Cursed

“Gran,” Ianto breathed, feeling like he should have a pair of archival gloves on to even be touching the book.  “It’s beautiful!”

It truly was.  Even if he never opened it, the book would have pride of place among his collection because of the craftsmanship, alone.  But even a quick, careful perusal of its pages told him it would be a useful reference.

“Well, I was told that Welsh has become your first language, so I thought…” she was cut off as Ianto shoved the book into Hermione’s hands and threw his arms around his grandmother in a massive bear hug.

“Thank you!” he rasped, his voice heavy with emotion. 

Augusta, startled by the display, slowly allowed herself to relax into the hug and then return it.  “My dear boy,” she whispered.  Neville had never been particularly demonstrative.  She could tell Ianto had kept that trait, but for the moment, that was forgotten, and she very wisely chose to savor that moment.

At the first sight of a book, Hermione had left her seat and come around the table to look over Ianto’s shoulder at the treasure.  When he abruptly handed it over to her, she backed up, allowing Ianto and his grandmother to have their moment as she greedily looked over the lovely volume.  Jack joined her and they both examined it, though he kept one eye on his lover, smiling fondly as the younger man continued to reconnect with his grandmother.

Professor McGonagall joined them and also perused the book; as Ianto released Augusta from the hug, she said, “Oh, well done, Augusta.  This is a lovely find.  It’s difficult to obtain a copy that is so well-preserved.”

“I have a friend who is a bookseller,” Augusta replied.  “It took a few weeks, but he outdid himself.”  She turned to Ianto.  “I am pleased you like it.”

“Like it?  It’s gorgeous!” Ianto enthused, reaching out for it.  Reluctantly, Hermione handed it back to him.

“You must tell me if there really are lost spells in there,” Hermione said.  She knew of the book, but the language barrier had always been a deterrent.

They spent a pleasant half-hour paging through the book.  Thus far, Ianto had done no spell-casting outside of muffliato, so he merely read out some of the more interesting entries for Hermione and the others to try, in English.  Some worked better than others, but what became quite clear was that Ianto was no longer content to just sit back and have them cast runes over him. 

Strictly speaking, he didn’t need their permission to do magic; it was merely a courtesy that he was waiting, but his patience was beginning to wane, the more he felt his magic thrumming through his being.  Part of this impatience was due to the creatures’ blood, but even the most cautious of his friends and teachers realized that having him continue to refrain from using magic was an awfully big ask, after all the years he had been spellbound.  Both Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey promised that they would start expanding his testing that week.

The group decided to part ways that afternoon with no testing when Ianto began to doze where he was leaned against Jack, even as he continued to look through his book.  After dropping Arianrhod off in the owlery, they returned to their room, and Jack logged onto his laptop to do some work (Toshiko had sent along a handy little alien power supply, and Hermione had made it possible for him to link to a satellite, despite the castle’s wards).

When he checked his email, he was dismayed to find that Archie required his assistance at Torchwood Two in Glasgow for a few hours, but then he had an idea.  He went to find Ianto’s friends, who were playing a rousing game of Exploding Snap in the common room.  Thankfully, Luna knew Glasgow well enough to be able to consent to his request, and he made a few phone calls before returning to his and Ianto’s room, happy now that Ianto had insisted on packing a suit, ‘just in case’.

When Ianto woke, Jack loved on him for a bit before asking if his plan was acceptable.

“Jack, that’s not necessary,” Ianto said, rubbing his eyes in that little boy way that had Jack snogging him stupid.

“Look, I have to go to Glasgow, anyway.  Let’s make a night of it.  I’ll take you out for a proper birthday dinner, we’ll stay in that nice little boutique hotel you’ve been wanting to try, and in the morning, Luna can bring you back here.  I’ll give her a call once I’ve helped Archie, and she’ll come and bring me back, too.  Easy.”

“I have been wanting to try that place out,” Ianto admitted with a shy smile.  “Just not enough to make a special trip to see Archie.”

“Is that a yes?” Jack asked, looking hopeful.

“Of course it is,” Ianto replied, kissing Jack before climbing out of bed to dress and pack a small overnight bag for the two of them.

***

The evening was lovely.  They had dinner in a small restaurant with an intimate setting and excellent food.  Ianto’s appetite was slowly improving, and he made a good effort, though it was clear that he was trying to please Jack, as well.  Once the waiter had cleared their dessert dishes and poured two very respectable cups of decaf (at Jack’s insistence), Jack slid a small package across the table.

“Jack,” Ianto flushed.  “It’s too much.”

“Never,” Jack rejoined with a roguish grin.  He leaned forward and took Ianto’s hand.  “I know you’re not used to being spoiled, but my mission now is to get you used to it.”  He squeezed Ianto’s hand to ward off his objection and continued, “It makes me happy, so I’m going to have to insist.  And also, your friends and your grandmother are not my responsibility.”

Ianto huffed out a quiet laugh and looked at Jack shyly.  “Thank you,” he whispered, reaching for the gift and unwrapping it carefully.  His breath hitched when a Cartier box came into view.  He looked up sharply at Jack, who looked… nervous.  That short-circuited any scold that may have been on Ianto’s tongue. 

Ianto, who kept Torchwood’s accounts on Jack’s behalf had long ago realized that some of those accounts were actually Jack’s personal accounts.  They never spoke of it, but Ianto surmised Jack had made strategic decisions as to when to cash in on his knowledge of the 20^th century as he lived through it.  Exceptionally small investments made at just the right time had yielded profound results; even after distributing vast amounts to various charities and bolstering Flat Holm’s budget, Jack Harkness was likely one of the wealthiest men in Britain.

So Ianto knew that Jack could afford whatever was in the box.  But he had issues feeling worthy of any sort of expenditure, be it time or money, and Jack had already done so much for him.  He felt Jack take his hand, and he looked up into his lover’s eyes.

“You are worth the moon and all the stars above, my Love,” he murmured before leaning in for a soft, loving kiss.  When he leaned back again, he smiled sweetly.  “And I’m willing to spend every last minute of our very long lives convincing you of that.”

“Jack,” Ianto whispered, leaning in for another soft kiss.

When their lips parted, Jack grinned.  “Go on, then!”

Ianto laughed and sat back, pausing a beat before opening the box.  The humor in his face morphed into disbelief.  “Is that…” he glanced up at a grinning Jack and looked back at the work of fucking art in the jewellery box.  “That’s the Mysterious,” he whispered.

“Man knows his pocket watches,” Jack smiled fondly.

“Jack, it’s…” 

It wasn’t a scold, now.  It was a crisis of conscience.  He didn’t…  He didn’t des…

“Hey,” Jack cupped his cheek and Ianto looked up sharply, his eyes almost frightened.  Jack’s heart clenched, but he managed a soft smile.  “The moon and all the stars.”

Ianto’s complexion had gone all splotchy like it did when Ianto’s embarrassment was borne of shame, and Jack resolved to help his lover replace every thought and feeling that caused those splotches with the absolute certainty of his own worth.  And if he had to play dirty…

“You don’t like it,” Jack gave a downcast look.

“No!” Ianto almost shouted, pulling the box closer to himself possessively, and Jack ducked his head to hide his amusement.  “No, I love it, Jack.  It’s just… too much.”

“Why?” Jack asked.  “You know the cost is nothing to me, but what is important is that you like it.  I was worried it was a bit of a gamble, but I thought you’d like the tradition of it, as well as its subversion.

Ianto stared at Jack.  How the hell did he do that?  That was exactly one of the things he loved about the bloody watch.  The sobriety of the white gold case, coupled with the dark color of the face and pin-striped bezel was subverted by the fact that that color was purple.  The simplicity of the crown was subverted by fact that it was formed by a sapphire cabochon.  The traditional look of the roman numerals around the face was subverted by how they had been pulled and skewed and stretched to the left to make room for the hole in the right side that held the double tourbillon complication.

“Everything about it is a contradiction,” Ianto said, smiling, tracing a finger lovingly along the edge of the watch, still nestled in the protective silken folds of its box.

“And yet, it works,” Jack said, laying his hand over Ianto’s, which was still clutching the gift box.  “And its contradictions are what make it so beautiful.”

Ianto blushed – the pretty, non-splotchy kind, this time, because he realized Jack wasn’t just talking about the watch.  Jack grinned and kissed him.

“So,” Ianto cleared his throat and tried to tame his happy smile.  “Did it come with a display stand?”

“Two, actually,” Jack smiled proudly.  He’d kicked in extra, for that.  “So you can display it at home on your dresser on days you don’t wear it, and on days you do wear it, you can also have a display stand on your desk, in case you get called out into the field.”  He knew Ianto would be worried about that.  “But also, it’s insured, if you get called out unexpectedly.”

Ianto’s smile broadened at those tokens of Jack’s thoughtfulness. 

“But for when you leave it on your desk, you’ll need this,” Jack added, taking Ianto’s hand and placing something in it.

Ianto looked down, and his eyes widened as he realized what he was looking at.  The splotches threatened an encore appearance, but Jack cupped the younger man’s cheek again, causing him to tear his eyes away from the gift in his hand and look at his lover.

“None of that, now,” Jack admonished.  “It wasn’t your fault.”

Ianto tried to squelch the shame that had arisen at the memory of the last time he had seen the watch in his hand.  It was Jack’s RAF navigator’s watch, issued in 1941, but Ianto had pretty much commandeered it, mostly for its usefulness as a stopwatch.  But he had loved the bloody thing, and more than a few of his tears in the wake of the breakdown that landed him in St. Mungo’s had been for the watch, which had been a casualty of the beating he had taken that night.  He had thought it ruined.

Jack explained that Toshiko had found a master watchmaker to repair the antique, which Ianto had left on Jack’s desk just before they discovered he had poisoned himself.  The man had been a true artist, restoring the watch to its original glory.  It had taken a great deal of time and had only been finished in the last couple of days.  Tosh had been kind enough to have it couriered to their hotel that afternoon, along with the Cartier watch that Jack had snagged back in the spring, just after he’d caught Ianto drooling over the article introducing the watch as the jeweller’s latest offering.

***