In appreciation of Gareth David Lloyd

Jack was standing at the head of the Boardroom table, the LCD screen behind him showing a rotating Torchwood logo, providing a dramatic backdrop to his muscular frame: constantly changing and yet constantly the same, moving and seemingly at rest.

merindab:

Every time I see a gifset of Chris Eccleston as the doctor, I can’t help but think fondly of him. My doctor :)

Ianto blinked in surprise. A hand was beckoning him, waggling its fingers. He worked out a fraction of a second later that it wasn’t an alien claw, it was Jack’s arm, the shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, waving him into the room. “Excellent timing,” said Jack. There was no sound of tiredness in his voice, but he stretched both arms wide, shrugged his shoulders, as though starting to get the stiffness out. Even from the doorway, Ianto heard him breathe in deeply through his nose. “That’s a new blend, isn’t it? What magic have you worked with those beans, Ianto?” Another deep inhalation. “Same old aftershave, though.”

“Good morning.” Ianto moved forward into the office, his eyes growing accustomed to the lamp light. He didn’t ask whether Jack had slept well. Jack frequently stayed overnight here in his office, and although there was a bed in the room, Ianto had never once found him asleep. Come to think of it, he’d never seen Jack dozing off in meetings either, or exhausted at the end of a long day. Jack moved the formaldehyde jar into a deep desk drawer, scooped up a pile of papers from the desk, and locked those in the drawer with it. This made space for the coffee tray, which held a cafetiere and two cups, plus a notebook with phone messages annotated neatly in Ianto’s meticulous handwriting.

If you miss Nine and you know it clap your hands