The Past Victorious 2
Dec. 4th, 2012 11:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
galadriel1010Title: The Past Victorious
Chapter Title: Chapter 2
Challenge/Fest: LongLiveIanto Bingo
Prompt: Measuring
Rating: T
Dedication: For
laligin
Summary:
The Rift claims Ianto and sweeps him back into Cardiff's past. With a
bit of luck and quick thinking, he lands firmly on his feet, ready to
help the next wandering traveller and keep him out of Torchwood's
clutches.
Characters: Ianto, Jack, historical figures and OCs.
Contains: Homophobia.
Disclaimer: Torchwood and its environs, occurrences and persons belong to the BBC. The original characters have disowned me.
Ianto raised his glass to the landlord and slid away to his usual table in the corner. The gas lamp above his seat cast enough light for him to be able to read by, and he leaned back against the wall so that he could read it and keep half an eye on the comings and going over the top. It was a busy pub, but far enough away from the docks that it got a better class of clientele than the wharf rats, ladies of the night and short-stay sailors than some of the bars down there. Which wasn’t to say that Ianto was averse to spending time in their company - particularly that of the ladies - but it didn’t make for a quiet night out.
A London businessman was discussing the day’s trade with his assistant and one of Ianto’s neighbours a couple of tables down, and the usual town crowd of shop workers savouring their one drink of the night and the factory owners deigning to rub shoulders with the lower classes packed most of the others and the bar. Molly May was sitting on her own in her corner, watching the shop boys and waiting for any of them to be brave enough to come to her, and Ianto tipped her a wink when she looked his way, getting a salute of her sherry in return. Another night he might have gone to ‘keep her company’, but for now he was content to read and watch the world go by.
The door opened with a slam, and everyone turned to face the strange figure standing framed by it. His features were cast into a ghoulish shadow by the flickering light above the door, and his tight white T Shirt and black trousers set him far apart from anyone else in there. Ianto lowered his book to join everyone else in staring at the stranger, who prowled across the room to the bar. Men pulled their wives and daughters back from him and positioned themselves between him and them, but he ignored them all and leaned on the bar. “I’ll have whatever will get me drunkest,” he announced in rolling American tones. “And then you can pour me into the gutter.”
A low hum of conversation started, and Ianto raised his book enough to be hidden by it whilst still being able to watch proceedings. The stranger was now better lit, and Ianto could see that his trousers were actually leather, and his hair was equally anachronistic. He contemplated going over, but as the landlord pulled out a bottle of his strongest whisky and poured a large double, he settled back into his seat to watch the show.
The stranger drank for two hours, faster at first as he discovered just how vile the whisky was, and then slower as he got more used to it and less steady. He hadn’t said a word since ordering his drink, just signalled for more, and more, and more, and didn’t look like starting any time soon. The pub was emptier now, and Ianto knew that the story would already have spread around half the town, but as the stranger struggled to find the counter to put his glass down he knew it was time to make a move.
He closed his book and slipped it into his coat pocket, then took the coat off and folded it over his arm. Weaving between the tables, he reached the bar and clapped his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’m impressed, I’ve never seen anyone drink that much.”
“Thanks,” the man slurred, fixing Ianto with an unsteady gaze from startlingly blue eyes. “I... Captain Jack Harkness, and who are you?”
“Jones the Tailor. Ianto Jones.” He turned to the landlord and tipped his head in the captain’s direction. “I’ll take him off your hands, Harry. If the police want him, you know where to find me.”
“Thank you, Mr Jones.” Harry shook his head. “I’ll put your drinks on his bill, shall I?”
Ianto laughed and shook his new friend’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s pour you into bed - it’ll be a bit more comfortable than the gutter.”
“I’ll be...” Harkness stumbled when he tried to stand up and shook his head like a dog. “Thanks, appreciate it. What is that stuff?”
It took a moment for Ianto to decipher the slurring, and he used the pause to get the captain’s arm around his neck, just in case. “It’s rotgut. Gets everyone that way.” He raised his eyes to heaven and nodded to Harry. “Now let’s get you horizontal, shall we?”
Harkness slurred something in response, but Ianto had no clue what it was, and didn’t much care.
****
Ianto pulled the magnifying glass over and leaned in, focussed completely on the buttonhole he was sewing. Buttonholes were his speciality, if he said so himself, and it was partly because of the set up of mirrors and lights that allowed him to see it in closer detail than any of his competitors. That was why he did them all upstairs, where they wouldn’t visit and see his set up. He’d been developing it for thirty years, and he wasn’t going to let his advantage go at this stage.
There was a thump from the next room, and he sighed. Shoving the magifying glass out of the wa again and dousing the lamps, he put his sewing away and had got to the doorway by the time his unexpected guest had stumbled onto the landing. “Good morning,” he said. “Sleep well?”
Harkness stared at him and looked around. “No. Where the hell am I?”
“Jones’ Tailors, Cardiff.” He closed and locked the door and leaned on it. “Wales, Earth. And the year is 1869. Does that help at all?”
“I only needed the address, thanks.” He ran a hand through his hair and looked slightly sheepish. “Thanks for last night, if you dragged me out of the pub. What the hell was I drinking?”
“Rotgut. Aptly named. Do you feel up to eating?” Harkness shook his head, looking thoroughly miserable now, and Ianto smiled. “Well, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like, Captain Harkness.”
“Jack. Call me Jack. Unless that’s...”
“I don’t mind dispensing with the formalities. It’ll be nice to have someone around who won’t notice if I drop an anachronism - although the dialect is fairly well trained into me by now.” He lit his pipe and narrowed his eyes at Jack. “What year are you from, then?”
“Pardon?”
“Oh please. Cotton T shirt and leather trousers, not to mention that science fiction wrist strap you’re wearing.” He crossed the landing to the kitchen and cut himself a slice of fruit cake. “Twentieth century or later, probably much later.”
“Huh.” Jack was in the doorway, and with the light from the windows Ianto could see just how washed out he looked. He had barely more colour than his, admittedly grubby, T shirt. “I bounced around a lot. Wasn’t meant to be here, but I seem to be stuck now. Was aiming for the twenty first century, so you were pretty close. How did you end up here, pretty eyes?”
Ianto glared at him for a moment, then shoved most of the slice of cake in his mouth and enjoyed the queasy look that stole across Jack’s face. Once he’d finished it he waved the last of the slice. “Cardiff has a Rift in time and space - you know it?” Jack nodded and he continued, “Well it got me. I was only home for Christmas. Landed here thirty years ago, can’t get back and haven’t aged a day.”
“Shit.”
“Tell me about it, but at least I won’t really go missing.” He watched Jack some more, whilst Jack watched him, and sighed. “Look, I have to open the shop soon, and you look like you’re about to fall over. Go back to bed, stay there for the rest of the day, and then I’ll come and get you?”
Jack nodded obediently and looked pleadingly at the glasses on the shelf. “Please can I have a glass of water, mummy?”
Ianto laughed and reached for one of the glasses. “I’m a Good Samaritan, not your mother. You can tidy your own bloody room.”
****
The back room of the tailor’s shop was where everything happened. Rolls of fabric were stacked on a table that was buckling with their weight, skeins of thread hung from a peg board that ran all along one wall, scissors and measuring tape and chalk littered every shelf, and two half-finished suits were pinned to mannequins that faced out onto the street, like sightless watchmen.
Ianto collected his tape up and pointed to the stool in the middle of the room. “Stand there and do exactly as I tell you to. In here, I am lord.”
“Yes, sir.” Jack did as he was told, which Ianto could already tell was going to be a rare occurrence, and Ianto recognised the soldier’s bearing in him. He watched Ianto moving around and rolled his shoulders once. “You seem to have a busy shop here.”
“I’m one of the best tailors in Cardiff,” Ianto muttered, distracted by his work. “And I returned from Paris less than a year ago, bringing all the modern fashions with me. Cardiff is a rising star, and the residents are determined that we’re going to keep on rising. And to do that, they have to dress the part. All the gentlemen come to me to make them look like London lords, and I charge them a lot for it.”
“Mercenary of you. They haven’t figured out that you’re not from around these parts yet?” Jack lifted his arm obediently. “Or, you know, apparently immortal.”
“I don’t mention it, and they either don’t or choose not to notice,” he confirmed, measuring Jack’s sleeve length quickly. “I went away to Paris for a few years, and came back claiming to be my own son. I passed as easily for eighteen as I did for forty. Dress the part and wear your hair right and they’ll believe anything. Legs apart, please.”
“Now there’s an offer I don’t get every day.” Jack leered down at him. “You’re very calm about getting a time traveller on your doorstep; does it happen often?”
“Not really.” He pushed Jack’s legs back together and straightened up. “You can get down, now. I’ve not heard of any apart from me, to be honest. Cardiff’s pretty quiet in that respect. Mind you, we get so many coming and going from the docks that nobody would notice - unless they stumbled into one of the more elegant pubs in town in leather trousers and proceeded to try to drink themselves to death, of course.”
Jack acknowledged that with a grunt and went to lean on the edge of a table, out of the way. “Long story.”
“I’ve got a long time. And you’re not going anywhere fast.”
“True.” He sighed heavily and folded his arms. “I was travelling with friends, and they left me behind. I know they come here to refuel, and that the twenty first century is the best place to find them. Figured I could catch up with them.” He lifted his arm and flipped open the leather cover on his wriststrap. “This is a time machine, you see. Doesn’t look like much, but it usually does the trick. Only this time... Well, I’m over a century out, and it’s broken.”
“Some would consider that inconvenient.” Ianto put the fabric he’d been sorting down and leaned on the table opposite Jack. “Can you fix it?”
“No.” He shook his head and dropped his arm. “In 2000, maybe. With a top of the range lab and a couple of scientists. Here and now, with a tailor? No offence, but unless you have a soldering iron and a nanotech workshop, I’m out of luck.”
Ianto nodded sympathetically. “How far away from home are you?”
“Home?” Jack laughed and shook his head. “Don’t think I have one of those. A long way though, wherever it is. I guess I’ll... have to get used to the nineteenth century.”
He looked so dispondent, although he was clearly trying to hide it, that Ianto’s heart went out to him. “You’ll be okay,” he assured him. “You’ve got me - that’s more than I ever had.”
“Thanks, Ianto.” Jack smiled back weakly. “You’re a good man.”
“And a better tailor.” He shoved hismelf upright again and collected the fabric together. “Let’s get you looking a little less foreign.”
****
Jack smoothed his hands down over his waistcoat and turned to study it in the mirror. It was a dark blue, fastened nearly to his bow tie, which was made out of a narrow ribbon. His shirt was off-the-peg, but it wouldn’t be seen under the waistcoat, and his trousers were made from a slightly darker fabric than the waistcoat. A double breasted jacket finished the look off, made form the same fabric as the trousers and lined in the same silk as the waistcoat. He accepted it from Ianto, who helped him to put it on, and turned once more to look at himself in the mirror.
“Wow,” he pronounced at last, when nothing else occurred to him. “I look...”
“Like a Washington gentleman,” Ianto finished for him. “You’ll have to borrow one of my hats for the moment, but we’ll get you one of your own soon enough.”
“I don’t suit hats,” he murmured, turning to admire himself again. “Hey, why is my bow tie different to yours?”
Ianto sighed, putting away the last of his tools. “It’s popular in warmer climes, and gaining popularity in America. It will add to your image of a rich, foreign eccentric.”
“You can do that with a bow tie?”
“You can do anything with the right accessories.” He closed the last drawer and folded the fabric away. “It’s not just about dressing with the fashions, it’s about dressing with the right fashions. I’ve climbed my way up Cardiff’s social ladder, and I’ve climbed up the fashions accordingly. That’s why I have so many hats.”
Jack nodded and accepted one from him. It was a shorter top hat, somewhat worn but well cared for. “This was your first one, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. My wife bought it for me.” He nodded encouragingly. “Put it on.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Jack settled the hat on his head and frowned. “How long were you married?”
“Only five years.” Ianto turned his back and went to the window. “Her father gave me a job as his assistant, and he left me his shop. Jenny died four years after him, and I kept it on for a while, then sold it, went to France and bought it back when I came back.”
“So it’s their name over the door?”
He didn’t answer, and was business-like when he turned back. “I’ll need to make you a topcoat as well, but the light is fading and I have paying customers to make for as well. My boots should fit you, and you have a suit and my hat. I have to work for a bit, but Mary will have left us some dinner...”
Jack caught his arm to stop him striding out of the room. “Ianto, thank you.”
Shaking Jack off, he smiled back tightly. “It’s the least I could do. Just don’t make me regret it.”
Chapter Title: Chapter 2
Challenge/Fest: LongLiveIanto Bingo
Prompt: Measuring
Rating: T
Dedication: For
laliginSummary:
The Rift claims Ianto and sweeps him back into Cardiff's past. With a
bit of luck and quick thinking, he lands firmly on his feet, ready to
help the next wandering traveller and keep him out of Torchwood's
clutches.
Characters: Ianto, Jack, historical figures and OCs.
Contains: Homophobia.
Disclaimer: Torchwood and its environs, occurrences and persons belong to the BBC. The original characters have disowned me.
Ianto raised his glass to the landlord and slid away to his usual table in the corner. The gas lamp above his seat cast enough light for him to be able to read by, and he leaned back against the wall so that he could read it and keep half an eye on the comings and going over the top. It was a busy pub, but far enough away from the docks that it got a better class of clientele than the wharf rats, ladies of the night and short-stay sailors than some of the bars down there. Which wasn’t to say that Ianto was averse to spending time in their company - particularly that of the ladies - but it didn’t make for a quiet night out.
A London businessman was discussing the day’s trade with his assistant and one of Ianto’s neighbours a couple of tables down, and the usual town crowd of shop workers savouring their one drink of the night and the factory owners deigning to rub shoulders with the lower classes packed most of the others and the bar. Molly May was sitting on her own in her corner, watching the shop boys and waiting for any of them to be brave enough to come to her, and Ianto tipped her a wink when she looked his way, getting a salute of her sherry in return. Another night he might have gone to ‘keep her company’, but for now he was content to read and watch the world go by.
The door opened with a slam, and everyone turned to face the strange figure standing framed by it. His features were cast into a ghoulish shadow by the flickering light above the door, and his tight white T Shirt and black trousers set him far apart from anyone else in there. Ianto lowered his book to join everyone else in staring at the stranger, who prowled across the room to the bar. Men pulled their wives and daughters back from him and positioned themselves between him and them, but he ignored them all and leaned on the bar. “I’ll have whatever will get me drunkest,” he announced in rolling American tones. “And then you can pour me into the gutter.”
A low hum of conversation started, and Ianto raised his book enough to be hidden by it whilst still being able to watch proceedings. The stranger was now better lit, and Ianto could see that his trousers were actually leather, and his hair was equally anachronistic. He contemplated going over, but as the landlord pulled out a bottle of his strongest whisky and poured a large double, he settled back into his seat to watch the show.
The stranger drank for two hours, faster at first as he discovered just how vile the whisky was, and then slower as he got more used to it and less steady. He hadn’t said a word since ordering his drink, just signalled for more, and more, and more, and didn’t look like starting any time soon. The pub was emptier now, and Ianto knew that the story would already have spread around half the town, but as the stranger struggled to find the counter to put his glass down he knew it was time to make a move.
He closed his book and slipped it into his coat pocket, then took the coat off and folded it over his arm. Weaving between the tables, he reached the bar and clapped his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’m impressed, I’ve never seen anyone drink that much.”
“Thanks,” the man slurred, fixing Ianto with an unsteady gaze from startlingly blue eyes. “I... Captain Jack Harkness, and who are you?”
“Jones the Tailor. Ianto Jones.” He turned to the landlord and tipped his head in the captain’s direction. “I’ll take him off your hands, Harry. If the police want him, you know where to find me.”
“Thank you, Mr Jones.” Harry shook his head. “I’ll put your drinks on his bill, shall I?”
Ianto laughed and shook his new friend’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s pour you into bed - it’ll be a bit more comfortable than the gutter.”
“I’ll be...” Harkness stumbled when he tried to stand up and shook his head like a dog. “Thanks, appreciate it. What is that stuff?”
It took a moment for Ianto to decipher the slurring, and he used the pause to get the captain’s arm around his neck, just in case. “It’s rotgut. Gets everyone that way.” He raised his eyes to heaven and nodded to Harry. “Now let’s get you horizontal, shall we?”
Harkness slurred something in response, but Ianto had no clue what it was, and didn’t much care.
****
Ianto pulled the magnifying glass over and leaned in, focussed completely on the buttonhole he was sewing. Buttonholes were his speciality, if he said so himself, and it was partly because of the set up of mirrors and lights that allowed him to see it in closer detail than any of his competitors. That was why he did them all upstairs, where they wouldn’t visit and see his set up. He’d been developing it for thirty years, and he wasn’t going to let his advantage go at this stage.
There was a thump from the next room, and he sighed. Shoving the magifying glass out of the wa again and dousing the lamps, he put his sewing away and had got to the doorway by the time his unexpected guest had stumbled onto the landing. “Good morning,” he said. “Sleep well?”
Harkness stared at him and looked around. “No. Where the hell am I?”
“Jones’ Tailors, Cardiff.” He closed and locked the door and leaned on it. “Wales, Earth. And the year is 1869. Does that help at all?”
“I only needed the address, thanks.” He ran a hand through his hair and looked slightly sheepish. “Thanks for last night, if you dragged me out of the pub. What the hell was I drinking?”
“Rotgut. Aptly named. Do you feel up to eating?” Harkness shook his head, looking thoroughly miserable now, and Ianto smiled. “Well, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like, Captain Harkness.”
“Jack. Call me Jack. Unless that’s...”
“I don’t mind dispensing with the formalities. It’ll be nice to have someone around who won’t notice if I drop an anachronism - although the dialect is fairly well trained into me by now.” He lit his pipe and narrowed his eyes at Jack. “What year are you from, then?”
“Pardon?”
“Oh please. Cotton T shirt and leather trousers, not to mention that science fiction wrist strap you’re wearing.” He crossed the landing to the kitchen and cut himself a slice of fruit cake. “Twentieth century or later, probably much later.”
“Huh.” Jack was in the doorway, and with the light from the windows Ianto could see just how washed out he looked. He had barely more colour than his, admittedly grubby, T shirt. “I bounced around a lot. Wasn’t meant to be here, but I seem to be stuck now. Was aiming for the twenty first century, so you were pretty close. How did you end up here, pretty eyes?”
Ianto glared at him for a moment, then shoved most of the slice of cake in his mouth and enjoyed the queasy look that stole across Jack’s face. Once he’d finished it he waved the last of the slice. “Cardiff has a Rift in time and space - you know it?” Jack nodded and he continued, “Well it got me. I was only home for Christmas. Landed here thirty years ago, can’t get back and haven’t aged a day.”
“Shit.”
“Tell me about it, but at least I won’t really go missing.” He watched Jack some more, whilst Jack watched him, and sighed. “Look, I have to open the shop soon, and you look like you’re about to fall over. Go back to bed, stay there for the rest of the day, and then I’ll come and get you?”
Jack nodded obediently and looked pleadingly at the glasses on the shelf. “Please can I have a glass of water, mummy?”
Ianto laughed and reached for one of the glasses. “I’m a Good Samaritan, not your mother. You can tidy your own bloody room.”
****
The back room of the tailor’s shop was where everything happened. Rolls of fabric were stacked on a table that was buckling with their weight, skeins of thread hung from a peg board that ran all along one wall, scissors and measuring tape and chalk littered every shelf, and two half-finished suits were pinned to mannequins that faced out onto the street, like sightless watchmen.
Ianto collected his tape up and pointed to the stool in the middle of the room. “Stand there and do exactly as I tell you to. In here, I am lord.”
“Yes, sir.” Jack did as he was told, which Ianto could already tell was going to be a rare occurrence, and Ianto recognised the soldier’s bearing in him. He watched Ianto moving around and rolled his shoulders once. “You seem to have a busy shop here.”
“I’m one of the best tailors in Cardiff,” Ianto muttered, distracted by his work. “And I returned from Paris less than a year ago, bringing all the modern fashions with me. Cardiff is a rising star, and the residents are determined that we’re going to keep on rising. And to do that, they have to dress the part. All the gentlemen come to me to make them look like London lords, and I charge them a lot for it.”
“Mercenary of you. They haven’t figured out that you’re not from around these parts yet?” Jack lifted his arm obediently. “Or, you know, apparently immortal.”
“I don’t mention it, and they either don’t or choose not to notice,” he confirmed, measuring Jack’s sleeve length quickly. “I went away to Paris for a few years, and came back claiming to be my own son. I passed as easily for eighteen as I did for forty. Dress the part and wear your hair right and they’ll believe anything. Legs apart, please.”
“Now there’s an offer I don’t get every day.” Jack leered down at him. “You’re very calm about getting a time traveller on your doorstep; does it happen often?”
“Not really.” He pushed Jack’s legs back together and straightened up. “You can get down, now. I’ve not heard of any apart from me, to be honest. Cardiff’s pretty quiet in that respect. Mind you, we get so many coming and going from the docks that nobody would notice - unless they stumbled into one of the more elegant pubs in town in leather trousers and proceeded to try to drink themselves to death, of course.”
Jack acknowledged that with a grunt and went to lean on the edge of a table, out of the way. “Long story.”
“I’ve got a long time. And you’re not going anywhere fast.”
“True.” He sighed heavily and folded his arms. “I was travelling with friends, and they left me behind. I know they come here to refuel, and that the twenty first century is the best place to find them. Figured I could catch up with them.” He lifted his arm and flipped open the leather cover on his wriststrap. “This is a time machine, you see. Doesn’t look like much, but it usually does the trick. Only this time... Well, I’m over a century out, and it’s broken.”
“Some would consider that inconvenient.” Ianto put the fabric he’d been sorting down and leaned on the table opposite Jack. “Can you fix it?”
“No.” He shook his head and dropped his arm. “In 2000, maybe. With a top of the range lab and a couple of scientists. Here and now, with a tailor? No offence, but unless you have a soldering iron and a nanotech workshop, I’m out of luck.”
Ianto nodded sympathetically. “How far away from home are you?”
“Home?” Jack laughed and shook his head. “Don’t think I have one of those. A long way though, wherever it is. I guess I’ll... have to get used to the nineteenth century.”
He looked so dispondent, although he was clearly trying to hide it, that Ianto’s heart went out to him. “You’ll be okay,” he assured him. “You’ve got me - that’s more than I ever had.”
“Thanks, Ianto.” Jack smiled back weakly. “You’re a good man.”
“And a better tailor.” He shoved hismelf upright again and collected the fabric together. “Let’s get you looking a little less foreign.”
****
Jack smoothed his hands down over his waistcoat and turned to study it in the mirror. It was a dark blue, fastened nearly to his bow tie, which was made out of a narrow ribbon. His shirt was off-the-peg, but it wouldn’t be seen under the waistcoat, and his trousers were made from a slightly darker fabric than the waistcoat. A double breasted jacket finished the look off, made form the same fabric as the trousers and lined in the same silk as the waistcoat. He accepted it from Ianto, who helped him to put it on, and turned once more to look at himself in the mirror.
“Wow,” he pronounced at last, when nothing else occurred to him. “I look...”
“Like a Washington gentleman,” Ianto finished for him. “You’ll have to borrow one of my hats for the moment, but we’ll get you one of your own soon enough.”
“I don’t suit hats,” he murmured, turning to admire himself again. “Hey, why is my bow tie different to yours?”
Ianto sighed, putting away the last of his tools. “It’s popular in warmer climes, and gaining popularity in America. It will add to your image of a rich, foreign eccentric.”
“You can do that with a bow tie?”
“You can do anything with the right accessories.” He closed the last drawer and folded the fabric away. “It’s not just about dressing with the fashions, it’s about dressing with the right fashions. I’ve climbed my way up Cardiff’s social ladder, and I’ve climbed up the fashions accordingly. That’s why I have so many hats.”
Jack nodded and accepted one from him. It was a shorter top hat, somewhat worn but well cared for. “This was your first one, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. My wife bought it for me.” He nodded encouragingly. “Put it on.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Jack settled the hat on his head and frowned. “How long were you married?”
“Only five years.” Ianto turned his back and went to the window. “Her father gave me a job as his assistant, and he left me his shop. Jenny died four years after him, and I kept it on for a while, then sold it, went to France and bought it back when I came back.”
“So it’s their name over the door?”
He didn’t answer, and was business-like when he turned back. “I’ll need to make you a topcoat as well, but the light is fading and I have paying customers to make for as well. My boots should fit you, and you have a suit and my hat. I have to work for a bit, but Mary will have left us some dinner...”
Jack caught his arm to stop him striding out of the room. “Ianto, thank you.”
Shaking Jack off, he smiled back tightly. “It’s the least I could do. Just don’t make me regret it.”
