Title: Route 412
Author: jerbearthompson
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Characters: Jack/Ianto
Summary: Ianto was on the bus when it happened. There was a sharp swerve, and then a warm body was falling down on top of him.
Disclaimer: We all worship at the shrine or RTD and the BBC.
Notes: For Elle! Because she wanted something really Jack/Ianto-y. And I get really bored on the bus and think up somewhat crazy AU ideas. Hazzah. I based it around that not-so-famous Eagle vs. Shark quote, "I have two things to say. One: I am leaving tomorrow on a bus. Two: that could change."
Ianto was on the bus when it happened. Here he was, happily pretending to read his newspaper while really listening in on the animate discussion occurring behind him on the advantages of fingerless gloves over the normal type, when there was a sudden sharp swerve and a warm body was falling down on top of him.
'Hi,' an overly bright accented voice breathed over his face as large hands steadied themselves on his shoulders, pushing back so he could see the person just about sitting in his lap.
'Sorry about that.' Two twinkling blue eyes told him something other than "sorry", and the man gave a brilliant grin, simply refusing to move his face more than twenty centimetres away from Ianto's.
Thank god he brushed his teeth, was all Ianto could think about as puff after puff of warm air was breathed across his cheeks.
'It's okay,' he murmured, trying to clear his head. 'If you could just—'
'Has anyone ever told you that you have really comfortable legs?' The man proceeded to prove his point by shuffling around a bit so he was basically straddling Ianto's lap. And he was still doing that damn heavy breathing. 'Extraordinarily comfortable legs.'
Christ, he's going to kiss me, Ianto thought hazily. It should scare him, he should be a lot more opposed to it then he currently was.
The man leaned closer, the very tip of his nose lightly tracing over Ianto's left cheekbone. Then he laughed, a warm vibration against Ianto's face.
Using one hand to steady himself against Ianto's chest, the man leant further in until his lips were just hovering over Ianto's ear and whispering, 'I have a… thing, for breathing on people's faces. Only the ones I like, though.'
Yes, well, you really should be getting off me now.
'I bet you say that to all the pretty boys you fall on.'
Oops, got that mixed up.
The man laughed, running his fingers down Ianto's chest until he Welshman drew a sharp intake of breath before running them back up again.
'Just one,' the man said, and then he was gone, and Ianto was left feely light-headed and more than a little dizzy, surprisingly cold without the heavy weight on top of him.
A quick survey of the bus saw the man standing at the door, giving him an amused smile.
'Maybe we'll exchange names next time,' he called before stepping lightly off the bus, large blue coat billowing out behind him.
Ianto breathed in heavily and adjusted his tie, self-consciously.
Yes, next time.
***
As it was, "next time" would be in a week and three days, and Ianto would be juggling holding his coffee and half-eaten bagel in one hand while the other attempted to turn the page of the newspaper he was actually reading this time.
There was a creak, a slight depression of the seat beside him and the coffee was plucked from his hand.
'For me? You shouldn't have.'
Ianto gave a startled jump and turned to regard the man beside him.
The man took a sip of his coffee, before sliding it snugly back into Ianto's hand and leaning in close, almost as if they were a couple.
'Name's Jack,' he breathed over the side of Ianto's face, and god damn, I shouldn't relish that nearly as much as I do.
'Just Jack?' Ianto feigned disinterest as he turned his attention back to the stock market page.
'Just Jack,' the man- well, Jack – affirmed. 'For now.'
'Pleasure,' Ianto murmured, and gave a surprised sound in the back of his throat as the paper was ripped from his lap and was suddenly replaced with a serious-faced man, blue eyes locked onto his own.
Jack non-too-gently grabbed both sides of Ianto's face in his hands and pulled him in close, breath ghosting over the Welshman's lips.
I sincerely hope you have a… torch, in your pocket.
'I'm Ianto,' he managed to get out in between the pounding of his heart in his ears.
'Just Ianto?' Jack humoured him, making no effort to move as he moved one hand from Ianto's face to his coffee-holding hand, bringing both cup and hand up to his lips and taking another long sip, eyes locked on Ianto's.
Ianto quietly affirmed to himself that it was not the coffee Jack was thirsty for.
'Thanks,' Jack murmured when he was done drinking, tucking the cup and Ianto's hand against the Welshman's chest and tapping the side of his face gently with his other fingers.
'See you around then, Ianto.' And as quickly as last time, he was gone.
Ianto cleared his throat and carefully retrieved his newspaper from the floor.
***
The third time – a mere six days after the second – Ianto was prepared. He had seen the tell-tale swish of blue coat appear underneath his book and he closed it with a snap, looking up at Jack expectantly.
Jack grinned, showing two rows of perfectly white teeth.
'Sit,' Ianto demanded, and Jack raised his eyebrows as if to say, Oh? before dutifully sitting beside Ianto. No sooner had his spine reached the back of the seat than Ianto was swinging his leg over to straddle Jack's lap.
'This is a pleasant change,' Jack hummed happily as he impulsively nuzzled into Ianto's neck - just under his chin - his hands firmly placed on Ianto's hips.
'Stop that.' Ianto forcefully brought Jack's chin up to look him in the eyes. 'Questions. Your name?'
'I like this,' Jack drummed his fingers against Ianto's hips. 'So forcefull.' The grin was back, as was the predicted heavy breathing over Ianto's face. 'Jack.'
'Full name,' Ianto refused to release Jack's chin.
'Jack Harkness,' Jack said softly.
'Age, job, accent, and what it's doing in Cardiff?'
'Old enough to know better, doesn't pay enough, American, because I saw you on a postcard and just had to come.'
'Don't patronise me,' Ianto sighed, flopping back over into the seat beside Jack's. He was a little surprised when Jack's head came to rest on his shoulder.
'Your turn,' the man mumbled.
'Ianto Jones. Twenty-six, in the wrong profession, Welsh, probably because this is where I was born.'
'You didn't have to answer the last two,' Jack chuckled, giving a demanding tug to Ianto's arm so it fell down around the American's shoulders.
'You asked,' Ianto shrugged. 'And what are you—'
'Look, they're watching.'
'Where?'
'To the left. Back a bit – no! Be subtle about it.'
Ianto slowly turned his head, and indeed there were two teenage girls staring with wide eyes while the teenage boy with them just looked furiously at anything but them.
'I'm not your boyfriend, Jack.'
'You could be.' When Ianto stiffened considerably, Jack laughed and flung an arm across Ianto's stomach, pulling him in close. 'Humour me,' he murmured against the skin of Ianto's neck.
'You incorrigible,' Ianto sighed, but tangled his fingers in Jack's hair, regardless.
After a few minutes of putting on a show for the giggling girls behind them, the bus rolled to a squeaking halt.
'Isn't this your stop?' Ianto asked into Jack's hair.
'I'll call a taxi,' Jack replied, making no move to get up.
Ianto laughed, practically swelling with pride that he now had the upper hand. 'You know what? I think I will, too.'
Ignoring Jack's muffled cry of protest, Ianto untangled himself from the American and trotted down the aisle, a large grin firmly plastered on his face. He didn't look back as he exited the bus, not even at Jack's called, 'I love you, Ianto Jones,' much to the delight of the teenage girls.
Ianto did not miss the flicker of disappointment Jack's voice held, though.
***
It was close to four weeks later that they met for the fourth time, and this time Ianto noticed immediately when the Captain entered the bus.
He looked a mess.
He was minus the coat, for one, which made him look a lot smaller than he had previously appeared. His hair was ruffled, eyes red and with the distinct look of someone who had been crying recently. Crying a lot, by the looks of it. And his hands were twitching minutely.
Ianto stood to meet him, guiding him down onto the seat and draping the American's legs over his lap, letting the other man's head fall to his shoulder yet again.
Ianto didn't ask. Jack would talk when he was ready.
Apparently, today was not the day he would be ready to talk, and he spent the entire bus trip alternating between rasping out sobs and sniffling into the material of Ianto's shirt.
Jack's stop came and went, and still, he did not move. Ianto's stop came next, but he just could not bring himself to let go of the broken man leaning against him. So he stayed, rubbing Jack's back and his neck and his shoulders and occasionally humming against the American's forehead. When the bus came to the depot, Ianto dutifully soothed Jack until he was stable enough to be supported off the bus and to the road, where Ianto put him into a taxi and demanded that Jack go home.
With a watery smile of thanks in exchange, Ianto patted Jack's cheek and shut the taxi door, watching it drive away before hailing another to take himself to work.
He would later find out from the local newspaper of the road incident that had killed a Mr and Mrs Harkness, aged sixty-six and sixty-two, respectively.
***
A week and a day later was the fifth time they met.
Jack plonked down beside Ianto, all happy smiles and pretending like nothing had even happened. The dark bags underneath his eyes told Ianto otherwise, but he played along regardless.
'Hey gorgeous, no coffee today?'
'Not today, honey,' Ianto responded warmly.
'Shame,' Jack said unbiasedly, suddenly very interested with Ianto's hands, tugging the long digits out straight before bending them this way and that.
'You have gorgeous hands,' Jack commented idly, before lacing the fingers with his own and leaning right into Ianto's personal space, joined hands tucked securely between American and Welsh chests. And then Jack was breathing all over Ianto's face, short puffs of warm air drifting over pale, delicate facial features.
And just like that, everything was back to normal.
'You'd look great with a goatee,' Jack murmured, inches from Ianto's lips.
'Yeah?' the Welshman asked with a sly smile.
The American hummed in affirmation before searching Ianto's eyes and saying worriedly, barely more than a whisper, 'You'd better be careful, Ianto Jones. Because one day you're going to do something to trip me. And when you do, I'm going to fall hard.'
And just like always, he was gone, stalking backwards along the aisle, only losing eye contact with Ianto at the last possible moment.
It took Ianto a moment to realise what the American had just said, but when he did, he smiled. He had that man eating out of his palm, now.
***
It became apparent that was the case when Jack showed up only two days later, falling half on top of Ianto and hugging him tightly.
'I missed you,' he breathed, brushing his lips down Ianto's cheek, along his chin and back up again on the other side, all the while sighing hot air.
The breathing, always with the breathing, Ianto thought as he struggled to keep his eyes open.
'Jack Harkness, you say that like we're in a relationship,' Ianto smiled.
Jack paused momentarily in the movement of his lips, and Ianto could feel the American grinning against his skin. 'Aren't we?'
'No,' Ianto said firmly, but not unkindly. 'I don't believe we are.'
'Well we should be,' Jack told him in the same firm tone before resuming his tracing if Ianto's face.
'How do you even know what I like men?' Ianto challenged.
'You never seemed opposed to it before. And your hands are certainly saying something other than your mouth.'
With a small choking sound that he managed to cover up quite well, Ianto noticed that his hands had indeed strayed to Jack's hips and were on the verge of roaming just that little bit lower.
'This is worse than making out in public,' Ianto muttered, more to himself than to Jack. The American replied anyway.
'We could do that if you wanted to.'
'Or we could not,' Ianto laughed, carefully shifting slightly to sit on his hands. 'Your stop, Captain.'
Jack's face fell with disappointment as he looked up and noticed the bus slowing to a halt. Then it brightened again as it sunk in, what Ianto had called him.
'Captain, I like that. Captain Jack Harkness. Call me that from now on.'
'Aye aye, Captain,' Ianto grinned, and noticed immediately the way Jack was holding himself back. Like he was under a lot of pressure to refrain from kissing Ianto.
The Welshman gave a happy sigh and pushed Jack off him, letting his fingers linger on the man's hips for a second before propelling him forward, down the aisle.
It was as he watched the blue coat mingle with the crowd through the window that Ianto reflected on how much better his mornings had suddenly become.
***
The seventh, eighth and ninth times they met were all between two and three days apart, and they fell into a pattern of practically sharing a seat, softly touching and asking big questions and then little trivial questions until they felt like this had been their routine since the dawn of time.
The tenth and eleventh times were basically the same, but these two times Ianto had coffee, which Jack would take without asking, then drink before returning the cold dregs to Ianto's hand. Not that Ianto minded, he loved the dramatic actions and hand gestures the American's stories took on when the man had a bit of caffeine in him.
Each time they met, Jack would take at least a good two minutes – minimum – to breath over Ianto's face, again claiming that it was just a "thing" he had, and Ianto would always humour him by replying, 'Yes, Captain.'
Each time they met, Ianto would notice Jack falling a little more, and each time, he realised the other man was taking him down with him - despite being determined not to fall in love again.
***
The twelfth time was different to all the rest. It was nearing three weeks since the eleventh time which had been spent whispering obscene stories in suggestive tones over a cup of rapidly cooling coffee.
The first few days that Jack had not showed up, Ianto dismissed as the other man simply being busy. After a week he began to get nervous, and after two weeks he was feeling physically ill with a feeling he couldn't quite identify.
He kept running their past conversations over and over again in his mind. Had Jack said he was leaving or a while? Had Ianto said something to offend him? Had he seemed to be losing interest? Was he really sick of Ianto already?
A day before three weeks, Ianto couldn't take it anymore. He got off the bus at Jack's stop and wandered through the crowd, asking for directions to the "Torchwood Institute". Jack had claimed it to be an organisation outside the police but Ianto suspected they were really connected somehow. It was a bit hard for them not to be connected, as the Torchwood Institute served as a sort of clinic for those people who had been robbed, abused or injured due to no fault of their own. The police would go out, solve the problem, arrest who needed arresting and often bring the victims back to the clinic – whether for a cup of tea to calm down over or an overnight stay with injuries.
The fourth person he asked pointed Ianto in the direction of a clump of trees in the far distance and it took Ianto a good seven minutes to get close enough to see the cluster of semi-joined white buildings affront a state forest.
He enquired at the front desk for a Jack Harkness and the woman at the counter gave him a pitiful smile, saying the American was unfortunately stuck in meetings all day with the Board but should be finished between four and five in the afternoon. Ianto thanked her and politely asked her to refrain from telling Jack of his visit, cursing himself inwardly for looking like a love-sick teenager as he hailed a taxi to take him to his own work.
They weren't in a relationship, Ianto had said so himself. They were just friends, people who enjoyed each other's warmth and company. Hell, they hadn't even met outside the atmosphere of a bus. It was pathetic. Jack probably had better things to do with his life.
At two o'clock, however, Ianto was startled to receive a phonecall from the front office, telling him that there was a man here to see him. He carefully adjusted his tie, tucking his chair in underneath his desk before padding along the hallway to the front office.
His heart fell as he saw, not Jack, but a middle-aged man holding his hat nervously and sitting on one of the waiting chairs. Ianto was about to step forward and introduce himself when a hand on his shoulder stopped him.
'Ianto.'
He breathed out heavily, turning slowly to face the American who had spoken. Jack's large blue eyes shone back at him.
'I need to talk to you,' Jack said, and before the Welshman could protest he was being ushered out the door and onto a nearby walk-way bench. Jack pushed Ianto down onto it but remained standing, himself.
'Ianto, I… I have to tell you something.'
'Jack, why—'
'No, just… listen. I'm going to tell you something. I'm going to tell you once, and then I am going to walk away, you hear me?'
Ianto deflated a little. This was it. Jack had come to tell him it was over – whatever it was that they had had in the first place. No more friendly bus trips, it was over. Still, it had been fun while it lasted.
Ianto was about to say as much when Jack stopped him by placing two fingers against his lips.
'Don't talk, just listen.'
Ianto nodded and Jack took a deep breath.
'I've been offered a promotion. To a hospital, a large one. The Royal Brisbane Hospital. It's… it's in Australia. They want me to fly out from London as soon as I possibly can.' He took another deep breath and transferred his hand from Ianto's mouth to his shoulder, in an obvious attempt to steady himself.
'So I have two things to say to you, Ianto. One: I am leaving tomorrow on a bus at four o'clock.'
Ianto literally felt his heart stop, just for a moment.
'Two,' Jack continued. 'That could change.'
And then he was walking away, and Ianto was left staring at his retreating figure, heart nearly jumping out of his throat.
That could change.
***
Ianto wasn't sure if they would meet for a thirteenth time. It was three o'clock, and he had one more hour to make up his mind before Jack was gone.
This is it. The ball was well and truly in his court.
Jack had given him a plain choice. To go and stop him, or stay and do nothing, never to see him again. Ianto knew what he wanted to do, but he also knew what he should do. What they had had… was almost like a fantasy. An infatuation, a little world of their own. Twelve times they had met, only twelve, and eleven of those times were on a bus. There was no way their relationship – if it could even be called that – would last outside the familiar surroundings of tired, bored people and blue, furred seats.
This was Jack's chance, to get out and see the world. He'd have a good job, with good pay, in a beautiful country where he'd be able to do basically anything he wanted. He'd have a good life there, and he'd meet another young man or woman on a bus, and start a new "bus romance". And thinking about that, dammit, it wasn't supposed to hurt so much.
So Ianto knew what he should do, and what he was probably supposed to do. But that did not change what he wanted to do.
With three minutes to go before four o'clock, Ianto was still sitting at his house, on the verge of ripping his hair out, he was so frustrated with this decision. Why, why had Jack made him decide this? He didn't want this responsibility, he didn't want to choose.
Heaving out a heavy and dramatic sigh, Ianto closed his eyes, ran a hand over the clean, neat goatee he had grown just for Jack's sake, and made his decision.
***
The three hundred and seventy-second time they met, it was exactly a year after the thirteenth time, and Ianto woke to find Jack sprawled half on top of him, snoring gently into the conjunction where Ianto's torso met his neck. He wasn't sure if it was still classified as "meeting" if one of them was asleep, and he was even more unsure if it was still called "meeting" when the two people in question lived together and saw each other nearly every day.
Jack had moved in only about two months ago, but already he acted like he owned the place – the books and clothes and various items scattered around proving testimony to this.
On Ianto's suggestion, the American had moved in on what Jack had claimed was their first anniversary – a year to the date that they had met for the first time on the bus – but Ianto had argued that technically their relationship had only really started nearly two months later. A year before this exact date.
That day had been magnificent, and Ianto had not once regretted choosing what he did. What he had now – an actual house, a better job and the insane love of a good man – his life, he wouldn't change for the world.
***
Ianto cursed as he stood at the front of the bus, waiting for it to pull into the stop even as he watched the one he wanted departing before his very eyes. 'Where's that bus going?' he asked the driver, pointing to the one merging into the traffic on the road. The driver shrugged. 'London, I'll bet.' 'Yes, but…' Ianto ran a hand through his hair in frustration. 'Do you know where it stops next? Anywhere close by?' The driver seemed to take pity on him and fished out his mobile phone, chatting animatedly for a minute as Ianto stood aside to allow the passengers to move past him, before hanging up the phone and turning back to Ianto. 'He's going to stop for you at Route 412. Run. Catch a cab, boy, and go. He's not going to wait for very long.' Ianto nearly kissed him, shaking his hand far too energetically and thanking him over and over again, even when he had left the bus and was hailing down a taxi. 'Bus Route 412,' Ianto said breathlessly, picking a few high-digit numbered notes from his wallet and practically throwing them into the front seat as he prepared to run as soon as the car stopped. He knew he had given the driver probably three times or more what it would cost but he just didn't care. It was worth it. The wheels hadn't even stopped fully when Ianto wrenched the door open and took off at a jog to the bus sitting patiently at the stop. He took the steps two at a time, panting out a sorry to the bus driver and was about to jog down the aisle when he suddenly stopped. Jack had stood up, and was standing toward the very back of the bus, in an exact parallel line from where Ianto himself was standing. They locked eyes, and neither man moved until the bus driver enquired lightly, 'Would you like to take a seat, please, sir?' Ianto nodded but did not look away from Jack. He took a slow step forward. 'Is it too late to take the second option?' Jack grinned, but it was flickering with uncertainty and anticipation. 'No.' Ianto nodded. Jack's face nearly split with his massive grin. 'Never.' And that was where their dialogue ended. Then Ianto was running – or rather, he was carefully stepping through the aisle as fast as he could – and Jack was steeling himself for a heavy impact. Ianto wasn't sure whether he got to Jack first or whether his lips did but suddenly Jack's hands were on his waist and his hands were one on the side of Jack's face and the other tangling in his mop of brown hair, and their teeth were clashing and their tongues were battling and… and everyone was staring. The bus hadn't even pulled out of the stop yet. 'Erm…' the driver began uncomfortably. 'Could you please stop that or I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to get off my bus.' 'No problem,' Jack grinned, and then he was pushing Ianto backwards down the aisle, arms still wrapped firmly around the Welshman's hips. The driver pulled Jack's bags from the compartment on the side of the bus but the American was too busy exploring Ianto's mouth to notice. By the time the Welshman pulled back, laughing joyously against his mouth, they were standing alone amid a pile of suitcases, the large blue vehicle nowhere in sight. 'Thank you,' Jack breathed happily. 'Thank you, oh God…' Touching Jack and tasting Jack… it felt so good, and Ianto had absolutely no idea why he hadn't done this a long time ago. But he had many more bus trips to make amends. 'Next stop, Captain: Home.'