m-findlow.livejournal.com

Title: Finding home
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack, Ianto
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 1,748 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for Challenge 164 - House
Summary: Jack has a complicated history with real estate

'I don't understand why you're getting so hung up about it,' Jack complained.

'It's a big deal selling a house,' Ianto countered.

Jack just shrugged. 'It's a house. I own about two dozen of the wretched things.'

'I know,' Ianto replied, 'I'm the one having to manage all of your tenants and outgoings. Why you won't let me list them with a agent is beyond me. As if I don't already have enough to do in my day, now I'm coordinating your property portfolio. As if I have the time to arrange for locksmiths and lawn mowers.'

'So stop complaining about letting me get rid of a few for you. It'll be one less you'll have to worry about.'

Ianto sighed loudly as he got out of the car. 'What I can't understand is why you refuse to live in any of them. You'd much rather try to exist in that tiny little space that's not even big enough for one, let alone two people. It's a bed and a shower, not a residence. And here you are with no excuse for it.'

'I'm keeping an eye on the rift. Someone has to. It's just easier.'

'Twenty three houses, Jack.'

'Soon to be twenty two,' he corrected.

Ianto raised an eyebrow. 'And they're all completely unlivable?'

'I don't like them enough to live in them,' he replied. 'Especially this one. I lived here for while and then decided I didn't like it anymore.'

'Then why on earth did you buy it in the first place? Surely you must have liked it once upon a time?'

Ianto was secretly desperate to know the story behind the 1980s style terrace apartment, which, though not new, was certainly not past its best years with a fresh lick of paint on the inside.

'I'm not that complicated,' Jack replied.

Ianto snorted. 'On the contrary. You're the most complicated person I've ever met.'

Jack gave it a wan look as he lead Ianto up the stairs to the second floor. The third stair from the top of the landing squeaked underfoot. It had done that thirty years ago too, he remembered now. And the linen cupboard door had a crooked hinge on it that meant it always scraped the floor when you pulled it open more than halfway. He had a mind to pull it open now and see if anyone had ever bothered to fix the hinge, before remembering that fixing stuff like that was the landlord's job, and as landlord, he hadn't been back here since the day he moved out, simply putting an advertisement in the local newspaper and accepting the first person who agreed to the monthly rent amount. He'd handed over the keys and that had been the end of it. Each month there'd be a cheque in the mail and never a word of complaint.

Why had he bought the place? It was a good question that he couldn't recall the answer to. He'd never lived here with anyone, nor could he recollect ever bringing anyone home with him. He'd been transient in his relationships, but even then, he'd have spent the night at their's, never inviting anyone back to share his space. What was the point?

Well, he had needed somewhere to spend his nights, shower and store his clothes. He couldn't live at the hub, not back in those days like he did now. Back then he'd just been a fly in fly out agent, or an employee at best. The hub wasn't his, and he couldn't stay there. He had to have some place to lay his head. And everyone else had a place to call home when they left Torchwood for the day. For them it was normal to go home. For Jack, it felt like moving his existence from one spot to another. It was a house, but not a home. He didn't want it to be. He'd spent years travelling the universe, bunking wherever he ended up, never staying anywhere long enough to form ties. Nothing would ever feel like home after he'd left the Boeshane. Even that didn't quite feel like home for the last few years he'd been there, struggling through the reality that now it was just his mother and himself, clinging to something that wasn't there anymore until it tore them apart. It hadn't felt like leaving home, it had felt like leaving to make amends.

Ever since, he'd been stuck here, and it had never felt like home. More like the bus stop at the end of the universe, waiting for that elusive vehicle that would finally come and pick him up, returning him to his adventures out amongst the stars.

He'd owned every kind of house imaginable; grand weatherboard homesteads, grimy council estate apartments, Victorian brick terraces, and even a bathing box by the beach, for when he'd had a sudden desire to live along the shore, and to be able to hear the sound of waves crashing, and to have his boots invaded by sand.

Some he'd bought on a whim; others had been bought out of a sense of guilt. Some poor sod who'd had the unfortunate luck to have their house invaded by murderous aliens was going to find it difficult selling it with rumors like that floating about. No one wanted to live in a house where people had died.

Why had he bought this place? Why had be bought any of them? Surely it would have just been easier to rent. Nothing tethering him to one place or another, and yet he'd done it over and over again. Perhaps subconsciously he'd wanted to be able to put down roots and make a home for himself here, but itchy feet had always kept him moving.

'When were you last here?'

Jack stopped to think about it for a moment. 'Must've been the mid eighties. I can still remember watching the miner's union protesters marching down the street.'

'I can't really image you living here,' Ianto observed. 'Not on your own anyway.'

'Me neither.'

Ianto shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around. It was sparse now, all the furniture and knick knacks of the old tenants removed, leaving the rooms empty and the walls bare. He tried to visualise Jack bouncing around the walls of it, of green linoleum, fat chintz armchairs, and heavy drapes. It almost felt like it was haunted by the ghost of a Jack long since gone. Not his Jack, but some other Jack. He couldn't help but wonder if Jack couldn't sense it too, and wanted to be rid of it for that reason.

He'd arrange for some hire furniture before it was let open for inspection. Hopefully it would give it that homely look that Jack had never managed to achieve with it.

'Why now?'

'Why now, what?'

'Why sell it now?'

Jack shrugged. 'Might as well. It's not like I'm ever going to live in it again.'

'The same could be said for the rest. Why not get rid of them all?'

Why not indeed? he wondered, shrugging again. It wasn't like he came back for the memories. Ianto probably stopped by more often than he did, arranging contractors to mend fences and replace washers on taps. Just every now and then he'd end up driving by, headed along the street on his way to attend to Torchwood matters and remember that it was still there, standing tall and enduring, just as he was. Perhaps they'd become the physical reflection of his own existence here, sometimes elegant and inspiring, sometimes fierce and stern, sometimes haggard and run down, but all the while continuing on despite the years.

'Can't keep hanging on to the past. Gotta move on and keep living in the here and now.'

Ianto half wondered whether there would ever be a good time to suggest that they should buy a place of their own. Sure, he had his old flat, and it had enough space for them whenever they found time to spend there, but like Jack, it had memories of a time he'd rather put behind him. It was the flat he'd taken up when he'd first moved back here, determined to save Lisa and not caring particularly where he lived, since he wasn't planning on sticking around long term. Since then, he'd just been too busy to bother finding anywhere else, and spent most nights at the hub with Jack, in any case. Now seeing Jack's reticence to commit and settle anywhere for an extended period of time, made him rethink having the conversation.

Jack gave the old place one last look before escorting Ianto back downstairs, and out through the front door, along the cracking concrete pathway and the slightly overgrown front lawn, cursing as the bolt in the gate got stuck.

'How has no one ever gotten rid of this stupid gate?' he said, rattling the bolt hard to get it unstuck. 'I can't tell you how many times I battled with this late at night. The neighbours must have thought I was trying to break in.'

'I'll have a word with the body corporate,' Ianto replied, referring to himself in the third person.

'Yep. I won't miss this place,' Jack announced, pulling open the car door. 'Should fetch a reasonable price.'

'With a little work,' Ianto added.

'I'll drop you back at the hub so you can sort out someone to replace the front gate, and do whatever else you think needs doing.'

'Where are you off?'

He made some excuse about needing to check in with a source. Something to do with those possessed tumble dryers that kept popping up across the city, trying to eat people who got too close.

A funny little look played across Jack's face as he started up the engine. Ianto wasn't sure what to make of it, so said nothing. His birthday was coming up in a few weeks and he suspected Jack might be up to something.

What he didn't know was that the look on Jack's face was the result of Jack's excitement about the appointment with the realtor to give him a second viewing of the house he was about to sign contracts for today.

Yes, it was another house, and he couldn't understand why he couldn't keep his compulsion for realty under control, but this time he was certain it would be different.

It was the one birthday present Ianto wouldn't see coming.