fajrdrako_fic (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fajrdrako_fic) wrote2007-03-13 12:46 pm
fajrdrako_fic) wrote2007-03-13 12:46 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: Torchwood - Mourning Rights (1/1)
Title: Mourning Rights (1/1)
Author:![[info - livejournal.com]](https://s.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fajrdrako
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Ianto, Rhys
Pairings: Rhys/Gwen, Ianto/Jack
Rating: PG13
Words: 2097
Notes: Spoilers for "End of Days". Cross-posted to outside_bf, torchwood_fic, and my lj. With particular thanks to my beta-readers,vervassal and limmenel.
Mourning Rights
When Rhys watched soap operas or cop shows in which characters met strangers, alone, in unfamiliar places, he thought they were stupid. It was asking for trouble, with all the nutters walking around these days.
But here he was, meeting a stranger in a pub he'd never been to before. He only did it because he was desperate.
He felt like a fool.
It wasn't that he was the kind of jealous boyfriend who felt the need to check up on his girlfriend with every little thing. It wasn't as if he thought she'd ever cheat on him, but - well, maybe he did think that. These days he couldn't even be sure what he thought. She sometimes stayed out all night, or came in at three or four in the morning, without explanation. What was he supposed to think?
He didn't know where her head was, and it frightened him.
She'd told him to go to bed, said she'd be back soon. She said that two days ago, and he hadn't seen her since. Didn't know where she was.
If she was dead they'd tell him, wouldn't they?
There was no one to talk to. Daf was sick and tired of hearing about Gwen. He couldn't go to his own family, or hers - they'd take sides and make things worse.
Before she started working with Torchwood he'd known all her friends - Dianne, Jennifer, Andy, Pat - but when he talked to them now, they kept asking how Gwen was, and why they never saw Gwen and Rhys any more. He found himself making endless excuses about Gwen being "so busy with her new job". He had to keep making promises to get together some time, promises he wasn't sure he could keep. Pat was pissy about it. Andy didn't want to talk. None of them had seen Gwen. None of them could tell Rhys where she was or what was going on with her. He knew more than they did.
Rhys was beginning to fear he'd lost her for good, and he didn't know how or why. She said she loved him, but was it love when she never came home, never saw him, never talked to him, never did anything with him any more? Sex, maybe, sometimes, but that was all. That was good as ever, but afterwards, now, he felt angry. She would fuck, but she wouldn't talk. Not about work. Not about herself. Not about her silences.
Not about her lies.
When Torchwood rang Gwen, they always used her cell phone. Rhys didn't even have a Torchwood number. He didn't know the names of anyone at Torchwood except Captain Jack Harkness, but there was no man of that name in the public phone directory. There was an entry for Torchwood.
He gave it a go. He held his breath when he dialed; and then blinked in surprise when someone answered. He'd expected electronic voice mail, or something high-tech and mysterious.
Instead it was a real person working on reception, a male voice with a local accent. He was polite but firm. "Gwen Cooper isn't available at present, sir. Please leave your name and number and I'll see that she gets your message."
"Tell her it's Rhys." The voice was silent. "Tell her I need her to come home."
Not a message to relay through a stranger, but what else could he do?
He expected an impersonal reply. Instead the stranger said, in a tone that sounded sad and young, "She will come home as soon as she can."
"What the hell is she doing, then?"
The voice was slow and even more unhappy. "Death watch."
"Eh?"
The professional note came back to the voice. "I'll tell her you called, sir."
"Wait. Wait!"
"Yes?"
"Is she all right? Can you just tell me that?"
There was a pause long enough to make his blood go cold. But finally the stranger said, "She's fine." Rhys thought he could hear tears in the voice. What was going on?
"So what the bloody hell happened?"
"This isn't a conversation for the telephone."
"Meet me, then."
Another silence. Then: "Yes. All right. You deserve that much. Come to The Pillory in half an hour - you know where it is? 7:35."
"How will I know you?"
"I'll know you," said the voice, and he hung up before Rhys could ask his name.
- - -
The Pillory at 7:32 was neither full nor empty. Rhys scanned the faces, looking for one that might match the voice on the phone. A loud, half-drunk man with a redhead; no. Not the older couple, not the woman sitting alone, not the laughing group of friends.
A young man stood, and nodded to Rhys. Dark hair, tired eyes. To Rhys's surprise, he wore an impeccable suit and tie - not what he expected from a Torchwood employee. What had he expected - a thug? James Bond? a copper? This man looked like a misplaced accountant. He spoke before Rhys reached the table. "You're Rhys Williams?" He held out his hand. "Ianto Jones. I work with Gwen."
They shook hands, and sat. "I ordered you a pint," said Ianto. "Thought you might need it. If you don't want it, I'll drink yours, too."
"Thanks." Rhys took a sip; not half bad. "Gwen's all right?"
"As much as any of us are. We can't get her to leave his side. She believes ... well, it doesn't matter what she believes. She's a little off her head right now, not thinking straight, but none of us are just now. She needs time."
Rhys was feeling nothing but confusion. He tried to put the puzzle together. "Who's dying, then?"
"Our boss. Jack. Captain Jack Harkness. Only he isn't dying. He's dead."
The stark finality in Ianto's steady voice was heartbreaking. His hand shook as he reached for his drink. He tightened his fingers on the glass so hard the knuckles went white.
Poor sod. He was really broken up.
"I'm sorry," said Rhys. "I met him, once. He was -" He stopped, not sure what to say. He'd been about to say, with thoughtless honesty, "He was an arrogant prick," but it might not be the best thing to say to a grieving employee about a man he'd known and respected.
Rhys couldn't think of a more tactful thing to say. His meeting with Harkness was a terrible memory. It had been a disaster. He'd been fighting with Gwen, in public, at a restaurant. It was supposed to be time for them to spend together, mending whatever was wrong, but her attention had been miles away from Rhys. Then Captain Jack Harkness came by, and Rhys had seen the way she smiled at the sight of him. It wasn't the smile of a woman who didn't want to go to work. Her face had brightened up the way it used to do for Rhys.
Because of that smile, he hated Jack Harkness.
"He was an extraordinary man," said Ianto.
"Did you know him well?"
"I thought so. I suppose no one knew him well, really." It seemed the question struck a chord, and Ianto's eyes were suddenly wet. Rhys wished he had said nothing. "In some ways, Gwen knew him best. He confided in her."
Fuck.
"She's sitting with his... remains?"
"In our morgue. Yes."
Torchwood had a morgue? A chill went down Rhys's back. A vigil for the dead. At Torchwood. "How long will she be there?"
"As long as she feels she must. Until she comes to terms with his death. None of us expected her to stay there this long. She saw him die. We didn't."
Rhys wanted to ask who Torchwood's 'we' might consist of, besides Gwen and Ianto, but he didn't. He was almost certain he'd get no answer. So he asked about the death, instead. "An accident?"
"No." Ianto was lost in thought, staring at his drink, his eyes lowered. Rhys wondered if he was going to say anything more at all. The group of friends at the table to their left got noisier. The lone woman had left. Rhys was almost through his pint. Ianto had barely tasted his.
Ianto's voice was low. "He died saving the world from something you could never imagine or believe. A deliberate, heroic act. No one will ever know what they owe him."
There was no answer to that, so Rhys asked the question that had been haunting him for days; for weeks. "Was Gwen in love with him?"
"No, I don't think so. Not really. Maybe, in a way." Ianto drank again, then stared at his glass on the table as if at a distant horizon. "We all loved him. We were ... He cast a spell on us all. Gwen was fascinated by him. She wanted to know what was behind the things he did, who he was, where he was from. We never found out. Not even Gwen, with all her detecting skills. Captain Jack Harkness. A mystery to the end."
It was not a reassuring answer. On a flash of anger, Rhys asked bluntly, "Was she sleeping with him?"
His greatest dread. Captain Jack Harkness had been tall, dark, handsome, mysterious, powerful, just the kind of bastard a woman like Gwen might go for. Temptation was temptation and Gwen certainly liked sex. Rhys had always thought that was his ace: something he could give her abundantly, as often as she wanted. But lately, she hadn't been home, hadn't been around - and then they'd fought - and then it seemed all right again, but was it? Had she gone to Jack Harkness during those long nights when she didn't come home?
Ianto looked surprised. "What?"
Close to panic, Rhys raised his voice. "Was she sleeping with him?"
"No," said Ianto. "I was."
Christ.
An awkward silence. Tears were back in Ianto's eyes - well, fuck, no wonder.
"I'm sorry," said Rhys. It was a lie. He was sorry, all right, for Ianto, losing someone so close to him, but he wasn't in the least sorry to hear Captain bloody Jack Harkness was gay, and Gwen was not his type, and he'd been worrying about nothing. Gwen wasn't shagging her boss. Gwen's preoccupation with work had nothing to do with that. It really was work, dangerous, classified work that got Harkness killed in the line of duty.
Rhys felt such a surge of happiness, he almost smiled.
"She thinks he'll wake up," said Ianto. A tear was running down his cheek, but he didn't seem to care. Now he had started to talk, he wasn't ready to stop. "She thinks that if she sits there long enough he'll wake up, like he did before. He won't, he's gone. He can't come back. There's no heartbeat, there's no brain activity. It's been two days. Owen says - even the doctor says he's gone. Jack's amazing, but he isn't a god, he's just Jack, and what happened is beyond any hope of survival. Gwen thinks because she saw him die and come back before he'll do it again, but he's used up his nine lives. Maybe he had some alien device and it stopped working. Maybe it has to do with the rift, but whatever it was, he's dead and gone and I'll never see him again."
"I'm sorry," said Rhys again, when Ianto finally stopped talking.
"He won't come back now. Not after two days and nights."
"No."
"He still smells alive. Owen can't explain it, it makes no sense, but he smells as good as he did when he was alive. How does he do that?"
"I don't know." Rhys wondered what the tabloids would make of all this nonsense. Ordinary blokes coming back from the dead... The ramblings of a man overcome by the death of his lover. Would Gwen be like this too when she finally came home, hollow-eyed and incredulous?
"The reason I wanted to talk to you," said Ianto, his tone more calm, "was not to embarrass you with my grief, but to tell you that Gwen loves you. She's been having a hard time of it, but I know for a fact that she loves you so deeply she'd risk the world for your sake. I know she hasn't been telling you much about her work, because she can't. You can thank your stars she spares you the details. She loves you with all her heart and I hope you can forgive her for neglecting you and lying to you and staying with Jack now. She's doing what she must. It's her life. But you are the light in it."
Rhys swallowed.
"You are lucky to have each other. To be alive. When she comes home, comfort her. Love her. She'll need it."
"I will," said Rhys, and meant it.
End
~ ~ ~
Author:
fajrdrakoFandom: Torchwood
Characters: Ianto, Rhys
Pairings: Rhys/Gwen, Ianto/Jack
Rating: PG13
Words: 2097
Notes: Spoilers for "End of Days". Cross-posted to outside_bf, torchwood_fic, and my lj. With particular thanks to my beta-readers,
vervassal and limmenel.Mourning Rights
When Rhys watched soap operas or cop shows in which characters met strangers, alone, in unfamiliar places, he thought they were stupid. It was asking for trouble, with all the nutters walking around these days.
But here he was, meeting a stranger in a pub he'd never been to before. He only did it because he was desperate.
He felt like a fool.
It wasn't that he was the kind of jealous boyfriend who felt the need to check up on his girlfriend with every little thing. It wasn't as if he thought she'd ever cheat on him, but - well, maybe he did think that. These days he couldn't even be sure what he thought. She sometimes stayed out all night, or came in at three or four in the morning, without explanation. What was he supposed to think?
He didn't know where her head was, and it frightened him.
She'd told him to go to bed, said she'd be back soon. She said that two days ago, and he hadn't seen her since. Didn't know where she was.
If she was dead they'd tell him, wouldn't they?
There was no one to talk to. Daf was sick and tired of hearing about Gwen. He couldn't go to his own family, or hers - they'd take sides and make things worse.
Before she started working with Torchwood he'd known all her friends - Dianne, Jennifer, Andy, Pat - but when he talked to them now, they kept asking how Gwen was, and why they never saw Gwen and Rhys any more. He found himself making endless excuses about Gwen being "so busy with her new job". He had to keep making promises to get together some time, promises he wasn't sure he could keep. Pat was pissy about it. Andy didn't want to talk. None of them had seen Gwen. None of them could tell Rhys where she was or what was going on with her. He knew more than they did.
Rhys was beginning to fear he'd lost her for good, and he didn't know how or why. She said she loved him, but was it love when she never came home, never saw him, never talked to him, never did anything with him any more? Sex, maybe, sometimes, but that was all. That was good as ever, but afterwards, now, he felt angry. She would fuck, but she wouldn't talk. Not about work. Not about herself. Not about her silences.
Not about her lies.
When Torchwood rang Gwen, they always used her cell phone. Rhys didn't even have a Torchwood number. He didn't know the names of anyone at Torchwood except Captain Jack Harkness, but there was no man of that name in the public phone directory. There was an entry for Torchwood.
He gave it a go. He held his breath when he dialed; and then blinked in surprise when someone answered. He'd expected electronic voice mail, or something high-tech and mysterious.
Instead it was a real person working on reception, a male voice with a local accent. He was polite but firm. "Gwen Cooper isn't available at present, sir. Please leave your name and number and I'll see that she gets your message."
"Tell her it's Rhys." The voice was silent. "Tell her I need her to come home."
Not a message to relay through a stranger, but what else could he do?
He expected an impersonal reply. Instead the stranger said, in a tone that sounded sad and young, "She will come home as soon as she can."
"What the hell is she doing, then?"
The voice was slow and even more unhappy. "Death watch."
"Eh?"
The professional note came back to the voice. "I'll tell her you called, sir."
"Wait. Wait!"
"Yes?"
"Is she all right? Can you just tell me that?"
There was a pause long enough to make his blood go cold. But finally the stranger said, "She's fine." Rhys thought he could hear tears in the voice. What was going on?
"So what the bloody hell happened?"
"This isn't a conversation for the telephone."
"Meet me, then."
Another silence. Then: "Yes. All right. You deserve that much. Come to The Pillory in half an hour - you know where it is? 7:35."
"How will I know you?"
"I'll know you," said the voice, and he hung up before Rhys could ask his name.
- - -
The Pillory at 7:32 was neither full nor empty. Rhys scanned the faces, looking for one that might match the voice on the phone. A loud, half-drunk man with a redhead; no. Not the older couple, not the woman sitting alone, not the laughing group of friends.
A young man stood, and nodded to Rhys. Dark hair, tired eyes. To Rhys's surprise, he wore an impeccable suit and tie - not what he expected from a Torchwood employee. What had he expected - a thug? James Bond? a copper? This man looked like a misplaced accountant. He spoke before Rhys reached the table. "You're Rhys Williams?" He held out his hand. "Ianto Jones. I work with Gwen."
They shook hands, and sat. "I ordered you a pint," said Ianto. "Thought you might need it. If you don't want it, I'll drink yours, too."
"Thanks." Rhys took a sip; not half bad. "Gwen's all right?"
"As much as any of us are. We can't get her to leave his side. She believes ... well, it doesn't matter what she believes. She's a little off her head right now, not thinking straight, but none of us are just now. She needs time."
Rhys was feeling nothing but confusion. He tried to put the puzzle together. "Who's dying, then?"
"Our boss. Jack. Captain Jack Harkness. Only he isn't dying. He's dead."
The stark finality in Ianto's steady voice was heartbreaking. His hand shook as he reached for his drink. He tightened his fingers on the glass so hard the knuckles went white.
Poor sod. He was really broken up.
"I'm sorry," said Rhys. "I met him, once. He was -" He stopped, not sure what to say. He'd been about to say, with thoughtless honesty, "He was an arrogant prick," but it might not be the best thing to say to a grieving employee about a man he'd known and respected.
Rhys couldn't think of a more tactful thing to say. His meeting with Harkness was a terrible memory. It had been a disaster. He'd been fighting with Gwen, in public, at a restaurant. It was supposed to be time for them to spend together, mending whatever was wrong, but her attention had been miles away from Rhys. Then Captain Jack Harkness came by, and Rhys had seen the way she smiled at the sight of him. It wasn't the smile of a woman who didn't want to go to work. Her face had brightened up the way it used to do for Rhys.
Because of that smile, he hated Jack Harkness.
"He was an extraordinary man," said Ianto.
"Did you know him well?"
"I thought so. I suppose no one knew him well, really." It seemed the question struck a chord, and Ianto's eyes were suddenly wet. Rhys wished he had said nothing. "In some ways, Gwen knew him best. He confided in her."
Fuck.
"She's sitting with his... remains?"
"In our morgue. Yes."
Torchwood had a morgue? A chill went down Rhys's back. A vigil for the dead. At Torchwood. "How long will she be there?"
"As long as she feels she must. Until she comes to terms with his death. None of us expected her to stay there this long. She saw him die. We didn't."
Rhys wanted to ask who Torchwood's 'we' might consist of, besides Gwen and Ianto, but he didn't. He was almost certain he'd get no answer. So he asked about the death, instead. "An accident?"
"No." Ianto was lost in thought, staring at his drink, his eyes lowered. Rhys wondered if he was going to say anything more at all. The group of friends at the table to their left got noisier. The lone woman had left. Rhys was almost through his pint. Ianto had barely tasted his.
Ianto's voice was low. "He died saving the world from something you could never imagine or believe. A deliberate, heroic act. No one will ever know what they owe him."
There was no answer to that, so Rhys asked the question that had been haunting him for days; for weeks. "Was Gwen in love with him?"
"No, I don't think so. Not really. Maybe, in a way." Ianto drank again, then stared at his glass on the table as if at a distant horizon. "We all loved him. We were ... He cast a spell on us all. Gwen was fascinated by him. She wanted to know what was behind the things he did, who he was, where he was from. We never found out. Not even Gwen, with all her detecting skills. Captain Jack Harkness. A mystery to the end."
It was not a reassuring answer. On a flash of anger, Rhys asked bluntly, "Was she sleeping with him?"
His greatest dread. Captain Jack Harkness had been tall, dark, handsome, mysterious, powerful, just the kind of bastard a woman like Gwen might go for. Temptation was temptation and Gwen certainly liked sex. Rhys had always thought that was his ace: something he could give her abundantly, as often as she wanted. But lately, she hadn't been home, hadn't been around - and then they'd fought - and then it seemed all right again, but was it? Had she gone to Jack Harkness during those long nights when she didn't come home?
Ianto looked surprised. "What?"
Close to panic, Rhys raised his voice. "Was she sleeping with him?"
"No," said Ianto. "I was."
Christ.
An awkward silence. Tears were back in Ianto's eyes - well, fuck, no wonder.
"I'm sorry," said Rhys. It was a lie. He was sorry, all right, for Ianto, losing someone so close to him, but he wasn't in the least sorry to hear Captain bloody Jack Harkness was gay, and Gwen was not his type, and he'd been worrying about nothing. Gwen wasn't shagging her boss. Gwen's preoccupation with work had nothing to do with that. It really was work, dangerous, classified work that got Harkness killed in the line of duty.
Rhys felt such a surge of happiness, he almost smiled.
"She thinks he'll wake up," said Ianto. A tear was running down his cheek, but he didn't seem to care. Now he had started to talk, he wasn't ready to stop. "She thinks that if she sits there long enough he'll wake up, like he did before. He won't, he's gone. He can't come back. There's no heartbeat, there's no brain activity. It's been two days. Owen says - even the doctor says he's gone. Jack's amazing, but he isn't a god, he's just Jack, and what happened is beyond any hope of survival. Gwen thinks because she saw him die and come back before he'll do it again, but he's used up his nine lives. Maybe he had some alien device and it stopped working. Maybe it has to do with the rift, but whatever it was, he's dead and gone and I'll never see him again."
"I'm sorry," said Rhys again, when Ianto finally stopped talking.
"He won't come back now. Not after two days and nights."
"No."
"He still smells alive. Owen can't explain it, it makes no sense, but he smells as good as he did when he was alive. How does he do that?"
"I don't know." Rhys wondered what the tabloids would make of all this nonsense. Ordinary blokes coming back from the dead... The ramblings of a man overcome by the death of his lover. Would Gwen be like this too when she finally came home, hollow-eyed and incredulous?
"The reason I wanted to talk to you," said Ianto, his tone more calm, "was not to embarrass you with my grief, but to tell you that Gwen loves you. She's been having a hard time of it, but I know for a fact that she loves you so deeply she'd risk the world for your sake. I know she hasn't been telling you much about her work, because she can't. You can thank your stars she spares you the details. She loves you with all her heart and I hope you can forgive her for neglecting you and lying to you and staying with Jack now. She's doing what she must. It's her life. But you are the light in it."
Rhys swallowed.
"You are lucky to have each other. To be alive. When she comes home, comfort her. Love her. She'll need it."
"I will," said Rhys, and meant it.
End
~ ~ ~