Author: Muppetmadness

Characters/Pairing: Jack/Ianto, Ianto/Lisa, Crossover with Doctor Who
Rating: M (for later chapters)
Summary: Everyone has secrets, and Lisa was just the beginning of Ianto Jones'. After everything that has happened, why is he feeling so drawn to the organisation which took everything from him? From Canary Wharf onwards JackxIanto, Janto fic.
Disclaimer: Oh and of course I don't own the premise of Torchwood, Ianto and Lisa etc. But Sarai, Jeff and Elle are all mine :P
Author's Notes: 
"Oh what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practise to deceive!"
Pretty much, for me, sums up Ianto in this fic, because the secrets he keeps, or divulges, secrets he doesn't even realise he knows, arethis massive part of who he is and why he does what he does. Will eventually be Janto, cause it is the best darn pairing ever!

..--..--..--..

Sarai could not keep the grin from her face- she was going to meet the Doctor- the last of his kind - Timelord Doctor! She barely paid mind as a young blonde in a labcoat walked past, unnecessarily flashing what looked like an ID in her direction - probably an intern - thought they needed to show it to everyone.

..--..--..--..

Lisa had logged one of the computers onto the ADMIN account and most of the office was sitting round watching the CCTV footage on the screen, which showed the Doctor and Yvonne on one of the top levels.

Most of the workers had bought their lunches round and were munching on sandwiches and salads as they stared.

“So who’s that with him then?” one asked.

“It’s gotta be his companion isn't it?” another reasoned.

“Can’t you get sound Lisa?”

“No, I bloody well cannot. Isn’t it enough I hack into the footage for you? Ungrateful people,” Lisa scolded, but she was smiling.

“What time is it?”

“Coming up to the next ghost shift.”

“Excellent, see what he makes of this!”

“What?!”

“Why did he stop it?”

..--..--..--..

That was the day everything changed. The day the comforting and familiar ghosts turned into the nightmare's that would plague the survivors for years after. Time sped up and slowed down alterately, one moment they were laughing; Ianto could see his collegues heads shaking in slow motion, the methodical chewing of lunches; and the next there was screaming and terror. Men monsters coming for them. He could hardly recall what had happened; he knew Lisa had taken charged, as she was so gifted at doing, and calmed everyone down. Made sure no one left the office, tried to contact other floors, access the situation. She was brilliant.

And then...

"Hello? Hello? Can anyone hear me? Where the hell is the Doctor?" An all too familiar voice was crackling over the com-units on the telephone. The crowd grew silent.

"Sarai, can you hear me?" Lisa called down the phone.

"Hello? Anyone there?"

"We're here, Sarai we're here."

"Will someone answer me?"

"She can't hear us," Lisa turned to Ianto, "She doesn't know what's happened."

Ianto closed his eyes tightly and swallowed the panic which threatened to engulf him. Breathing deeply he took her hand in his and said, "Lisa, you have to stay here, it's safer. These things are Daleks; one blast from that gun and you are dead. No question. Forever. Sarai is down there, with no idea what is going on, but if I go now I should be able to reach her before they do."

"Safer?"

"Yes, as long as the Doctor is here you just have to keep away from the Daleks long enough for him to work out how to fix this."

"And what if he doesn't?"

"He will. He always does. I need to go now so stay here." He pulled his hand away from hers and turned to go.

"Fuck you Ianto Jones," she growled, but her eyes told him it was alright, as her hand let go of his. Then, as a second thought, she grabbed hold of it again and pulled him into a passionate kiss, "Fuck you." I love you.

..--..--..--..

"We're going to die, aren't we?" Elle asked quietly. Jeff couldn't bring himself to reassure her. They had watched from their office window as the "ghosts" had turned on the humans below. When Jeff had found her, it was already too late to try and make their way back to the others on the floor above. Instead they settled down, waiting to see what would happen, along with the other people trapped in the office.

Twenty minutes later, Jeff, Elle and dozens of others were shocked when a group of soldiers and their General ran into the office; slamming the door shut and hurrying to move anything not attached to the floor against the door.

"What's going on?" Jeff asked. A soldier shushed him, and he could hear the march of metal boots. The whole room froze into a terrified mime, but miraculously the marching carried on past them.

The General was breathing hard, his eyes bulging like some grotesque cartoon. "This is it men," he barked. "We get taken, we'll become one of them and we can't let that happen. We can't let them get the weapons. For Queen and country!"

The officer workers looked at each other. If the situation behind the doors had not been lethal, it might have been humorous.

"Sir," Jeff spoke up, holding a sobbing Elle tightly, "This is the research office, we don't have any weapons."

"Everything!" The General yelled, voice cracking slightly, "Everything could become a weapon! Men-" he called out to the group in dark clothing, cradling machine guns, some (the older ones), in a paternal gesture towards the cold weapons, others in an act of comfort and familiarity. "Begin DORA protocol,"

"General-" one man spoke up, a thin trail of blood winding lazily down his cheek, a snow-light sprinkling of ceiling dust flouring his hair. "That was specific to vehicles and live-stock, there is nothing for us to do."

"Take the women; they cannot help us during an attack. Take them over to that far wall." The General ordered.

"Sir?"

"Do it now!"

Some of the women gladly ran to the other side of the office, relieved of the duty to be brave, at the front and responsible. Elle, however, was one of those who stayed behind; her sobbing had subsided to an undignified gasping. "I'm not going to leave you here Jeff. All it gives me is one more minute than I would have if I stayed with you."

"No Elle-" he pulled her close, breathed in the scent of her kiwi and water melon shampoo. "We might be able to stop them in time." He placed a hand on either side of her face. "You still have a chance."

She stared into his eyes and with a voice of calm certainty, stated, "I'd rather die."

He pulled her to him again and kissed her with an unexplored and forceful passion. He half pulled away, his lips moving against hers as he spoke, "Don't ever say that. Listen to me," he pulled back and looked her straight in the eye, "Look at me. You are going over there. I am going to stay here and barricade the door-" she was shaking her head but he held her face still. "-And I will see you when this is all over."

The other women had all made their way complacently to the other, except Elle. She stood, as if in a vacuum, amongst the crashing and shouting, the wires fizzing in the ceiling, the smashed windows. All she saw was Jeff, all she could hear was her pulsing heartbeat, and his final whispered words of "I love you", before he pushed her away gently and she staggered over to the far wall, still looking him in the eye. He blinked...

Suddenly the sound of hysteria was back, filling her ears and her mind: the racking sobbing, the heavy footfall of the alien soldiers ringing trough the building, the alarms and sirens of the emergency system.

And the General's voice.

"Stand up.” An order for those against the wall. The woman next to her struggled but couldn't raise herself up. With a renewed strength born from the idea she was making a difference, Elle hauled the other woman up.

"Initiate protocol," The General barked at the black-clad figures, pointing at the women. Horror showed on their faces.

"You can't!"

The General's face was livid.

"How dare you refuse my orders? Do it now," he went to reach for his belt, where his pistol hung. The soldier closest to him made a grab for the weapon, but the General was too fast. He shot a bullet straight through the man's heart.

The woman Elle was holding screamed.

"This is for your own good." The General said, gun now aimed at the group of women. "You won't be able to defend yourselves when they come. You'll be taken and changed. Converted. You'll become the enemy. There are already too many of them."

Bang!

The screaming stopped as the woman Elle clung to sagged in her arms, face frozen in a perpetual state of terror, a hole through her skull.

The men were talking loudly over each other, trying to calm the General down, none wanting to reach for their weapons in case he shot someone else. Elle could hear a hysterical sobbing coming from her left, and the woman on her right was muttering a prayer under her breath. Further down the line, people were trying to push others in front of them, using their colleagues as protection in case another bullet was fired. She sought out Jeff, with her eyes, in the madness. He had tears streaming down his cheeks as he mouthed to her. "I'm so sorry."

She mouthed back, "I love-"

She never finished. Before the final word had been completed, a solid lump of lead tore into her stomach, stealing her breath. Faintly, she heard a familiar voice scream her name. As if in someone else's dream, she felt her eyes roll back as she fell onto the carpeted office floor. The pain made her mind muddled; she studied the undulations of the carpet from this new, closer level. She could see the individual synthetic threads, some winding around each other like desperate lovers, others (on the surface) in a state of protruding rebellion, bristling against her cheek. She blew out a laboured breath and watched as the closest of the rebels shuddered, like grass in a breeze. Her focus switched from near to far as she felt hands holding her head and putting pressure on the already blinding pain in her abdomen. Through a haze, she saw the face of her fiancé, pale and shaking, close to her own. She smiled faintly, but couldn't make her voice work.

She couldn't finish her last word to him. But she knew he knew it anyway. And he would always know it. Slowly, as if dripping in glue, her eyelids squeezed shut and opened again as she tried the simple act of blinking. She was so tired. Her body protesting... begging her to un-tense her muscles and let go. Let go of what, she couldn't quite grasp. And sleeping sounded so welcoming. So slowly she let the breath leave her body. Elle stilled.

And she never moved again.

Poem made from the words of "Futility" by Wilfred Owen mixed up into my own little poem of randomness... Make of it what you will... 




Far back,
Seeds rouse and
Stretch 
Into the hard limbs of generations.
His hand on the page tracing
The sown and unsown,
The branches and the roots
Of his legacy.
One line longer than the others,
As the tree awoke,
Broke the Earth’s clay
And spilt the seeds of the next generation across the paper.
Other places old stumps,
Hidden from the stirring sunbeams
Asleep
Waiting for the morning
(that will never come)
When the blood line of ink might attach and name.
A date, to spread across the field
And make that place a home.
Waiting for the morning when the old stump wakes
To find it has grown gently into another’s side.
To touch, to warm, to whisper.

This is the essay from my 2008 GCSE English Language Paper One.
The title was "Describe a dream-world"
I got 100%...yay!  The examiner said I had a very mature, original and personally developed style.



 Cochineal-cheeked in the shimmering heat of summer, she rocks languidly in the chair.  Looking out into the daubed artist pallet of shade, tone and colour; creating an Impressionist masterpiece of the country-garden, she smiles.  In her mind the harsh lines of the patio (the crevices and crooks in the synthetic stones) are victim of a coup by the surrounding army of flowers.  Pansies, roses and buttercups burst from their soiled beds and dance across the unforgiving slabs.  Laughing…

She sees him.  First he is at the fence, what feels like years away, at the very end of the lawn.  Eighteen and waving, it is the first time she sees him.  With his pale skin and feather-light hair he shines like a porcelain Adonis, illuminated by his own inner light.  His bicycle leans by his side; an ugly lump of twisted metal, grease and chains, which shackles him to a mortal transportation on the ground, when she is sure he should be flying with the Gods.  He vaults the gate, as if in a perfect and pristine game of leap-frog, and glides along the immaculate grass.  Offering a brown paper bag, he entices the wonderful homely smell of fresh bread to waft from its contents.  It feels like life and it feels like love…

A day drum tight with fear.  An acrimonious dispute rages in her own mind.  The storm is a spider, casting its web of electric veins across the sky, while the liquid remains of flies bleed down the window panes.  She is torn between two opposing camps of thought in her brain.  One feeling is slate-cold, shaking and full of darkness.  An anger so consuming it lends itself to terrible iniquitous thoughts. 

“Let him not find her.  Let her drown.  Let her die.”

But just as this flood of emotion peaks, she is suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of love and devotion to them both; her sister and him.  Quick as one of the thundering flashes of lightning, which cast an ironic heavenly twist on her previously un-Godly thoughts, he appears.  He appears carrying her sister at the bottom of the garden.  Lifting her in a haunting parallel to a newly wedded couple, over the threshold, and laying her tenderly onto the carpet.  His eyes are wet from rain and tears as he sobs, aloud and unashamed, when she draws in for air.

“Oh God, Sarah, I thought she was dead.”  And Sarah doesn’t know if she wishes that had become reality…

Now the images of him are flying hard and fats into Sarah’s mind.  His and her sister’s wedding- bridal arch under the pear tree.  Their children’s high-pitched birthday celebration, as he stood next to the bouncy castle.  His lone black-clad figure after her sister’s funeral; silent and stoic. 

Suddenly all other over-lapping images of his beautiful form disappear and Sarah is left with just one.  He hangs, a single fixed point, twisting in a gentle circle.  The rope is taut; strong and thick, suspended from the edge of the porch.  The coils twist and spiral down in an impossibly intricate design, embracing like passionate spent lovers. The moonlight cats a ray of iridescence cascading over the smoothly oiled fibres, until it meets a colour darker than black on the opposite side.  His face is calm and blue.  Sarah stares and rocks and stares and rocks.  He twitches.

In anyone else’s mind it would be a nightmare born of an old woman’s hazy memories.

To her it was a dream world.

Where he was perfect and she’s alone.  

 

 Author: Muppetmadness
Characters/Pairing: Jack/Ianto, Ianto/Lisa, Crossover with Doctor Who
Rating: M (for later chapters)
Summary: Everyone has secrets, and Lisa was just the beginning of Ianto Jones'. After everything that has happened, why is he feeling so drawn to the organisation which took everything from him? From Canary Wharf onwards JackxIanto, Janto fic.
Disclaimer: Oh and of course I don't own the premise of Torchwood, Ianto and Lisa etc. But Sarai, Jeff and Elle are all mine :P
Author's Notes: 
"Oh what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practise to deceive!"

Pretty much, for me, sums up Ianto in this fic, because the secrets he keeps, or divulges, secrets he doesn't even realise he knows, arethis massive part of who he is and why he does what he does. Will eventually be Janto, cause it is the best darn pairing ever!


..--..--..--..

Jeffrey almost had a spring in his step, almost, as he swiped his ID card along the machine and moved through the metal detector. Twenty-four Krispy Kreme donuts were tucked under his arm. Original glazed for himself, pink icing for Lisa, chocolate for Ianto, apple filled for Sarai and cream for Elle.

Oh God, Elle!

She had looked so beautiful in that brown dress; uncharacteristically dressed up for their date. And his palms had been sweating. Sweating for Christ's sake! He kept having to wipe them on the tablecloth, discretely leaving dark stains on the fabric. Then he had nodded to the waiter, and the song had come on. Their song. And he could see in her eyes the hope and love, which confirmed she knew exactly what he was going to do next.

And he had.

One knee and everything.

So now he had a suppressed spring in his step (because he was at work now). Still, he was getting some odd looks due to the enormous grin he wasn't able to control. It felt like it was about to split his face wide open. But he didn't care, because he was going to marry Elle Stevens and that was all that mattered.

"She said 'yes' then?" he heard the familiar voice as he plopped himself down at his desk. A wheelie chair immerged gracefully from the cubicle next to him, being pushed with lazy feet by his colleague and best friend Ianto Jones. "That's a shocker."

"Keep wheeling yourself off the side of the building Jones." Jeff shot back, though the witty effect was lost by his telltale smile.

"Now, now Jeffrey. Don't be mean to poor lickle Ianto. His feet only just reach the ground in that chair." That was Sarai, who had walked into their conversation with a hands full of Starbucks coffee cups, which they gratefully took.

"Just because you are approaching the retirement home, it doesn't mean you get to take it out on the whippersnappers." Ianto grinned.

Sarai was only in her late thirties, but was still a lot older than the others in their strange friendship group. She only came around to their area when there was nothing for her to do, which was really quite often. At first Jeff hadn't really understood why they wanted to bother hiring someone like Sarai; she was scatty and received a ridiculously large salary for what seemed like no work, if her constant presence in their research office was anything got go by. However, as one of his main duties at Torchwood was to run background checks while recruiting new workers, Jeffrey had been privy to all the sordid details of each of their backgrounds involving aliens.

And fuck, if she hadn't just been hiding a pretty incredible secret in her grubby lab coat!

She had been working at a busy hospital in London, when a man had rushed in, carrying a body in his arms, yelling that the woman had been attacked. It was an emergency, they had cleared a space for surgery, Sarai had been leading the operation, and she had opened the woman up.

And found an alien anatomy.

A dying alien anatomy.

And without any prior knowledge of non-human life forms' body workings, Sarai

Woodlin had saved her life.

She was only bought in by Torchwood for the health of test subjects and autopsies and the occasional medical disaster.

But damn was she good.

..--..--..--..

Ianto undid the top button of his shirt as he stepped outside and moved towards the river, where a smartly dressed figure was leaning over the water.

He rested against the wall next to her, staring away from the Thames and towards a café, where someone had just split their coffee, and a strange form of real life mime was playing out.

The woman breathed out a sigh of contentment and offered Ianto her cigarette packet. He shook his head.

"I promised Lisa I'd quit," he explained. She snorted, then smiled serenely.

"Yeah, I told Jeff the same thing. But I'm still here." She waved the small, glowing stick vaguely.

"He's waiting for you in the office you know."

"I know."

"So why don't you-"

"I'm terrified. It seems like a dream."

"A good dream?"

"Of course. I mean, I'm terrified it will all have been a mistake."

"A terrible, good, dream-like mistake?" he smirked.

"Something like that," She replied, laughing just a little. "I'm being ridiculous aren't I?"

"He loves you. Smoking and all. He bought cream filled donuts and everything."

"Wedding dress be damned?"

"We can always take the cream out."

They stood in silence, listening to the lull of traffic from across the river and the muddle of music from the open doorways.

A huddle of ghosts wandered past. It seemed strange how quickly they had gotten used to them, hardly paying them any attention. But of course, working for Torchwood exposed them to all manner of unbelievable things.

Ghosts were positively normal.

..--..--..--..

July. Midday. The sun was remarkably unblemished by clouds or rain, or, as it so often happened in London, both. Ianto un-tucked his shirt and fanned himself with one hand, while Lisa held the other, swinging it back and forth in a practiced rhythm.

They walked with a purpose; they already knew exactly where they were going. It was almost automatic that every Friday on their lunch break they would go to Borough Market for lunch. Lisa pointed out, in a sort of easy tradition, the numerous unfortunate joggers sweating past.

"Girl jogger, dun dun dun duh dun. Girl jogger," she hummed to herself and Ianto laughed. The jogger in question gave them a dirty look.

They passed by the usual sights, crowded with over-excited tourists; the Tate, the Globe and the Golden Hind. Places they had always intended to visit, but which faded into the background of unsurpassable normality.

Borough Market was one of Lisa's favourite places in London. It was so busy and organic, with stalls and shops, buying and selling. Smells of delicious food mingled together in the air; chocolate, soup, cheese, fish, fruit and vegetables all mixed up with the sound of shouting and people.

Edging around the market, between the back of the stalls and Southwark Cathedral, they made their way to the small path where their favourite food shop was. Sure enough Sam was outside, with a colossal vat of home-made paella.

"Same as usual?" he asked, already dishing up two steaming cartons of the delicious rice dish, not even waiting for a reply.

"We are so predicable!" Lisa groaned.

"Nah, we just have good taste, right Sam?"

"Damn straight!"

..--..--..--..

Half an hour (and a bowl of paella) later, Lisa and Ianto walked back into Canary Wharf and proceeded up the lift to the offices.

Usually, at half twelve, most of the office would be at lunch, and the rest were working quietly, rushing to finish for a deadline. The scene they returned to, however, was one of busy excitement. Jeff pushed his way through the crowd.

“He’s here!”

Lisa looked confused, “Who?”

“The Doctor, of course! They have him; Yvonne is talking to him right now!”

Ianto drew in a breath and Lisa beamed at him. “Now you can talk to him in person, Yan.”

“Is she-?” Ianto began, before Jeff interrupted.

“We don’t know, but she has to be doesn’t she? How surprised will she be that you work at Torchwood?!”

Ianto’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

“Who is it?” Lisa asked eagerly.

“Shh,” Ianto pressed a finger to his lips, “I know, I’m at work. I know- that is my work. I told you didn’t I? Okay… what? Jac-where are you? Okay get out before you lose sight of where you are. Oh, I don’t know use a lab coat or something. Stay out of trouble. Love you too. Oh hang on wait-”

“Who was that?” Jeff asked, already knowing the answer.

“Who do you think?”

“And?”

“Where the Doctor is, so is disaster. But you are safer the nearer you are to him. I’m staying here til then.”

“So says the resident Doctor expert. I'm going to nip into Elle's office downstairs and see if they know anything."

"Where's Sarai?"

"Sarai- she’s been called to examine the Doctor."

When Jeff was gone, Lisa put a hand on Ianto’s shoulder, “Did she cut out at the end?”

“Yeah- I was just going to tell her about Sam, so she doesn’t get too big of a surprise when she finds out.”

“What do you think the Doctor is here for?”

“I’d assume it is because of these ghosts- he hasn’t been back to this world since they appeared. That, and the giant ball of nothing in the basement.”

 

So, I was just looking through some profiles of the people who write Janto fanfic and noticed a similarity in a lot of them. I was wondering...how many of us are actually teenaged girls? It seems like there are a lot of us in this fandom.
Josie