#timecptn

        everyone else has gone home; ianto leans against the doorframe to jack’s office ( it became his again quickly, a space that was always meant to be inhabited by him ), but he doesn’t say anything immediately. there are questions burning the tip of his tongue, wanting to know where he was, what he did, whether he missed him ( him, specifically; not the whole team ), but ianto swallows them down. he ignores, too, the snide, bitter comments he’s had in his head, over this four months, the abandoned feelings and the way that they all stepped up and coped just fine without jack. the way gwen was a good leader, and ianto’s more confident than he’s ever been.

‘  WHATEVER  YOU’RE  THINKING  ,  ’  the  doctor  said  ,  pushing  his  coat  out  of  the  way  so  that  he  could  sit  down  on  the  leather  chair  ,  pulling  the  keyboard  towards  him  &&  wiping  away  some  of  the  crumbs  left  over  .  ‘  i’m  NOT  listening  .  ’  he  began  tapping  away  before  reaching  into  his  pocket  to  find  his  sonic  screwdriver  .  flicking  a  few  of  the  switches  ,  he  pressed  it  up  against  the  screen  then  drew  back  .  ‘  actually  !  ’  the  doctor  prompted  ,  tapping  at  the  keyboard  some  more  .

‘  i  stopped  listening  APPROXIMATELY  three  minutes  &&  fifty-two  seconds  ago  .  ’  he  smirked  at  his  little  joke  ,  though  it  wasn’t  really  a  joke  .  more  of  a  honest  comment  on  the  whole  thing  .  typing  away  ,  the  doctor  brought  up  the  systems  he  needed  then  plugged  in  the  final  bit  of  code  .  then  curiosity  got  the  better  of  him  .

        it’s snowing already. ianto checked the forecast this morning, so it’s not a complete surprise, but it wasn’t expected for another couple of hours, at least. there are flakes melting in jack’s hair as he laces up his skates, though --- and it’s not like they can really get any colder than they would anyway, on a giant sheet of ice, is it? ( his internal monologue is going on about the bloody weather because it gives him less butterflies than the fact that he’s here with jack. and they’re good butterflies, great butterflies, but they’re fluttering up a frenzy inside his stomach all the same. he’s already got enough of a job trying not to fall on his arse, or something equally embarrassing. )

        she doesn’t mean to scream; when you’re dressed as anachronistically as she is, it’s a sure fire way to draw attention to yourself, and given that most people here seem to be unfazed by what’s going on around them as they hurry to...somewhere, it’s not the best idea. but then pippa was not expecting projectiles to fall from the sky and make the house she’s standing next to explode, sending her reeling backwards, steadying herself on the shoulder of a man and finding herself too shocked to even manage an apology.  ❝ um... ❞

        she can breathe, up here; three years in caves and abandoned buildings, three years burrowing and fighting, and for the first time in almost as long as she can remember, amari can stand here, on this rooftop, and have nothing above her but the stars in the sky. until her vortex manipulator vibrates on her wrist, she’s still, watching the people of this era going about their lives, releasing tension with each puff of clean, quiet air --- but her wriststrap is still set to alert her to movement nearby, and up here---