7

Ianto received a present one day. Jack had a laptop delivered for him.

This was one of the few times they had a discussion outside of meal times. Ianto seemed to protest, but Jack repeated that he thought that would help speed his writing progress.

He revealed that he had read several of the yellow pads and found them to be quite good. "Sufficient for publishing," was his phrase.

Ianto blushed, one of his rare few times.

Jack also had a satellite installed that year to bring them Internet access, but no TV. Before this, Jack would mail a memory chip of his works to his publisher. What mail he got before that was in letter form or he answered on his phone.

This weird way of distancing himself from the outside world seemed to agree with them both, Ianto never missing the modern life he had left behind.

This one was more comfortable anyway.

His quiet mentorship of Ianto got his first book published. And they started sitting in the living room in the evening, each in their own tall padded chair. Jack had gotten them both e-reader tablets and they read each other's works.

Jack wrote Romance, Ianto wrote mystery-adventure stories.

They'd make notes in the margins and as bookmarks of sentence improvements and apparent plot holes. Their sharing sped both of their works, and improved them.

Ianto started putting love interests into his stories. Jack started including more mystery and action in his. Eventually, they became co-authors on a few longer stories. And readers started finding the other's works. Both Ianto and Jack became well-known under their own names, as well as many pennames.

When Ianto started bringing childbirth and child-raising scenes into his stories, Jack brought this up at one of their meals. Ianto thought this was an interesting element that he wanted to explore.

Ianto started a children's series. Jack produced a series with a family adventure in it.

Unknown to Jack, Ianto had added a freestanding shelf to the next room, and had put books on it. When this was filled, he started stacking books on the floor beside it. They were neat, tidy stacks and organized by size with the largest and thickest nearest the floor. A small stool kept the lowest one high enough to be swept under.

One day, Ianto found that one of the kitchen chairs had been moved to the room, and a book had been left on it. A bookmark was in a particular spot. He left it exactly as he found it.

Day after day, he saw that the bookmark moved further through the book. And when it was about to reach the end, another book took its place and the process continued.

Jack soon found a nightstand had been placed on the far side of their bed. A book was on it, with a bookmark. He noticed it, but didn't touch it. Its bookmark moved through the book gradually, and then another book would replace it.

With a silent agreement that was sealed with matching bookmarks, they began to read one another's work.

Some months later, Jack brought an antique single bed with new springs and mattress from town. He assembled this in the other upstairs bedroom. Ianto later brought back a wardrobe and chest of drawers, plus a nightstand. Jack then brought a small set of shelves. And put Ianto's series of children's books in it, neatly arranged.

Ianto had Jack's series of family stories placed on a bottom shelf.

Jack and Ianto still live and write in that old farmhouse at the end of their long, dusty road.

In the evenings, they still sit in their tall padded chairs and make notes on each other's writing. Meanwhile, a child is between them, quietly playing with his toys or reads books on the hooked rug that covers their living room floor.

In the afternoons, you can see the three of them walking around the farm, hand-in-hand as they check the cattle and get their inspirations for more writing.

Their child has plenty of ruled pads to draw and write in.

And a sister on the way.

As it should be with a couple who deserve a long loving if quiet life.

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Thanks for reading. As you see, I had the idea for a story here but it never seemed to gain traction. I wanted to share it though, a snippet of a world without Torchwood, aliens or loss. Just them in a slow dance. Something we all wished for them really.