The Past Victorious 3
Dec. 5th, 2012 08:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
galadriel1010Title: The Past Victorious
Chapter Title: Chapter 3
Challenge/Fest: LongLiveIanto Bingo
Prompt: Physical Violence
Rating: T
Dedication: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
laligin
Summary:
Characters: Ianto and Jack
Contains: Homophobia
Disclaimer: Torchwood and its environs, occurrences and persons belong to the BBC. The original characters have disowned me.
Jack left Ianto in his shop, schmoozing with the young businessman who had come to collect a suit from him. He strode out into the foggy streets and looked around, tyring to get his bearings. The shop was at the end of a row, with the apartment above it, and a selection of other shops next to it. Leading away to Jack’s left was a long street with the castle just visible at the far end, almost out of sight around the corner, and ahead of him was one of Cardiff’s busy stations.
Having been somewhat less than coherent when Ianto had dragged him back here from the pub, he made a mental note of the location of the shop and set out down the street towards the castle, an exploration and perambulation. A nanny was pushing her young charge towards the castle, with the undercarriage loaded with shopping bags. Three young women who in a century would be teenagers but today were very much ladies were going in the same direction, watched over by a stately matron who glared at Jack when he dared to look in their direction. He tipped his hat at them and kept strolling, past a butcher and a baker and a candle maker. A delivery boy came barrelling out of the butcher’s and back in the direction Jack had come from, but the scene was otherwise quiet and grey.
Further down the road, will the castle now an imposing edifice taking up the whole end of the street, the glittering gold and jewels in a goldsmith’s window caught Jack’s attention. He paused to look in and then strode in, comfortable with the part of rich, eccentric American fresh from the colonies.
“Hello there!” He beamed and bounced up to the counter. “Say, do you buy jewels here?”
The jeweller sniffed and put down the necklace he was working on. “You mean jewels, or jewellery? Because I sell that, but I don’t buy it. You want Jones the Lombard - pawnbroker to you, maybe?”
“No, I mean jewels.” He laughed. “This time, anyway. I spent some time in India, you see, and they’re just easier to carry.” So saying, he pulled a brown leather bag out of his pocket and laid it on the table, hoping that they were all Terrestrial in origin. “They’re mixed, but I just need some capital to get me settled in here.”
Jones the Gold looked at him with raised eyebrows. “You don’t carry money at all?”
“Not a chance. Pirates, you see,” he added in a conspiratorial tone. “Little bag like that, much easier to conseal.” He tapped his nose and the goldsmith nodded. “Of course, that’s just the cut stuff. I’ve got more, but I don’t know if you’d be interested in that?”
He shook his head. “Not my area isn’t cutting... goodness gracious me.” He’d just tipped the contents of the bag out onto a piece of cloth, and stared in awe at the glittering, shimmering array of colours. “Bless my soul.”
Jack tilted his head on one side. “I... guess you don’t usually see that many?”
“You could say that, you could.” He shook his head. “I can’t take them all, that’s for sure. Not right now, at least. But if you sell me some now and then keep hold of them, I’ll buy a few from you each month and I’ll introduce you to my jewel trader and he’ll get you a good price for your uncut gems he will.”
“I couldn’t ask for better,” Jack said, knowing that he almost certainly could. “I’ll let you take your pick then.”
****
Jack emerged from the shop an hour later, richer in pocket and not dissatisfied. Jones hadn’t given him the going rate for them, but he had given a fair price - eventually - and it wasn’t like Jack needed to be completely flushed with cash for the moment. He had enough in his pocket to flash around and create an image, to open a bank, to give Ianto some money for the suit and for looking after him, and to buy himself a decent drink.
He went to the bank first and opened an account with the bankers draft that constituted most of the payment Jones had given him. The teller was somewhat taken-aback by it, but accepted it with grace and aplomb as much as he could. Once he saw the amount of money Jack was handing over, and heard his exaggerated tale of riches found in the Empire, he fetched the manager, who was obsequious and charming and made Jack (and his money) feel quite at home.
Emerging from there feeling pleased with himself and in dire need of a drink, he headed back towards the shop by a different route. He passed the market where traders hollered out their wares and stopped by the bookshop to buy a small book of poetry and a map of the town.
A few doors down from the bookshop was a pub, whose bright yellow lights lured Jack in with the promise of warmth and drink. He still didn’t have an overcoat, and it was late enough in the year that thesmoke-laden fog carried a damp chill with it. People looked up as he entered and kept staring as he made his way to the bar, so he settled hismelf on a stool and smiled. “I think I’ll stay away from the rotgut this time.”
“I think that’s probably wise.” The bartender reached across and offered Jack his hands. “Rhys Jones.”
“Jack Harkness.” He shook it and leaned forwards on the bar. “What would you recommend, Rhys?”
“Try an IPA. Thomas’s finest, and maybe more to your taste than a local stout.” Rhys pulled one without waiting for Jack to answer and passed it across to him. It was golden in colour and seemed to catch the light, and almost completely without head. “Get that down you and see how you like it.”
****
He had worked his way form the IPA to a bitter and then on to a mild. Quite a crowd had gathered to tell him exactly which was the best beer and why he should drink it, drawn partly by his outlandish stories and partly by the fact that he kept buying them drinks. The mayor’s son, James, had settled on his right, and was regaling him with lurid stories of nights out in Bath and Oxford, matching Jack for outrage and for pints.
A policeman entered, taking off his hat and setting it on the table to indicate that he was off-cuty, but it was enough of a distrubance for the crowd to disperse and look busy, and Jack settled back on his stool with a laugh. “Had I known I could get that sort of excitement in Oxford, I would have skipped India.”
“And had I known that India was so full of adventure and riches, I wouldn’t have bothered going to university, but then we’d be sitting here in opposite roles saying the exact same thing.” He raised a glass in Jack’s direction and smiled. “Maybe this is the point where we should swap.”
“Go to India,” Jack told him. “It’s so... the colours and the smells, it’s just amazing. And the people! So welcoming.”
“Rightly so.” James sniffed. “They’re lucky we stayed their after their disloyalty, don’t you think?”
“I think it’s far too rich for Britain to consider losing,” he admitted honestly. “The things I’ve seen back home - you’ve heard about the Civil War, I assume? Well the things I saw there, in the South - barbarity. I’m pleased that Britain has taken such a strong stand against slavery, but it’s getting too close to that for comfort in some parts of India.”
“If it were to happen, the hand of the law would find them. Slavery will not be tolerated in the Empire, although no doubt some unsavoury types will resent that. Don’t worry, Jack, it won’t be like that.”
“I wish I had your confidence.” He settled his elbows on the bar again and looked into his glass. “This appears to be empty. What should I have it filled with next?”
“Try the stout.” James raised his eyebrows at Rhys and passed his tankard over. “And I’ll have the same.” Their drinks were refilled and James leaned back to look at Jack. “You know, you are a fascinating man, Captain.”
“Call me Jack, please.” He smiled, all white teeth and seduction and leaned a little closer. “In what way would you say I’m fascinating?”
“Well, the things you’ve seen and done. The places you’ve been.”
Jack purred. “I could show you, if you wanted.”
James narrowed his eyes and backed away a little. “I say, steady on. I don’t know what it’s like where you come from, but we are not like that here, and I most certainly am not.”
The policeman appeared behind them and tapped Jack on the shoulder. “Mr Carter’s right, sir. I know you’re new around here, so this is just a friendly warning, but we don’t want that kind of talk.”
He held his hands up. “I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to be taken that way, just a joke.” He turned back to James. “Sorry, I meant no offence. I would be proud to show you India, though. The Raj are always looking for talented young men for the civil service there.”
James nodded, but the cameraderie was gone and he made a show of checking his watch. “I would enjoy that, I think. I may stop by sometime this week, but I really must be getting hime. You’re staying at the tailor’s - Jenkins - I hear?”
“That’s right.” He finished the last of his pint and turned back to the bartender. “And he’ll probably be wondering where I am. What do I owe you?”
He settled up and stepped out into the street, which was darker and colder now. It took him a moment to remember where the shop was, and then he set out in what he thought was the right direction, heading for an arcade he thought he remembered.
****
He broke the first rule of being in a strange city, and headed down an alleyway that he thought led back to the row that Ianto’s shop was in. The footsteps behind him which had been deadened by the fog suddenly echoed around him, and before he knew it there were three figurs crowding him, shoving him into the corner. A fist smashed into his stomach and he buckled, cursing the Welsh beer and hospitality. Their boots were studded with hobnails, and he felt something crack when one of them slammed into his shin.
The beating continued, although the corner they’d forced him into did offer some protection. It wasn’t enough, and he could feel blood running from cuts. The leader of the three leaned in and grabbed him, dragging him out by his collar and slamming him back into the wall. “You’re not welcome here, Nancy. You can take your money, and your adventures, and you can shove them where you want them and get out of Cardiff. You understand me?”
He groaned and got another thump, this one to the head, that left him seeing stars and spitting blood. More footsteps echoed down the alley, and he felt himself suddenly released, slumping down the wall to his the floor hard. It jarred his leg and he yelped, but the lads were backing away and diappearing back the way they’d come, leaving him to his rescuer.
“Jack?” Ianto held a lamp up and cursed. “Fuck, Jack, what did they do to you?”
“Not nearly what Thomas’s did to me,” he joked, trying to shift into a more comfortable position. It didn’t work, and lancing pains shot up his leg again, whilst his stomach throbbed and the stars kept dancing. “Okay, maybe not.”
“The Barry boys,” Ianto muttered, crouching down. “Bullies and hired thugs, all of them. You’re lucky you got just the three.”
“Just? How many of them are there?”
“Seven.” He was checking Jack over, and finally came to the leg. “Do you think you can walk on that?”
“You must be joking.” It hurt just to move it, and as they’d stamped on the other foot he had next to no chance. “Just let me...”
“Let you?”
“It’s... not hurting as much.” He moved it experimentally and found that it was now just excruitiating pain, rather than burning agony. Pins and needles were sweeping up his leg, almost like the bone was knitting back together. “This is very weird.”
Ianto reached down and placed his hand over the break very gently. The light wasn’t brilliant and it flickered across his face, but Jack could still see his shock and mild revulsion. “You’re healing,” he said at last. “Right here, you’re healing.”
He nodded and slumped back against the wall again. “That’s more worrying than reassuring, I’ll be honest.” Ianto straightened up, and Jack held out his hand. “Help me up, and let’s get out of here before they find the other four.”
****
Jack sat on the kitchen table, stripped to his underwear, and let Ianto clean him up with an offcut of cotton and warm water. The cuts, bruises and scrapes were all gone, leaving just the blood and the rips in his clothes, which they were both annoyed about. He’d been quiet since getting hime, but he could tell that Ianto was waiting for the story. As Ianto worked on cleaning his arm, Jack started to tell him.
“I made a mistake in the pub, got a bit too flirty with the mayor’s son. Didn’t really mean it, didn’t know I was doing it, but managed to offend him, annoy the police officer, and attract the attention of the Magnificent Seven.” He poked the smear on his chest where a kick had threatened to collapse his lung and shrugged. “They told me to shove it up my ass and get the hell out here.”
“You’re going to have to be more careful,” Ianto chastised him. “Sodomy was a hanging offence at the start of the decade, and it’s still considered an abomination.”
“What?” He shrugged Ianto off and glared. “You can’t be serious?”
“Deadly serious. The last men executed for it died thirty years ago, but it was still the law.” He grabbed Jack again and started cleaning his chest off. “And it’s still illegal and punishable with a lengthy prison sentence. Just... be careful.”
Jack shook his head and watched Ianto work. “I knew about it, but not... I didn’t understand it. Still don’t. And this is Cardiff justice?”
“For the crimes the law doesn’t punish, and some of the ones they do.” Ianto sighed. “Look, flirting is legal, but you’ll offend people. The police can’t charge you for flirting in a bar, much though some of them would like to, so they’ll turn a blind eye to the Barry brothers’ way of dealing with it. That’s how Cardiff works, that’s how most cities work these days. Tell me you’ll be careful?”
“I will, I promise.” He caught Ianto’s hand to stop him. “Because you’ll get in trouble if I do, won’t you?” Ianto didn’t need to answer, although he tried to avoid doing so. Jack let him go and dropped his hands to his lap. “You’ve been... amazing, and I don’t deserve it. I won’t do anything to threaten you.”
“Thank you. And don’t get yourself beaten up again, either.”
Chapter Title: Chapter 3
Challenge/Fest: LongLiveIanto Bingo
Prompt: Physical Violence
Rating: T
Dedication: For
laliginSummary:
Characters: Ianto and Jack
Contains: Homophobia
Disclaimer: Torchwood and its environs, occurrences and persons belong to the BBC. The original characters have disowned me.
Jack left Ianto in his shop, schmoozing with the young businessman who had come to collect a suit from him. He strode out into the foggy streets and looked around, tyring to get his bearings. The shop was at the end of a row, with the apartment above it, and a selection of other shops next to it. Leading away to Jack’s left was a long street with the castle just visible at the far end, almost out of sight around the corner, and ahead of him was one of Cardiff’s busy stations.
Having been somewhat less than coherent when Ianto had dragged him back here from the pub, he made a mental note of the location of the shop and set out down the street towards the castle, an exploration and perambulation. A nanny was pushing her young charge towards the castle, with the undercarriage loaded with shopping bags. Three young women who in a century would be teenagers but today were very much ladies were going in the same direction, watched over by a stately matron who glared at Jack when he dared to look in their direction. He tipped his hat at them and kept strolling, past a butcher and a baker and a candle maker. A delivery boy came barrelling out of the butcher’s and back in the direction Jack had come from, but the scene was otherwise quiet and grey.
Further down the road, will the castle now an imposing edifice taking up the whole end of the street, the glittering gold and jewels in a goldsmith’s window caught Jack’s attention. He paused to look in and then strode in, comfortable with the part of rich, eccentric American fresh from the colonies.
“Hello there!” He beamed and bounced up to the counter. “Say, do you buy jewels here?”
The jeweller sniffed and put down the necklace he was working on. “You mean jewels, or jewellery? Because I sell that, but I don’t buy it. You want Jones the Lombard - pawnbroker to you, maybe?”
“No, I mean jewels.” He laughed. “This time, anyway. I spent some time in India, you see, and they’re just easier to carry.” So saying, he pulled a brown leather bag out of his pocket and laid it on the table, hoping that they were all Terrestrial in origin. “They’re mixed, but I just need some capital to get me settled in here.”
Jones the Gold looked at him with raised eyebrows. “You don’t carry money at all?”
“Not a chance. Pirates, you see,” he added in a conspiratorial tone. “Little bag like that, much easier to conseal.” He tapped his nose and the goldsmith nodded. “Of course, that’s just the cut stuff. I’ve got more, but I don’t know if you’d be interested in that?”
He shook his head. “Not my area isn’t cutting... goodness gracious me.” He’d just tipped the contents of the bag out onto a piece of cloth, and stared in awe at the glittering, shimmering array of colours. “Bless my soul.”
Jack tilted his head on one side. “I... guess you don’t usually see that many?”
“You could say that, you could.” He shook his head. “I can’t take them all, that’s for sure. Not right now, at least. But if you sell me some now and then keep hold of them, I’ll buy a few from you each month and I’ll introduce you to my jewel trader and he’ll get you a good price for your uncut gems he will.”
“I couldn’t ask for better,” Jack said, knowing that he almost certainly could. “I’ll let you take your pick then.”
****
Jack emerged from the shop an hour later, richer in pocket and not dissatisfied. Jones hadn’t given him the going rate for them, but he had given a fair price - eventually - and it wasn’t like Jack needed to be completely flushed with cash for the moment. He had enough in his pocket to flash around and create an image, to open a bank, to give Ianto some money for the suit and for looking after him, and to buy himself a decent drink.
He went to the bank first and opened an account with the bankers draft that constituted most of the payment Jones had given him. The teller was somewhat taken-aback by it, but accepted it with grace and aplomb as much as he could. Once he saw the amount of money Jack was handing over, and heard his exaggerated tale of riches found in the Empire, he fetched the manager, who was obsequious and charming and made Jack (and his money) feel quite at home.
Emerging from there feeling pleased with himself and in dire need of a drink, he headed back towards the shop by a different route. He passed the market where traders hollered out their wares and stopped by the bookshop to buy a small book of poetry and a map of the town.
A few doors down from the bookshop was a pub, whose bright yellow lights lured Jack in with the promise of warmth and drink. He still didn’t have an overcoat, and it was late enough in the year that thesmoke-laden fog carried a damp chill with it. People looked up as he entered and kept staring as he made his way to the bar, so he settled hismelf on a stool and smiled. “I think I’ll stay away from the rotgut this time.”
“I think that’s probably wise.” The bartender reached across and offered Jack his hands. “Rhys Jones.”
“Jack Harkness.” He shook it and leaned forwards on the bar. “What would you recommend, Rhys?”
“Try an IPA. Thomas’s finest, and maybe more to your taste than a local stout.” Rhys pulled one without waiting for Jack to answer and passed it across to him. It was golden in colour and seemed to catch the light, and almost completely without head. “Get that down you and see how you like it.”
****
He had worked his way form the IPA to a bitter and then on to a mild. Quite a crowd had gathered to tell him exactly which was the best beer and why he should drink it, drawn partly by his outlandish stories and partly by the fact that he kept buying them drinks. The mayor’s son, James, had settled on his right, and was regaling him with lurid stories of nights out in Bath and Oxford, matching Jack for outrage and for pints.
A policeman entered, taking off his hat and setting it on the table to indicate that he was off-cuty, but it was enough of a distrubance for the crowd to disperse and look busy, and Jack settled back on his stool with a laugh. “Had I known I could get that sort of excitement in Oxford, I would have skipped India.”
“And had I known that India was so full of adventure and riches, I wouldn’t have bothered going to university, but then we’d be sitting here in opposite roles saying the exact same thing.” He raised a glass in Jack’s direction and smiled. “Maybe this is the point where we should swap.”
“Go to India,” Jack told him. “It’s so... the colours and the smells, it’s just amazing. And the people! So welcoming.”
“Rightly so.” James sniffed. “They’re lucky we stayed their after their disloyalty, don’t you think?”
“I think it’s far too rich for Britain to consider losing,” he admitted honestly. “The things I’ve seen back home - you’ve heard about the Civil War, I assume? Well the things I saw there, in the South - barbarity. I’m pleased that Britain has taken such a strong stand against slavery, but it’s getting too close to that for comfort in some parts of India.”
“If it were to happen, the hand of the law would find them. Slavery will not be tolerated in the Empire, although no doubt some unsavoury types will resent that. Don’t worry, Jack, it won’t be like that.”
“I wish I had your confidence.” He settled his elbows on the bar again and looked into his glass. “This appears to be empty. What should I have it filled with next?”
“Try the stout.” James raised his eyebrows at Rhys and passed his tankard over. “And I’ll have the same.” Their drinks were refilled and James leaned back to look at Jack. “You know, you are a fascinating man, Captain.”
“Call me Jack, please.” He smiled, all white teeth and seduction and leaned a little closer. “In what way would you say I’m fascinating?”
“Well, the things you’ve seen and done. The places you’ve been.”
Jack purred. “I could show you, if you wanted.”
James narrowed his eyes and backed away a little. “I say, steady on. I don’t know what it’s like where you come from, but we are not like that here, and I most certainly am not.”
The policeman appeared behind them and tapped Jack on the shoulder. “Mr Carter’s right, sir. I know you’re new around here, so this is just a friendly warning, but we don’t want that kind of talk.”
He held his hands up. “I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to be taken that way, just a joke.” He turned back to James. “Sorry, I meant no offence. I would be proud to show you India, though. The Raj are always looking for talented young men for the civil service there.”
James nodded, but the cameraderie was gone and he made a show of checking his watch. “I would enjoy that, I think. I may stop by sometime this week, but I really must be getting hime. You’re staying at the tailor’s - Jenkins - I hear?”
“That’s right.” He finished the last of his pint and turned back to the bartender. “And he’ll probably be wondering where I am. What do I owe you?”
He settled up and stepped out into the street, which was darker and colder now. It took him a moment to remember where the shop was, and then he set out in what he thought was the right direction, heading for an arcade he thought he remembered.
****
He broke the first rule of being in a strange city, and headed down an alleyway that he thought led back to the row that Ianto’s shop was in. The footsteps behind him which had been deadened by the fog suddenly echoed around him, and before he knew it there were three figurs crowding him, shoving him into the corner. A fist smashed into his stomach and he buckled, cursing the Welsh beer and hospitality. Their boots were studded with hobnails, and he felt something crack when one of them slammed into his shin.
The beating continued, although the corner they’d forced him into did offer some protection. It wasn’t enough, and he could feel blood running from cuts. The leader of the three leaned in and grabbed him, dragging him out by his collar and slamming him back into the wall. “You’re not welcome here, Nancy. You can take your money, and your adventures, and you can shove them where you want them and get out of Cardiff. You understand me?”
He groaned and got another thump, this one to the head, that left him seeing stars and spitting blood. More footsteps echoed down the alley, and he felt himself suddenly released, slumping down the wall to his the floor hard. It jarred his leg and he yelped, but the lads were backing away and diappearing back the way they’d come, leaving him to his rescuer.
“Jack?” Ianto held a lamp up and cursed. “Fuck, Jack, what did they do to you?”
“Not nearly what Thomas’s did to me,” he joked, trying to shift into a more comfortable position. It didn’t work, and lancing pains shot up his leg again, whilst his stomach throbbed and the stars kept dancing. “Okay, maybe not.”
“The Barry boys,” Ianto muttered, crouching down. “Bullies and hired thugs, all of them. You’re lucky you got just the three.”
“Just? How many of them are there?”
“Seven.” He was checking Jack over, and finally came to the leg. “Do you think you can walk on that?”
“You must be joking.” It hurt just to move it, and as they’d stamped on the other foot he had next to no chance. “Just let me...”
“Let you?”
“It’s... not hurting as much.” He moved it experimentally and found that it was now just excruitiating pain, rather than burning agony. Pins and needles were sweeping up his leg, almost like the bone was knitting back together. “This is very weird.”
Ianto reached down and placed his hand over the break very gently. The light wasn’t brilliant and it flickered across his face, but Jack could still see his shock and mild revulsion. “You’re healing,” he said at last. “Right here, you’re healing.”
He nodded and slumped back against the wall again. “That’s more worrying than reassuring, I’ll be honest.” Ianto straightened up, and Jack held out his hand. “Help me up, and let’s get out of here before they find the other four.”
****
Jack sat on the kitchen table, stripped to his underwear, and let Ianto clean him up with an offcut of cotton and warm water. The cuts, bruises and scrapes were all gone, leaving just the blood and the rips in his clothes, which they were both annoyed about. He’d been quiet since getting hime, but he could tell that Ianto was waiting for the story. As Ianto worked on cleaning his arm, Jack started to tell him.
“I made a mistake in the pub, got a bit too flirty with the mayor’s son. Didn’t really mean it, didn’t know I was doing it, but managed to offend him, annoy the police officer, and attract the attention of the Magnificent Seven.” He poked the smear on his chest where a kick had threatened to collapse his lung and shrugged. “They told me to shove it up my ass and get the hell out here.”
“You’re going to have to be more careful,” Ianto chastised him. “Sodomy was a hanging offence at the start of the decade, and it’s still considered an abomination.”
“What?” He shrugged Ianto off and glared. “You can’t be serious?”
“Deadly serious. The last men executed for it died thirty years ago, but it was still the law.” He grabbed Jack again and started cleaning his chest off. “And it’s still illegal and punishable with a lengthy prison sentence. Just... be careful.”
Jack shook his head and watched Ianto work. “I knew about it, but not... I didn’t understand it. Still don’t. And this is Cardiff justice?”
“For the crimes the law doesn’t punish, and some of the ones they do.” Ianto sighed. “Look, flirting is legal, but you’ll offend people. The police can’t charge you for flirting in a bar, much though some of them would like to, so they’ll turn a blind eye to the Barry brothers’ way of dealing with it. That’s how Cardiff works, that’s how most cities work these days. Tell me you’ll be careful?”
“I will, I promise.” He caught Ianto’s hand to stop him. “Because you’ll get in trouble if I do, won’t you?” Ianto didn’t need to answer, although he tried to avoid doing so. Jack let him go and dropped his hands to his lap. “You’ve been... amazing, and I don’t deserve it. I won’t do anything to threaten you.”
“Thank you. And don’t get yourself beaten up again, either.”
