"
I was still sitting there staring at the entrance to the tunnel when I heard fast crisp steps approaching, someone walking steadily, heavily and fast.
“Get up, Lestat.”
I turned and looked up into the face of my mother.
There she was after all these years in her old khaki safari jacket and faded jeans, her hair in a braid over her shoulder, her pale face like a porcelain mask.
“Come on, stand up!” she said, those cold blue eyes flashing in the lights of the burning building at the mouth of the tunnel.
And in that moment as love and resentment clashed with humbling fury, I was back at home hundreds of years ago, walking with her in those cold barren fields, with her haranguing me in that impatient voice. “Get up. Move. Come on.”
“What are you going to do if I don’t?” I snarled. “Slap me?”
And that’s what she did. She slapped me.
"
—Gabrielle’s introduction in the novel Prince Lestat (Anne Rice)
"And if time can’t give us freedom to do what we want, what good is time?"
—Lestat de Lioncourt in the book Prince Lestat (Anne Rice)
"
‘Don’t lose track of your own life,’ Jack told her. ‘You mustn’t let it drift away. Torchwood can consume everything. Everyone…’
His voice trailed off. He’d seen Ianto, their receptionist, walking up the spiral staircase. Ianto was about her age, maybe a few years younger, and not bad looking, she decided. She hadn’t worked him out yet. He seemed happy to do the more mundane work in Torchwood – the fetch and-carry stuff, whether that was a Tesco bag full of shopping or body bag full of Weevil.
He was headed for the coffee machine, and smiled in recognition as he spotted them leaning against the balcony rail. ‘Sorry, didn’t see you there.’ He waggled a freshly rinsed coffee pot at them. ‘I was about to get fresh.’
Jack smiled at this comment. He shrugged off his coat, and draped it over the rail. ‘Ianto, you’ve anticipated my need for something warm and wet.’
Ianto rolled his eyes theatrically. ‘Very amusing, sir. I should have guessed that, whatever I say, you’ll always want to top me.’
‘You wish,’ Jack told him.
"
—Torchwood novel - Another Life (Peter Anghelides)
"Jack and Ianto weren’t speaking, she noticed. They were tiptoeing round each other. Almost like … no, they had had a row. And that was another sign of how mad things were. Jack and Ianto never rowed. Shagged like rabbits, occasionally shot at each other, but never actual couple-y things like a row. Blimey. She toyed with ringing up Martha. For a chat, a pre-wedding gossip, something boring and normal."
—Torchwood novel - Risk Assessment (James Goss)
"He had always been able to sleep in the tightest confines, believing the reasons he couldn’t sleep in the massive beds that everyone in this century owned - no matter how tiny their bedroom- was as much to with being buried alive as it was that too much open space made him feel disconnected, like he was drifting from his moorings. It was a feeling he’d thought he’d overcome; however, in the aftermath of recent experiences, Jack had once again found himself drawn to tight spaces."
"Mostly just shopping, dating and cats. But there’s also an online encyclopaedia that’s quite useful. And there’s a lot of video clips. Again, mostly cats. But also some history."
—Ianto Jones describing what is the internet in the Torchwood novel Risk Assessment (James Goss)
"
I wished to have a word with you… about Jack. About… you and Jack.’
Ianto made a tiny, awkward noise.
Agnes leant forward, smiling. ‘Am I correct in understanding that there is an intimacy between the two of you?’
Ianto nodded, looking as if he’d like to hide under a rock.
‘No doubt one initiated by Harkness,’ said Agnes soothingly. ‘There is nothing to blame yourself for. You certainly wouldn’t be the first member of Torchwood to be corrupted by the Captain’s reprehensible morals. Sometimes I wonder if that man is incapable of forming a platonic friendship. He has all the swordsmanship of a Frenchie. It’s common knowledge that the men of that country would seduce a table with an attractively turned leg. I rather fear the furniture of Torchwood is similarly prey to that man’s depravities. But no matter. I do not concern myself with the despoiling of desking. As far as I’m concerned, he can slake his lusts on all manner of inanimate objects. No, rather it’s perishable goods… it is you I am worried about.’
She laid a hand on Ianto’s and met his shrinking eye.
‘Do you have feelings for Captain Harkness, Mr Jones?’
‘Yes,’ said Ianto simply.
‘You should be aware…’ Agnes coughed. ‘Well, it’s just that I have known several of the Captain’s companions. I’ve even met a fair few of them. My point is that those close to Harkness tend to die. He just isn’t aware that his invulnerability doesn’t extend to those he loves.’
‘I know,’ said Ianto quietly.
Agnes looked at him, hard. ‘Well, I understand. It’s entirely your choice. But I must warn you there’s only one outcome. And I am sorry for you.’
‘I see,’ said Ianto, tightly. ‘Thank you.’
And they sat quietly for a while, while the empty radio hissed away.
"
—Torchwood novel - Risk Assessment (James Goss)
"
Ianto indicated a work bench tucked into an alcove close to the steps leading down to the Autopsy Room. On the bench was a shattered chunk of what looked to have once been a football sized orb of some silvery, iridescent material. The orb fragment, which rippled gently with light, was nestled within a complex cradle of monitoring equipment, not unlike a miniature version of the work station area. Ianto’s attention was snagged by a scrolling bank of data on a monitor screen.
‘These enzyme readings are going through the roof,’ he said.
'Meaning?’
'Meaning that the pod’s rate of regeneration is increasing exponentially.’
Jack arched an eyebrow. He appreciated Ianto’s efforts to step into the considerable breach left by the deaths of Owen and Tosh, but he couldn’t deny that the extra workload his friend and colleague had recently taken on affected his focus on occasion. Even the normally exceptional standard of Ianto’s coffee had slipped a little these past months. Not that Jack would have said anything. Ianto would have been devastated.
"
—Torchwood novel - Bay of the Dead (Mark Morris)
"
The book was old, its faded yellow cover stained and smelling faintly of cigarettes. Jack opened it, discovering its pages hollowed out and Gwen’s dad’s watch and wedding ring inside. Jack began tossing books from the shelves next to the window.
Ten minutes later he found the Torchwood SUV’s key fob hidden in a hardback copy of Brave New World . After another twenty minutes, he’d discovered the wrecked vehicle hidden in the nearby lock-up.
Clicking twice on the key, Jack opened the vehicle’s hatch and the wave of images and smells that assaulted his senses took him to his knees. Oranges and lilies and musk. He could see the team clambering into the vehicle and racing out to the Brecon Beacons, or speeding through the narrow backstreets of Cardiff. Tosh in the backseat, working on her laptop, Owen mocking her mercilessly, Gwen mocking Owen, and Ianto, dear sweet Ianto, taking care of them all.
Jack leaned back on his heels and closed his eyes. Ianto touched his cheek, put his lips on Jack’s, his hands moving under Jack’s shirt.
Jack let out a sob, and opened his eyes.
"
—Torchwood novel - Exodus Code (John and Carole E. Barrowman)
