Ianto said as he handed Owen a cup of coffee.
"Aren't you?"
Ianto paced a bit. It was becoming something of a habit. "It's just that she's got a family, and there are the people at work. Our firm does some sensitive stuff with the government from time to time and it wouldn't look good if... Look. Can't you just forget you're a doctor? Can't you simply be my neighbor?"
"You know as well as I do that this wasn't an accident. And if I cared, I'd kick your arse over what you've done to this girl. But as I'm just the guy next door, I'll settle for helping myself to your quality liquor."
The doctor poured himself a very large whiskey from the bottle on the sideboard, and drank it all in one go.
"I don't know what you did to that girl in there, and don't tell me, but you got off lucky this time. Just take care, since she might try and do this again. If she does, you know where I am."
Ianto saw Owen out and then snapped off all the lights in the living room. He wandered into the bedroom and spied Lisa's dress laying by the side of the bed. He put it on a hanger and hung it on the hook on the back of the bathroom door. He switched on the electric heater in the corner of the room, and slumped down against the wall at the foot of the bed, staring at the broken woman sleeping in his bed. As he was pulling off his tie, he remembered the note.
With trembling fingers he tore open the envelope. The note read:
Jones,
Here's your key back. I no longer have a need for it.
If you want her, take her. I've seen the way you look at her.
Either way, she will not remember me...us. I've made sure of that. Which I suspect you've guessed by now.
Nothing must be allowed to get in the way of Torchwood's mission.
Take care of her. Y.
He stuffed the note and the key back in his pocket, and got up to sit on the edge of the bed. He tucked the covers in around Lisa's shoulders and kicking off his shoes, he lay down on top of the duvet. Hands behind his head he stared at the ceiling, thinking. His train of thought was interrupted when Lisa curled onto her side, slid her arm across his stomach, and nestled her head onto his shoulder.
He wrapped his arms around her, unsure of what the future would bring, certain only that they were better off facing it together.
And as Christmas day dawned outside the flat, the two people inside it slept peacefully on.
