500-word Doctor Who/Torchwood ficlet (Master/Ianto)

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While the Captain's Away
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Master/Ianto, implied Jack/Ianto
Disclaimer: Just blame RTD. It's easier that way.


Two weeks, four days, seven hours, fifty minutes, and forty-seven seconds. That was how long Jack had been missing. Roughly. Ianto wasn’t trying to be precise. He was busy tidying up the place, updating the literature in the Tourist Office, and moping about.

See the sights of Cardiff, but make sure to hang on to your loved ones. They could disappear at any moment without a single, bloody word.

He’d actually thought of printing that up. It wasn’t like anyone actually ever visited. Two weeks, four days, eight hours, one minute, and ten seconds after Jack went missing, Ianto was proven wrong.

The team had left in a hurry. Rift activity on the opposite side of the city. When he stepped into the false front, a man was rifling through the keychain display, looking rather bored.

“Why hello, Ianto Jones.” The man brightened as soon as Ianto walked in. “I’ve got a proposition for you. Would you like to hear it?”

The visitor was instantly recognizable, both in face and in voice. “Is this about a tour, Mister Saxon?”

“Oh, I’ve seen enough of this place, thank you. Grumpy, miserable people. Rain. Miserable people. Rift in Time and Space. Rain. Rain. I do rather like that suit, however. Looks smashing on you."

"Sir?"

"Oh, call me, Harry. Well, Prime Minister would be lovely, but I’m going to have to wait for that. You people have this grand illusion the election actually presents you with a choice.”

Ianto eyed the public figure. He couldn’t remember how was he supposed to handle tourists.

Harold Saxon placed his elbows on the counter, and cradled his chin in his hands. “Say ‘yes, please, Mister Saxon.’”

Ianto frowned. “I’m afraid I’ve missed the question.”

“I am not a patient man, Ianto Jones.”

“Yes please, Mister Saxon.” It was an automatic reply to the intonation in his voice.

"Hmm. No. That won't do." 'Mister Saxon smirked. “Call me Master."

“I don’t —”

He slapped his hand down on the counter. “Just do as I say!”

He coughed, then regained his composure by smoothing out his jacket. “Ianto, I'm afraid we've started off wrong,” He practically cooed, walking around the front.

Where was Jack? Ianto took a step back.

Saxon was behind the counter now, coming closer.

Ianto loosened his tie, trying to get air.

Harold Saxon smirked, “Catch on quick, do you, Ianto Jones? I didn’t even tell you what I wanted.”

The protocol for dealing with a hostile tourist was—
This wasn’t a tourist. This was the Prime Minister. No. The election wasn’t until—
How long had Jack been gone?

“What do you want?” The counter was digging into his back.

“To take from him.”

"Why?"

"Because I can. Isn't that a good enough reason?"

He faintly registered the ticking of his stopwatch. How long had Jack been gone?

"Isn't it?" Cold hands worked under his shirt.

How long had Jack been gone? Cold lips pressed against his temple. "Isn't it, Ianto Jones?"

"Yes, Master."