SilverFish by a_silver_story | Chapter 11
Title: SilverFish
Chapter 11/??
Author a_silver_story
Genre: Alternate Universe
Rating: NC-17 overall
Warnings: None for this chapter
Summary: Jack and Ianto in prison - with plot, and lots and lots of smut. Sorry, I can't help it.
Disclaimer: If I owned anything in this, I'd be a rich rich rich bitch. However, I am not a rich rich rich bitch so you may all, therefore, assume I own nothing. Which I don't. It all belongs RTD and the BBC, in case any of you didn't know. Now pass the retcon ...
Torchwood Index
First Chapter
Jack lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling unblinkingly. He could hear his heart monitor bleeping steadily and rhythmically close by, sensed the to and fro movement of the hospital night time shift and consciously counted his breaths in and his breaths out to occupy his mind from his restless boredom.
Boredom, and worry.
His breath caught as he thought about it, and he finally moved to sit up. He scratched his forehead then put his head in his hands, rubbed his eyes and stretched as best he could.
There was nothing he could do but wait, trapped as he was in the hospital, bound by the long-chained cuff to his bed and the medication that was still cleaning out his system. In his head, Jack had been trying to list those most likely to want to steal Ianto. Jack himself had lots of enemies, but he knew very little about Ianto outside of the few snatches he'd been told. He knew that Ianto was taking the sentence for his useless ex-girlfriend whom he hadn't heard from since he'd been arrested, but it was possible that maybe he had enemies.
All he could do was wait - for news, for a ransom note, whatever. Not knowing anything was worse than knowing exactly what was going on, wasn't it?
There was a soft knock, and Jack raised his eyes to the door and saw his Dr. Houghton standing there, looking a like he hadn't had quiet enough sleep between shifts and really needed a day off.
“How're you feeling?” asked Houghton.
“Like shit,” Jack replied.
“It's awful what happened,” he told him regretfully as he entered the room to look over Jack's chart to see if there'd be any change over night. Jack got the feeling Dr. Houghton was building up to something, and it was something he didn't want to say to or tell Jack.
“I don't want to talk about it,” Jack said, resolutely.
“Were you close?”
“He's my cell mate. We have to be close.”
“Were you … 'close' close?”
Jack raised his eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because I've got 'that' feeling, and you really should tell your doctor if you are - especially given your … situation. You confined situation.”
Jack cleared his throat. “We're just friends.”
Houghton narrowed his eyes at him minutely, then lowered them to the chart. “The nurses tell me you haven't slept. Do you suffer from insomnia regularly?”
“I'm jacked up on however many drugs and I'm worried about my cell mate,” Jack replied defensively, folding his arms.
“You're 'jacked up' on drugs that tend to have sedating effects,” Dr. Houghton told him, tucking the chart under his arm and moving to sit on the edge of Jack's bed. “Listen to me, Jack,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I can be discrete. I'm just going to tell you straight out: you've got chlamydia, and according to your records, you didn't have it when you went into prison. Clearly, you've had sex with someone.”
Jack's jaw tensed. He stared at the weave on his itchy hospital blanket, then let out the deep breath he'd been holding. “Ianto never topped,” he murmured quietly. “And with him, we always used protection.”
Dr. Houghton raised his eyebrow.
“We did,” Jack insisted. “I was always careful with him. Always.” Sighing, Jack rubbed his forehead. “But … before him … Before him there was someone else.”
“Somebody still in prison?”
“No.”
“And with Mr. Jones … No accidents? The condom never broke?”
“No! Never - I was careful with him … Oh. Wait … one time … we were just so caught up … it just … We forgot.” Jack bit down on his lip hard and guilt flooded him. Shit.
Houghton nodded to himself, opening up the chart and jotting something down. “I can get you your antibiotics immediately,” he said. “I can also see to it that you're kept in for the next week so that I can make sure you take them.”
“Week?” Jack repeated, then made a dejected sound. “I'm going out of my mind and I haven't even been here two days. And what about Ianto?”
“It'll be over before you know it, and I'll see to Ianto when he's found,” Houghton assured him, standing up. He hesitated. “When you go back, would you like to take some condoms with you?”
“If they find him, and he's okay.”
Houghton nodded, replaced the chart and left Jack in peace.
Once he'd gone, Jack turned over onto his side and curled up into himself. He breathed out heavily through his nose and squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to stop the tears leaking out.
It didn't work.
~*~*~*~
There must be some form of air supply, Ianto was beginning to think. He'd calculated upon waking up that he probably had about two and a half to three hours of air, but he'd definitely been down there at least eight times that.
Well, it felt like it was at least eight times that.
He was aching all over, desperate to move his arms. He wanted to stretch out, take some pressure off is chest and breathe deeply. Every now and then he drifted off, for lack of anything else to do, only to wake up a few minutes later as footsteps stomped over the ground above him.
Ianto coughed weakly, the force of it still managing to make his head knock the wall behind him. His stomach grumbled painfully, and he bit his lip to distract from it.
Where the Hell was he?
To pass the time, Ianto found himself fantasising - about getting out, mainly. His head played through a scene of police officers and detectives sat around a table with a big evidence board behind them, and Jack was sat at the head of it. He's quiet, thinking, and then suddenly something snaps into place and he just knows where Ianto is. There was a montage of high-speed police driving and officers digging up the lobby of a huge mansion before Jack, in frustration, grabs a shovel from one of the useless officers who is going too slow and setting to work on it himself.
Ianto could imagine his own elation, hearing the shovels coming closer, scratching on the concrete slabs that separated him from whatever there was above and the light finally touching his skin, making him squint. He wouldn't know it was Jack at first, until rough hands dragged him up and strong arms held him close and he'd just know it was him.
With a sigh into the cramped darkness, Ianto snapped out of it. He wasn't a fourteen-year-old girl with a crush on Clark Kent.
He knew that dying like this would be like simply falling asleep. He'd seen it on Bones. Unless, of course, there really was an air supply from the outside (topside?) world and they were starving him to death.
Shivering, he could feel the cold seeping right into his bones - the sort of cold that made him believe he couldn't ever possibly be warm again. The cold didn't help his cramped muscles or his freezing, aching joints, either. If he dwelt on it too long, he'd probably realise just how much pain he was in.
Squeezing his eyes shut, his shivers became wracked sobs, and he hoped above all else that Jack would find him soon.
~*~*~*~
“Well?” Jack demanded the moment Inspector Doncaster entered his room.
“We've been unable to identify the kidnappers,” he informed him. “That's all I can tell you.”
“No it isn't,” Jack scowled. “Go on.”
Doncaster gave him an aggravated look, then closed the door to the room. “Evidence suggests the kidnappers are on the payroll of a drug baron that has ties to Mr. Jones from the past.”
“Ties?”
“Mr. Jones was involved with a drug ring - an involvement that landed him in prison. I'm guessing he never told you that.”
“I know he's innocent,” Jack said.
“Of course,” nodded Doncaster, humouring him. “For some reason or other, they appear to have unfinished business with him.”
“Don't hold out on me, Doncaster,” Jack warned, and Doncaster gritted his teeth.
“Did you know that you both share solicitors from the same firm?” he asked. “A firm that, while highly reputable, also has a few skeletons in its closet?”
“Smith & Saxon?” frowned Jack. “I've met both John Smith and Lucy Saxon. I've been represented by them both, and … Smith … We have history.”
“You seem to have missed a connection: Where there's a Mrs. Saxon, there's a Mr. Saxon.”
A penny dropped. “Oh. Harold Saxon?”
“And Mr. Jones worked for Smith & Saxon.”
“As a legal secretary.”
“An overlooked enough job that he could easily manipulate a few files here and there,” hinted Inspector Doncaster. “He wasn't very clever at it, though. He got caught. Mr. Saxon's appeal was denied and Mr. Jones found himself in prison with him. Now … I've been asking around … You don't get on with Mr. Saxon, do you, Captain?”
Jack was still digesting the information. “He's innocent.”
“Mr. Saxon?”
“No. Ianto. Everything he does, he does well - He'd never have been caught.”
“You were … close?”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Yes. Close. 'Close' close.”
“I see … well … this could change things.”
“Oh?” Jack asked, a challenge in his tone. “How?”
“Perhaps Mr. Jones might have a jealous rival that set this up? One that knew of his past, and could petition with or pay Saxon to take him out of the picture?”
“I … I have no idea. It can't have been … If that is the case, it is an unrequited love that hasn't been expressed. I have only one ex with the contacts and motive to do this, and it's not him. It's not.”
Doncaster's eyebrows raised disbelievingly. “I'll take his name, just to be sure.”
Jack pressed his lips together into a fine line.
“Captain? Please? To help Ianto?”
Jack hung his head. “John Hart.”
“Your former cell mate?”
“Him.”
Doncaster nodded, and got to his feet. “That should be all for now, Captain,” he said, and began to make his way out.
“He's not your man!” Jack called after him. “Doncaster! He's not your man!”
~*~*~*~
It was getting hard to tell the difference between what was real and what wasn't.
Well, he knew the ground was real, and the walls all around him were real, and the slab of ceiling above him was real. He just couldn't tell if the little Borrower-sized Jack fast asleep on the back of his hand was real or not.
Ianto wasn't even sure there was enough light to see the Borrower-sized Jack, but he was there, and Ianto could see him, and he felt real enough for now.
Borrower Jack stirred, stretching out and yawning. He opened his tiny blue eyes, and squinted at Ianto.
“Holding up okay?” he asked, as if being trapped where Ianto was was the easiest thing in the world.
“I can't decide if I'm feeling better because you're here, or worse because I know I'm so bored and lonely and unstimulated that my mind is entertaining itself by showing me hallucinations - already.”
Borrower Jack crawled up close to Ianto's face and kissed his nose. “It'll get better,” he promised.
“I'd be very surprised if it could get worse.”
A little kiss was pressed to his nose again. “Try and sleep again.”
“I can't. It hurts too much,” Ianto sniffed.
“What if I climb onto your shoulder and stroke your earlobe?” Borrower Jack offered. “You always fall asleep when I do that.”
Ianto's brow crinkled, and he nodded as best he could. He closed his eyes as he felt tiny hands and feet clambering up the material covering his chest and the pressure of footsteps on his shoulder. Finally, he felt that comforting pressure and a low, hummed song by his ear, and he found himself relaxing and drifting off.
Maybe Borrower Jack could stay a bit longer, he decided.
~*~*~*~
Jack tried his best to look 'fine', and straightened out his blanket. Finally, he heard her feet thudding on the linoleum floor, drawing closer as she ran, and he prepared himself for the canon ball that would inevitably throw itself at him in only a few moments.
“Daddy!” squealed his little girl, her messy black hair sticking out everywhere like a pixie. She launched herself onto the bed and into his open arms, hugging him tight. “Missed you, missed you, missed you,” she repeated into his shoulder.
Lucia appeared in the doorway, her disdain rolling off her waves. “I'm here for her,” she said with no preamble. “Don't even speak to me.”
Alice clicked her tongue and her mother, then proceeded to tell her Daddy all about her day at school. In return, Jack started telling her some fairytale adventure stories he'd been making up in his head, adding in voices, sound effects and pulling ridiculous faces. Lucia sat by the window, flicking through a magazine and checking her watch. When Jack and Alice had had an hour, she sighed and got to her feet.
Instantly, Alice started crying.
“D-don't want t-t-to g-gooooooooooooo!” she wailed, and Jack hugged her tightly, trying to placate her with muttered promises. A nurse came rushing in, thinking a child had hurt themselves, only to give a pitying glance when she realised what the problem was.
Eventually, Lucia peeled Alice away from Jack and marched her out. Jack leaned back into his pillows and drew in a deep, shuddering breath. He could feel he was about to cry again, and kicked himself.
Doncaster still hadn't come back, and the lack of news was making Jack more agitated by the second. At least with Alice there, he'd been able to relax for an hour, take his mind off his own uselessness, but now she was gone he felt even more useless and worried than before.
Pressing the call button, he decided to see if he could persuade someone to take him for a walk somewhere.
~*~*~*~
“Jack?” suggested Ianto.
Borrower Jack applauded. “Yay! Now, your turn.”
“I spy with my little eye, something beginning with … 'D'.”
“Darkness,” Borrower Jack said instantly.
“Of course you know that,” Ianto scowled. “You're from my head.”
“By that reasoning you know all mine.”
“I know all yours because the real Jack is that predictable,” Ianto said, the corners of his mouth pulling into a fond smile. “You know, I think I love him.”
Borrower Jack folded his arms. “And how did that happen?”
“I'm not sure. I knew I liked him. He's gorgeous. But I think I might love him - or I'm beginning to love him. Or something. I don't know. He's confusing. It might not be love - it might be hero-worship.”
“I'd worship him if he came and got us out of this mess,” Borrower Jack huffed.
Ianto's stomach squeaked and growled, and he groaned. “I'm getting really hungry,” he complained. “How long do you reckon we've been down here?”
Borrower Jack shrugged, clambering into the small gap between Ianto's chin and neck and sitting down. Ianto laughed. “Tickles,” he chuckled. Borrower Jack wiggled a little, and Ianto laughed a bit more, then winced in pain.
There wasn't enough room to laugh, really.
His stomach growled again, and Ianto moaned loudly. “Hurry up, Jack!” he cursed under his breath, and his miniature imaginary counterpart 'mmm'd his agreement.
“What's this?” Borrower Jack asked after a while, tugging on the wooden beads around Ianto's neck.
“Jack gave them to me. You know that.”
“We also know he probably stole them from somebody,” Borrower Jack pointed out.
Ianto scrunched up his shoulders and lowered his chin to force Borrower Jack away from the necklace. “It's the thought that counts,” he sulked.
Borrower Jack 'mmm'd again. “Do you think he's thinking of us now?” he asked.
Ianto felt his breath hitch. “I hope so,” he replied quietly. “If they've told him we're gone.”
They fell quiet as the familiar sound of rhythmic footsteps echoed down to them.
“Who do you think it is?” Borrower Jack asked him.
Ianto tried to wriggle. “Do I have to say it?”
He could feel Borrower Jack's eyes weighing him up, and heard his tiny sigh. “No. You don't have to,” he conceded.
They paused as they heard more footsteps, and a man with a commanding tone of voice barked some orders. Ianto's heart skipped a beat, and a strange, scratching sound permeated the cold concrete above him.
He felt Borrower Jack standing. “I think they're digging us up.”
“Do you think it's Jack?”
“Whoever it is, I welcome them.”
“Whomever,” Ianto corrected. “A figment of my imagination should know that.”
Borrower Jack seemed suitably chastised, sitting back down and crossing his legs to wait. “Whomever they are,” he repeated, “I hope they're the good guys.”
~*~*~*~
Jack tossed and turned. It was nearly four AM, but he couldn't sleep. He'd refused a sleeping aid tonight, in the hope maybe news would come before the critical 'first forty-eight hours' were up. There wasn't many of them left, and Jack was getting … strangely shaky.
He wasn't worried any more.
He was scared.
Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to drift between conscious and not, half an ear on the corridor outside as night shifts dragged on and on.
Then he felt it.
A slight disturbance in the rhythm of things; a hesitation in the routine. A moment or so later, he heard Inspector Doncaster's voice asking if Jack was still awake.
Jack sat up, and Doncaster glanced over. Grimly, he entered the room, turning on Jack's bedside lamp. His Constable loitered in the doorway, looking equally grim and avoided eye contact with Jack.
Jack swallowed. Bad news, then.
“Just … out with it,” he said, bracing himself.
Doncaster took a deep breath. “We've found a body.”
~*~*~*~
They were right on top of him now, Ianto could feel it. Borrower Jack had become impatient, hopping from one foot to the other until Ianto snapped at him. Then there had been the sound of metal hitting the concrete, and pre-emptively Borrower Jack had hidden in Ianto's clothes.
The slab raised, and the light hit Ianto like a battering ram. He couldn't see as he was dragged up and out onto what felt like possibly marble, screwing his eyes shut defensively and trying not to panic when he realised he couldn't recognise a single voice around him. Straining his ears, he tried to listen for Jack, or any sign that Jack was close, or that Jack was being fetched, or Jack was being told. He heard none.
A hand collided with the side of his face, and a woman's voice snapped at him, “Open your eyes!”
He opened them to no more than slits, and recognised the 'police inspector' who had been sat in the front of the car through the blinding light. He squeezed his eyes shut again. “You,” he muttered bitterly.
She laughed. “Do you want to go back down there?”
Ianto shook his head, and a ripple went through the other men standing around. “Who are you? Who do you work for?”
His eyes were starting to hurt less, and he noted his vision in his right eye was certainly not right. The woman stood, her high heels clicking on the marble. Ianto glanced around him.
They were in some kind of lobby, and the topmost slab of marble had been pulled up to reveal soil beneath, and then a paving slab, and then tiniest concrete room where Ianto had been buried. There as a hole and a pipe in the marble slab, too, and Ianto acknowledged that there had been an air supply and they could, most certainly, leave him to starve rather than peacefully suffocate if they wanted to.
“Mr. Saxon sends his regards,” the woman told him amusedly as two men came to grab Ianto underneath his arms and start manoeuvring him toward the stairs.
Ianto swallowed. “Is this about Jack?” he asked, his arms and legs screaming in protest as he tried to use them to get up the stairs.
“Heavens, no,” replied the woman, tossing her thick, blonde curls over her shoulder. “This is about you.”
“What've I done?” he asked. “Ah - my limbs are trying to kill me.”
“Nothing,” shrugged the woman. “Turns out there was a slight crossed wire, however. You weren't supposed to be buried.”
The way she said it made Ianto swallow hard and his stomach drop. “Oh … ? And what about the other person who was buried, too? The one next to me?”
Her eyes narrowed at him and she paused her stride as they topped the stairs.
“I heard them knocking,” Ianto explained.
She breathed in through her nose heavily. “He's not coming back up,” she told him shortly. “This way.”
“Where am I going?” Ianto demanded, struggling weakly. “HEY!”
At his yell, the woman stopped again and turned sharply.
“Where am I going?” Ianto demanded again.
She smiled, a strange, half-smile. “To Heaven,” she said, and turned, signalling that the men - and Ianto - should follow her down the corridor.
~*~*~*~
Jack stared at the white wall in front of him, waiting to be taken into the morgue. The heavy weight of the cuffs on his hands, chained to the radiator, felt greater than ever. He just wanted to run in there and throw open every drawer until he found him.
Finally, the officer and Doncaster returned, and he was guided in, wheeling his drip in with him.
The body lay on the slab in the middle of the room under a green sheet, and Jack could tell it was the right height and build for Ianto. His chest began to ache and his stomach clenched as he stood beside the table and waited for the sheet to be pulled back.
He stared at the dead man's face for two seconds, then squeezed his eyes shut.
He shook his head.
It wasn't him.
It looked a bit like him, but it wasn't Ianto.
They covered him over again, and Jack was led back upstairs to his room.
“We found John Hart,” Doncaster began. “Has a pretty solid alibi. He's spent the past week in a Las Vegas cell.”
“I told you,” Jack muttered. “ So … I'm guessing you think … you think he's dead, then?” he asked quietly.
“Given who took him and the fact we haven't yet had a ransom note, I'd say it's likely.” Doncaster had given up hedging and preamble. He just told Jack as it was. “I'm sorry, Captain.”
“Could you pull the blinds on your way out, please?”
Doncaster nodded and obliged, closing the door softly behind him. He stopped Dr. Houghton down the corridor. “I think you'd better put Captain Harkness on suicide watch,” he muttered, and Houghton frowned. “Trust me,” said Doncaster. “I've got that feeling.”
~*~*~*~
Ianto sank into the mattress, feeling like he'd just experienced the strength of ten great orgasms all at once. He was divinely outside himself, his toes curling.
Why had he struggled against this again?
He was sure the strange purring sound was coming from his own throat, and he could sense amusement of other people in the room around him. Were there other people in the room around him? He couldn't properly remember.
Who was he again?
Did it matter?
Closing his eyes, so grateful the pain had stopped, his stomach was full and Heaven was singing through his veins, he let himself drift off into a deep, comfortable sleep.
~*~*~*~
Jack had given up. He just didn't see the point of going back to prison, of going back to anything, if Ianto wasn't going to be there.
He glared over at the psychologist who was supposedly 'keeping an eye on him'.
Bastard Doncaster.
This was his fault.
“So … what's a handsome young thing like you doing in a God-awful place like this?” Jack asked jovially.
The psychologist studied him a moment, then scribbled something down.
“Talkative,” Jack observed, then started pulling at the needle and plasters holding his drip in to see if he got a reaction.
The psychologist simply clicked his tongue and scribbled something more down.
Jack sighed. “Can I go outside?” he asked.
The psychologist shook his head.
“Not even for a walk on the roof? Nurse Jones let me walk on the roof ...” He trailed off, realising he'd said the name 'Jones', and clammed up.
The psychologist sat forward, observing him closely, writing on his notebook without looking.
Jack wondered if he'd be able to throw him out of the window and still die if he jumped out and landed on top of him.
The psychologist cleared his throat. “Are you thinking suicidal thoughts?” he asked.
Jack narrowed his eyes. “I'm thinking murderous ones,” he replied.
“I see. What are you doing next Tuesday?”
Jack blinked. “Erm … maybe sit in my cell a bit, then go to the gym. Eat something. Prison-y stuff. Y'know … What prisoners generally tend to do.”
“What part of your days in prison are idiosyncratic to you?” his psychologist asked. “Perhaps you have a routine - perhaps it includes Mr. Jones?”
“Why are you here?” Jack demanded. “I already admitted that Ianto and I were sleeping together; that we were close friends. Why are you trying to tear the wound wider?”
The psychologist sighed. “Relationships in prisons are generally very complicated,” he said, an air of nonchalance about him. “They revolve around give and take; something in return for something else. Would you say yours and Mr. Jones' relationship was anything similar to that?”
“Our relationship was mutual.”
“Based on an agreement … or attraction?”
“I don't have to talk about this to you.”
The psychologist lapsed back into silence, and Jack became more and more agitated. “How long are we going to do this for?” he finally asked.
“As long as it takes,” the psychologist replied simply.
Jack felt like killing him, then remembered what his father had always said: 'It's rude to kill someone if you haven't even learned their name.'
Jack glared at The Psychologist, and waited.
~*~*~*~
Ianto woke up feeling like shit.
He registered he was in a large bedroom in a huge and very cosy bed. The walls were white, with sash windows and oak furniture. He sat up and groaned loudly, then silenced himself quickly when he became aware of another presence in the room. Relaxing, he realised it was just Borrower Jack waking up with him.
“My head fucking hurts,” he told him, and Borrower Jack glared.
“You know fucking why,” he snapped.
“It wasn't my fault!” Ianto sulked.
Borrower Jack's face softened. “I know, Ianto. C'mon - we need to find a way to get out.”
“Do you think we might be able to get more?” Ianto pondered, kicking the sheets of the bed back and noticing he'd somehow gotten clean, changed into pyjamas and smelled like strawberry shampoo.
“What for?”
“For the road,” Ianto shrugged.
“Oh no - Cold turkey,” Borrower Jack insisted. “They did it thinking you wouldn't bother to escape if you knew they'd give you more. We have to be stronger than that.”
Ianto scratched the crook of his left elbow, seeing the little scab where the needle went in. There was a small amount of darkening in the veins around it, and Ianto shuddered. “You're right,” he said, and crossed to the window.
At that moment, the door to the room flew open. Ianto turned quickly, readying himself for an attempt at fighting, then froze.
“Lisa?” he stuttered. “Lisa?”
She was crying. “Ianto,” she gasped, and threw her arms around him. “I'm so sorry they've done this to you … I'm so sorry … I'm so sorry …”
“Lisa … !”
“I knew they'd do this,” she sobbed, glancing back at a man with a gun stood in the door way. She turned her attention back to Ianto. “I had to keep away in case they found out. I'm so sorry. And they … they …”
“What?”
Lisa sniffed loudly. “I have to pay them; I have to work for them. All that file editing I did at Smith & Saxon … all the stealing and the plagiarism … It was just easy money … And you're paying for it, and I'm so, so sorry.”
“Lisa, look at me,” Ianto soothed. She tried to kiss his lips, and he flinched away. She sniffed again.
“I have to work for them, or they won't give it to you, and you'll suffer.”
“I don't understand.”
“The heroin, Ianto,” Lisa breathed. “They'll only let you have it if I work for them. If I give them the money.”
Ianto stared at her for a moment, then breathed in deeply. “Where am I?” he asked.
“A safe house - that's all I know. I don't know where. I'm blindfolded when they bring me here.”
Heels tapped on the floor outside, and the blond woman, who had now tied her hair up in an elegant bun and slathered red lipstick over her mouth, stood in the doorway. “Time's up, Miss Hallett,” she said, her voice mocking them.
“Miss Foster,” Lisa choked out. “Please - I won't leave. I won't leave. I didn't mean it when I said about resigning.”
“Oh - I think you did,” Miss Foster replied, unimpressed. “You'll be a valuable asset Lisa - why on Earth would I let you go? Now, come along, dear. Young Mr. Jones needs his rest. I can assure you we'll take very, very good care of him - as long as you keep your end of the bargain, of course.”
With an arm around Lisa's shoulders, Miss Foster guided her from the room and shut the door behind her. Ianto noticed no lock clicked to keep him contained. He stood in the middle of the room, wondering what was supposed to happen.
“What now?” asked Borrower Jack.
Ianto shrugged. He went over to the wardrobe and pulled open the doors, finding an arrangement of clothes inside, like he had, indeed, been expected. “What time is it?” he called over to Borrower Jack.
“Look at the clock on the dresser and find out.”
Ianto flicked his eyes over to the dresser, seeing it was nearly midnight. “How long have we been missing?”
“Since about eleven AM the day before yesterday.”
“Longer than forty-eight hours, then?”
“I guess so.”
“He'll think we're dead.”
“He'll think you'redead,” Borrower Jack reminded him. “He doesn't know about me.”
Yawning, Ianto crawled back into bed. He still felt the ache and stiffness in his muscles from being so cramped for so long in that awful hole. Borrower Jack came to settle close beside him, and Ianto helped him under the blanket and tucked him in.
“Why are we back in bed?” he asked, giving a tiny yawn.
“Because we're tired,” Ianto explained.
“We need to escape, though.”
“We can need to plan it properly,” Ianto said. “They'll be on high alert, thinking we're going to try it tonight, or soon. We should lure them into a false sense of security, then make a break for it.”
Borrower Jack's brow furrowed. “Well, you're the boss,” he eventually conceded. “I, personally, think it's a very bad idea.”
“It'll be fine,” Ianto scowled. “I'm always right. We know that.”
Folding his arms and huffing, Borrower Jack set his jaw. “Don't jinx yourself,” he said. “The longer the run of right answers, the greater the risk of a wrong one - and if the part of you that's still sane is manifested in me, and I'm vocalising the fact you think it's a bad ide-”
“Shut up, Jack,” snapped Ianto.
Borrower Jack sighed regretfully. “I'm here to help you, Ianto,” he tried, soothingly. He reached out and put his little hand on Ianto's nose before shuffling over to kiss it. “You have to listen to me.”
Ianto stroked Borrower Jack's tummy. “I'll try,” he promised.
But they both knew it was a lie.
~*~*~*~
Jack woke up the second the sedatives wore off. He sat up and stretched, and pressed his call button.
He was again denied a walk outside, and if he'd had something to throw across the room he would have. At least when he was in confinement to one room in prison, he had Ianto.
And Ianto was now probably dead.
A student nurse timidly knocked on the door, and he snapped a rather harsh 'What?' in her direction before calming himself and apologising.
The nurse cleared her throat. “You have a visitor from your prison,” she told him. “I was sent to tell you.”
“Thank you,” he replied, trying to sound kindly. He chanced a smile, and the nurse tried to smile back before making herself scarce as fast as she could.
A few moments later, Dr. Owen Harper was led into the room by Officer Cooper carrying a bag with what looked suspiciously like chocolate bars in it. She dumped it on his lap with a grin. “Gwen done good?” she asked.
Jack smiled weakly. “They think he's dead.”
Gwen's face dropped, and she became overwhelmed with tears. Owen patted her back as soothingly as he could, and eventually she had to excuse herself to Jack's en suite to tidy her make-up strewn face.
“What've you heard?” Jack whispered as soon as the door was shut.
“It's Saxon's lot,” Owen muttered. “Everybody knows about it.”
“Is he alive, Owen?”
Owen nodded. “His ex, Lisa, tried to leave the ring. They're keeping him as an insurance policy.”
Jack drew in a long shaking breath. “Strangely, that's the best news I've heard all d-d … all day,” he managed. Tears threatened him, too, but he fought them back.
“That's not all, though,” Owen continued. “Saxon's … Saxon knows about you two. I told you to be discrete, but you never fucking listened, did you? No! … Anyway, he's sent me with a message.”
“Which is?”
“Saxon wants half a bar over a period of five years.”
“Which one's 'half a bar' again?”
“Five hundred grand. He knows what you did, Jack. He knows you can cough up.”
Jack stared at Owen for a second. “That money is for Alice.”
“If she never knows about it, she never misses it.”
“Why five years?”
“You get out if five years. Saxon's lot keep him safe and sound, then when you get out you get him back and can run away somewhere.”
“And in the meantime?”
“Monitored postcard contact only.”
Jack sighed and put his head in his hands. “That money is for Alice,” he groaned.
“They already gave him a hit, Jack. That's what Saxon says.”
“He's Lisa's insurance policy.”
“If he works as yours, too, why not take advantage?” Owen pointed out.
Jack raised his head. “There's no point keeping Lisa alive if there's no leverage over her. He's probably going to off her. Using one policy for two people will be confusing. What if one gets the cash and the other doesn't?” Owen didn't reply, mulling it over. Jack scrubbed a hand through his hair, then clapped his hands together decisively. “I'll go along with it until I can figure out where he is.”
Owen nodded, and they both arranged their faces to something neutral when they heard the toilet flush and the lock slide back.
“Sorry,” muttered Gwen, sinking into the chair on the other side of Jack.
“Here,” Jack said, offering her a bar of chocolate.
She sniffed, accepting it. “Ianto used to give me chocolate.”
“No good talking like that,” Jack smiled. “He might give you chocolate again some day. We just need to keep our eyes and ears open.”
“Yeah,” she nodded. “Jack … I have to ask … You and Ianto - were you … y'know?”
Jack chuckled. “Like rabbits,” he assured her, and Owen tutted.
“Discretion,” he sighed.
Jack threw a chocolate bar at him. “Eat it, you scrawny git.”
Owen ripped open the foil packaging. “Better than sex,” he sighed.
Jack raised an eyebrow. He severely doubted Owen had had any decent shags if he thought chocolate was better than sex.
Turning to stare out of the window, he found his mind wandering, wondering where the 'safe house' was.
He wished Ianto was with him, instead.
Comments are like the best free love ever. *hint hint* :D
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Chapter 11/??
Author a_silver_story
Genre: Alternate Universe
Rating: NC-17 overall
Warnings: None for this chapter
Summary: Jack and Ianto in prison - with plot, and lots and lots of smut. Sorry, I can't help it.
Disclaimer: If I owned anything in this, I'd be a rich rich rich bitch. However, I am not a rich rich rich bitch so you may all, therefore, assume I own nothing. Which I don't. It all belongs RTD and the BBC, in case any of you didn't know. Now pass the retcon ...
Torchwood Index
First Chapter
Jack lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling unblinkingly. He could hear his heart monitor bleeping steadily and rhythmically close by, sensed the to and fro movement of the hospital night time shift and consciously counted his breaths in and his breaths out to occupy his mind from his restless boredom.
Boredom, and worry.
His breath caught as he thought about it, and he finally moved to sit up. He scratched his forehead then put his head in his hands, rubbed his eyes and stretched as best he could.
There was nothing he could do but wait, trapped as he was in the hospital, bound by the long-chained cuff to his bed and the medication that was still cleaning out his system. In his head, Jack had been trying to list those most likely to want to steal Ianto. Jack himself had lots of enemies, but he knew very little about Ianto outside of the few snatches he'd been told. He knew that Ianto was taking the sentence for his useless ex-girlfriend whom he hadn't heard from since he'd been arrested, but it was possible that maybe he had enemies.
All he could do was wait - for news, for a ransom note, whatever. Not knowing anything was worse than knowing exactly what was going on, wasn't it?
There was a soft knock, and Jack raised his eyes to the door and saw his Dr. Houghton standing there, looking a like he hadn't had quiet enough sleep between shifts and really needed a day off.
“How're you feeling?” asked Houghton.
“Like shit,” Jack replied.
“It's awful what happened,” he told him regretfully as he entered the room to look over Jack's chart to see if there'd be any change over night. Jack got the feeling Dr. Houghton was building up to something, and it was something he didn't want to say to or tell Jack.
“I don't want to talk about it,” Jack said, resolutely.
“Were you close?”
“He's my cell mate. We have to be close.”
“Were you … 'close' close?”
Jack raised his eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because I've got 'that' feeling, and you really should tell your doctor if you are - especially given your … situation. You confined situation.”
Jack cleared his throat. “We're just friends.”
Houghton narrowed his eyes at him minutely, then lowered them to the chart. “The nurses tell me you haven't slept. Do you suffer from insomnia regularly?”
“I'm jacked up on however many drugs and I'm worried about my cell mate,” Jack replied defensively, folding his arms.
“You're 'jacked up' on drugs that tend to have sedating effects,” Dr. Houghton told him, tucking the chart under his arm and moving to sit on the edge of Jack's bed. “Listen to me, Jack,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I can be discrete. I'm just going to tell you straight out: you've got chlamydia, and according to your records, you didn't have it when you went into prison. Clearly, you've had sex with someone.”
Jack's jaw tensed. He stared at the weave on his itchy hospital blanket, then let out the deep breath he'd been holding. “Ianto never topped,” he murmured quietly. “And with him, we always used protection.”
Dr. Houghton raised his eyebrow.
“We did,” Jack insisted. “I was always careful with him. Always.” Sighing, Jack rubbed his forehead. “But … before him … Before him there was someone else.”
“Somebody still in prison?”
“No.”
“And with Mr. Jones … No accidents? The condom never broke?”
“No! Never - I was careful with him … Oh. Wait … one time … we were just so caught up … it just … We forgot.” Jack bit down on his lip hard and guilt flooded him. Shit.
Houghton nodded to himself, opening up the chart and jotting something down. “I can get you your antibiotics immediately,” he said. “I can also see to it that you're kept in for the next week so that I can make sure you take them.”
“Week?” Jack repeated, then made a dejected sound. “I'm going out of my mind and I haven't even been here two days. And what about Ianto?”
“It'll be over before you know it, and I'll see to Ianto when he's found,” Houghton assured him, standing up. He hesitated. “When you go back, would you like to take some condoms with you?”
“If they find him, and he's okay.”
Houghton nodded, replaced the chart and left Jack in peace.
Once he'd gone, Jack turned over onto his side and curled up into himself. He breathed out heavily through his nose and squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to stop the tears leaking out.
It didn't work.
~*~*~*~
There must be some form of air supply, Ianto was beginning to think. He'd calculated upon waking up that he probably had about two and a half to three hours of air, but he'd definitely been down there at least eight times that.
Well, it felt like it was at least eight times that.
He was aching all over, desperate to move his arms. He wanted to stretch out, take some pressure off is chest and breathe deeply. Every now and then he drifted off, for lack of anything else to do, only to wake up a few minutes later as footsteps stomped over the ground above him.
Ianto coughed weakly, the force of it still managing to make his head knock the wall behind him. His stomach grumbled painfully, and he bit his lip to distract from it.
Where the Hell was he?
To pass the time, Ianto found himself fantasising - about getting out, mainly. His head played through a scene of police officers and detectives sat around a table with a big evidence board behind them, and Jack was sat at the head of it. He's quiet, thinking, and then suddenly something snaps into place and he just knows where Ianto is. There was a montage of high-speed police driving and officers digging up the lobby of a huge mansion before Jack, in frustration, grabs a shovel from one of the useless officers who is going too slow and setting to work on it himself.
Ianto could imagine his own elation, hearing the shovels coming closer, scratching on the concrete slabs that separated him from whatever there was above and the light finally touching his skin, making him squint. He wouldn't know it was Jack at first, until rough hands dragged him up and strong arms held him close and he'd just know it was him.
With a sigh into the cramped darkness, Ianto snapped out of it. He wasn't a fourteen-year-old girl with a crush on Clark Kent.
He knew that dying like this would be like simply falling asleep. He'd seen it on Bones. Unless, of course, there really was an air supply from the outside (topside?) world and they were starving him to death.
Shivering, he could feel the cold seeping right into his bones - the sort of cold that made him believe he couldn't ever possibly be warm again. The cold didn't help his cramped muscles or his freezing, aching joints, either. If he dwelt on it too long, he'd probably realise just how much pain he was in.
Squeezing his eyes shut, his shivers became wracked sobs, and he hoped above all else that Jack would find him soon.
~*~*~*~
“Well?” Jack demanded the moment Inspector Doncaster entered his room.
“We've been unable to identify the kidnappers,” he informed him. “That's all I can tell you.”
“No it isn't,” Jack scowled. “Go on.”
Doncaster gave him an aggravated look, then closed the door to the room. “Evidence suggests the kidnappers are on the payroll of a drug baron that has ties to Mr. Jones from the past.”
“Ties?”
“Mr. Jones was involved with a drug ring - an involvement that landed him in prison. I'm guessing he never told you that.”
“I know he's innocent,” Jack said.
“Of course,” nodded Doncaster, humouring him. “For some reason or other, they appear to have unfinished business with him.”
“Don't hold out on me, Doncaster,” Jack warned, and Doncaster gritted his teeth.
“Did you know that you both share solicitors from the same firm?” he asked. “A firm that, while highly reputable, also has a few skeletons in its closet?”
“Smith & Saxon?” frowned Jack. “I've met both John Smith and Lucy Saxon. I've been represented by them both, and … Smith … We have history.”
“You seem to have missed a connection: Where there's a Mrs. Saxon, there's a Mr. Saxon.”
A penny dropped. “Oh. Harold Saxon?”
“And Mr. Jones worked for Smith & Saxon.”
“As a legal secretary.”
“An overlooked enough job that he could easily manipulate a few files here and there,” hinted Inspector Doncaster. “He wasn't very clever at it, though. He got caught. Mr. Saxon's appeal was denied and Mr. Jones found himself in prison with him. Now … I've been asking around … You don't get on with Mr. Saxon, do you, Captain?”
Jack was still digesting the information. “He's innocent.”
“Mr. Saxon?”
“No. Ianto. Everything he does, he does well - He'd never have been caught.”
“You were … close?”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Yes. Close. 'Close' close.”
“I see … well … this could change things.”
“Oh?” Jack asked, a challenge in his tone. “How?”
“Perhaps Mr. Jones might have a jealous rival that set this up? One that knew of his past, and could petition with or pay Saxon to take him out of the picture?”
“I … I have no idea. It can't have been … If that is the case, it is an unrequited love that hasn't been expressed. I have only one ex with the contacts and motive to do this, and it's not him. It's not.”
Doncaster's eyebrows raised disbelievingly. “I'll take his name, just to be sure.”
Jack pressed his lips together into a fine line.
“Captain? Please? To help Ianto?”
Jack hung his head. “John Hart.”
“Your former cell mate?”
“Him.”
Doncaster nodded, and got to his feet. “That should be all for now, Captain,” he said, and began to make his way out.
“He's not your man!” Jack called after him. “Doncaster! He's not your man!”
~*~*~*~
It was getting hard to tell the difference between what was real and what wasn't.
Well, he knew the ground was real, and the walls all around him were real, and the slab of ceiling above him was real. He just couldn't tell if the little Borrower-sized Jack fast asleep on the back of his hand was real or not.
Ianto wasn't even sure there was enough light to see the Borrower-sized Jack, but he was there, and Ianto could see him, and he felt real enough for now.
Borrower Jack stirred, stretching out and yawning. He opened his tiny blue eyes, and squinted at Ianto.
“Holding up okay?” he asked, as if being trapped where Ianto was was the easiest thing in the world.
“I can't decide if I'm feeling better because you're here, or worse because I know I'm so bored and lonely and unstimulated that my mind is entertaining itself by showing me hallucinations - already.”
Borrower Jack crawled up close to Ianto's face and kissed his nose. “It'll get better,” he promised.
“I'd be very surprised if it could get worse.”
A little kiss was pressed to his nose again. “Try and sleep again.”
“I can't. It hurts too much,” Ianto sniffed.
“What if I climb onto your shoulder and stroke your earlobe?” Borrower Jack offered. “You always fall asleep when I do that.”
Ianto's brow crinkled, and he nodded as best he could. He closed his eyes as he felt tiny hands and feet clambering up the material covering his chest and the pressure of footsteps on his shoulder. Finally, he felt that comforting pressure and a low, hummed song by his ear, and he found himself relaxing and drifting off.
Maybe Borrower Jack could stay a bit longer, he decided.
~*~*~*~
Jack tried his best to look 'fine', and straightened out his blanket. Finally, he heard her feet thudding on the linoleum floor, drawing closer as she ran, and he prepared himself for the canon ball that would inevitably throw itself at him in only a few moments.
“Daddy!” squealed his little girl, her messy black hair sticking out everywhere like a pixie. She launched herself onto the bed and into his open arms, hugging him tight. “Missed you, missed you, missed you,” she repeated into his shoulder.
Lucia appeared in the doorway, her disdain rolling off her waves. “I'm here for her,” she said with no preamble. “Don't even speak to me.”
Alice clicked her tongue and her mother, then proceeded to tell her Daddy all about her day at school. In return, Jack started telling her some fairytale adventure stories he'd been making up in his head, adding in voices, sound effects and pulling ridiculous faces. Lucia sat by the window, flicking through a magazine and checking her watch. When Jack and Alice had had an hour, she sighed and got to her feet.
Instantly, Alice started crying.
“D-don't want t-t-to g-gooooooooooooo!” she wailed, and Jack hugged her tightly, trying to placate her with muttered promises. A nurse came rushing in, thinking a child had hurt themselves, only to give a pitying glance when she realised what the problem was.
Eventually, Lucia peeled Alice away from Jack and marched her out. Jack leaned back into his pillows and drew in a deep, shuddering breath. He could feel he was about to cry again, and kicked himself.
Doncaster still hadn't come back, and the lack of news was making Jack more agitated by the second. At least with Alice there, he'd been able to relax for an hour, take his mind off his own uselessness, but now she was gone he felt even more useless and worried than before.
Pressing the call button, he decided to see if he could persuade someone to take him for a walk somewhere.
~*~*~*~
“Jack?” suggested Ianto.
Borrower Jack applauded. “Yay! Now, your turn.”
“I spy with my little eye, something beginning with … 'D'.”
“Darkness,” Borrower Jack said instantly.
“Of course you know that,” Ianto scowled. “You're from my head.”
“By that reasoning you know all mine.”
“I know all yours because the real Jack is that predictable,” Ianto said, the corners of his mouth pulling into a fond smile. “You know, I think I love him.”
Borrower Jack folded his arms. “And how did that happen?”
“I'm not sure. I knew I liked him. He's gorgeous. But I think I might love him - or I'm beginning to love him. Or something. I don't know. He's confusing. It might not be love - it might be hero-worship.”
“I'd worship him if he came and got us out of this mess,” Borrower Jack huffed.
Ianto's stomach squeaked and growled, and he groaned. “I'm getting really hungry,” he complained. “How long do you reckon we've been down here?”
Borrower Jack shrugged, clambering into the small gap between Ianto's chin and neck and sitting down. Ianto laughed. “Tickles,” he chuckled. Borrower Jack wiggled a little, and Ianto laughed a bit more, then winced in pain.
There wasn't enough room to laugh, really.
His stomach growled again, and Ianto moaned loudly. “Hurry up, Jack!” he cursed under his breath, and his miniature imaginary counterpart 'mmm'd his agreement.
“What's this?” Borrower Jack asked after a while, tugging on the wooden beads around Ianto's neck.
“Jack gave them to me. You know that.”
“We also know he probably stole them from somebody,” Borrower Jack pointed out.
Ianto scrunched up his shoulders and lowered his chin to force Borrower Jack away from the necklace. “It's the thought that counts,” he sulked.
Borrower Jack 'mmm'd again. “Do you think he's thinking of us now?” he asked.
Ianto felt his breath hitch. “I hope so,” he replied quietly. “If they've told him we're gone.”
They fell quiet as the familiar sound of rhythmic footsteps echoed down to them.
“Who do you think it is?” Borrower Jack asked him.
Ianto tried to wriggle. “Do I have to say it?”
He could feel Borrower Jack's eyes weighing him up, and heard his tiny sigh. “No. You don't have to,” he conceded.
They paused as they heard more footsteps, and a man with a commanding tone of voice barked some orders. Ianto's heart skipped a beat, and a strange, scratching sound permeated the cold concrete above him.
He felt Borrower Jack standing. “I think they're digging us up.”
“Do you think it's Jack?”
“Whoever it is, I welcome them.”
“Whomever,” Ianto corrected. “A figment of my imagination should know that.”
Borrower Jack seemed suitably chastised, sitting back down and crossing his legs to wait. “Whomever they are,” he repeated, “I hope they're the good guys.”
~*~*~*~
Jack tossed and turned. It was nearly four AM, but he couldn't sleep. He'd refused a sleeping aid tonight, in the hope maybe news would come before the critical 'first forty-eight hours' were up. There wasn't many of them left, and Jack was getting … strangely shaky.
He wasn't worried any more.
He was scared.
Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to drift between conscious and not, half an ear on the corridor outside as night shifts dragged on and on.
Then he felt it.
A slight disturbance in the rhythm of things; a hesitation in the routine. A moment or so later, he heard Inspector Doncaster's voice asking if Jack was still awake.
Jack sat up, and Doncaster glanced over. Grimly, he entered the room, turning on Jack's bedside lamp. His Constable loitered in the doorway, looking equally grim and avoided eye contact with Jack.
Jack swallowed. Bad news, then.
“Just … out with it,” he said, bracing himself.
Doncaster took a deep breath. “We've found a body.”
~*~*~*~
They were right on top of him now, Ianto could feel it. Borrower Jack had become impatient, hopping from one foot to the other until Ianto snapped at him. Then there had been the sound of metal hitting the concrete, and pre-emptively Borrower Jack had hidden in Ianto's clothes.
The slab raised, and the light hit Ianto like a battering ram. He couldn't see as he was dragged up and out onto what felt like possibly marble, screwing his eyes shut defensively and trying not to panic when he realised he couldn't recognise a single voice around him. Straining his ears, he tried to listen for Jack, or any sign that Jack was close, or that Jack was being fetched, or Jack was being told. He heard none.
A hand collided with the side of his face, and a woman's voice snapped at him, “Open your eyes!”
He opened them to no more than slits, and recognised the 'police inspector' who had been sat in the front of the car through the blinding light. He squeezed his eyes shut again. “You,” he muttered bitterly.
She laughed. “Do you want to go back down there?”
Ianto shook his head, and a ripple went through the other men standing around. “Who are you? Who do you work for?”
His eyes were starting to hurt less, and he noted his vision in his right eye was certainly not right. The woman stood, her high heels clicking on the marble. Ianto glanced around him.
They were in some kind of lobby, and the topmost slab of marble had been pulled up to reveal soil beneath, and then a paving slab, and then tiniest concrete room where Ianto had been buried. There as a hole and a pipe in the marble slab, too, and Ianto acknowledged that there had been an air supply and they could, most certainly, leave him to starve rather than peacefully suffocate if they wanted to.
“Mr. Saxon sends his regards,” the woman told him amusedly as two men came to grab Ianto underneath his arms and start manoeuvring him toward the stairs.
Ianto swallowed. “Is this about Jack?” he asked, his arms and legs screaming in protest as he tried to use them to get up the stairs.
“Heavens, no,” replied the woman, tossing her thick, blonde curls over her shoulder. “This is about you.”
“What've I done?” he asked. “Ah - my limbs are trying to kill me.”
“Nothing,” shrugged the woman. “Turns out there was a slight crossed wire, however. You weren't supposed to be buried.”
The way she said it made Ianto swallow hard and his stomach drop. “Oh … ? And what about the other person who was buried, too? The one next to me?”
Her eyes narrowed at him and she paused her stride as they topped the stairs.
“I heard them knocking,” Ianto explained.
She breathed in through her nose heavily. “He's not coming back up,” she told him shortly. “This way.”
“Where am I going?” Ianto demanded, struggling weakly. “HEY!”
At his yell, the woman stopped again and turned sharply.
“Where am I going?” Ianto demanded again.
She smiled, a strange, half-smile. “To Heaven,” she said, and turned, signalling that the men - and Ianto - should follow her down the corridor.
~*~*~*~
Jack stared at the white wall in front of him, waiting to be taken into the morgue. The heavy weight of the cuffs on his hands, chained to the radiator, felt greater than ever. He just wanted to run in there and throw open every drawer until he found him.
Finally, the officer and Doncaster returned, and he was guided in, wheeling his drip in with him.
The body lay on the slab in the middle of the room under a green sheet, and Jack could tell it was the right height and build for Ianto. His chest began to ache and his stomach clenched as he stood beside the table and waited for the sheet to be pulled back.
He stared at the dead man's face for two seconds, then squeezed his eyes shut.
He shook his head.
It wasn't him.
It looked a bit like him, but it wasn't Ianto.
They covered him over again, and Jack was led back upstairs to his room.
“We found John Hart,” Doncaster began. “Has a pretty solid alibi. He's spent the past week in a Las Vegas cell.”
“I told you,” Jack muttered. “ So … I'm guessing you think … you think he's dead, then?” he asked quietly.
“Given who took him and the fact we haven't yet had a ransom note, I'd say it's likely.” Doncaster had given up hedging and preamble. He just told Jack as it was. “I'm sorry, Captain.”
“Could you pull the blinds on your way out, please?”
Doncaster nodded and obliged, closing the door softly behind him. He stopped Dr. Houghton down the corridor. “I think you'd better put Captain Harkness on suicide watch,” he muttered, and Houghton frowned. “Trust me,” said Doncaster. “I've got that feeling.”
~*~*~*~
Ianto sank into the mattress, feeling like he'd just experienced the strength of ten great orgasms all at once. He was divinely outside himself, his toes curling.
Why had he struggled against this again?
He was sure the strange purring sound was coming from his own throat, and he could sense amusement of other people in the room around him. Were there other people in the room around him? He couldn't properly remember.
Who was he again?
Did it matter?
Closing his eyes, so grateful the pain had stopped, his stomach was full and Heaven was singing through his veins, he let himself drift off into a deep, comfortable sleep.
~*~*~*~
Jack had given up. He just didn't see the point of going back to prison, of going back to anything, if Ianto wasn't going to be there.
He glared over at the psychologist who was supposedly 'keeping an eye on him'.
Bastard Doncaster.
This was his fault.
“So … what's a handsome young thing like you doing in a God-awful place like this?” Jack asked jovially.
The psychologist studied him a moment, then scribbled something down.
“Talkative,” Jack observed, then started pulling at the needle and plasters holding his drip in to see if he got a reaction.
The psychologist simply clicked his tongue and scribbled something more down.
Jack sighed. “Can I go outside?” he asked.
The psychologist shook his head.
“Not even for a walk on the roof? Nurse Jones let me walk on the roof ...” He trailed off, realising he'd said the name 'Jones', and clammed up.
The psychologist sat forward, observing him closely, writing on his notebook without looking.
Jack wondered if he'd be able to throw him out of the window and still die if he jumped out and landed on top of him.
The psychologist cleared his throat. “Are you thinking suicidal thoughts?” he asked.
Jack narrowed his eyes. “I'm thinking murderous ones,” he replied.
“I see. What are you doing next Tuesday?”
Jack blinked. “Erm … maybe sit in my cell a bit, then go to the gym. Eat something. Prison-y stuff. Y'know … What prisoners generally tend to do.”
“What part of your days in prison are idiosyncratic to you?” his psychologist asked. “Perhaps you have a routine - perhaps it includes Mr. Jones?”
“Why are you here?” Jack demanded. “I already admitted that Ianto and I were sleeping together; that we were close friends. Why are you trying to tear the wound wider?”
The psychologist sighed. “Relationships in prisons are generally very complicated,” he said, an air of nonchalance about him. “They revolve around give and take; something in return for something else. Would you say yours and Mr. Jones' relationship was anything similar to that?”
“Our relationship was mutual.”
“Based on an agreement … or attraction?”
“I don't have to talk about this to you.”
The psychologist lapsed back into silence, and Jack became more and more agitated. “How long are we going to do this for?” he finally asked.
“As long as it takes,” the psychologist replied simply.
Jack felt like killing him, then remembered what his father had always said: 'It's rude to kill someone if you haven't even learned their name.'
Jack glared at The Psychologist, and waited.
~*~*~*~
Ianto woke up feeling like shit.
He registered he was in a large bedroom in a huge and very cosy bed. The walls were white, with sash windows and oak furniture. He sat up and groaned loudly, then silenced himself quickly when he became aware of another presence in the room. Relaxing, he realised it was just Borrower Jack waking up with him.
“My head fucking hurts,” he told him, and Borrower Jack glared.
“You know fucking why,” he snapped.
“It wasn't my fault!” Ianto sulked.
Borrower Jack's face softened. “I know, Ianto. C'mon - we need to find a way to get out.”
“Do you think we might be able to get more?” Ianto pondered, kicking the sheets of the bed back and noticing he'd somehow gotten clean, changed into pyjamas and smelled like strawberry shampoo.
“What for?”
“For the road,” Ianto shrugged.
“Oh no - Cold turkey,” Borrower Jack insisted. “They did it thinking you wouldn't bother to escape if you knew they'd give you more. We have to be stronger than that.”
Ianto scratched the crook of his left elbow, seeing the little scab where the needle went in. There was a small amount of darkening in the veins around it, and Ianto shuddered. “You're right,” he said, and crossed to the window.
At that moment, the door to the room flew open. Ianto turned quickly, readying himself for an attempt at fighting, then froze.
“Lisa?” he stuttered. “Lisa?”
She was crying. “Ianto,” she gasped, and threw her arms around him. “I'm so sorry they've done this to you … I'm so sorry … I'm so sorry …”
“Lisa … !”
“I knew they'd do this,” she sobbed, glancing back at a man with a gun stood in the door way. She turned her attention back to Ianto. “I had to keep away in case they found out. I'm so sorry. And they … they …”
“What?”
Lisa sniffed loudly. “I have to pay them; I have to work for them. All that file editing I did at Smith & Saxon … all the stealing and the plagiarism … It was just easy money … And you're paying for it, and I'm so, so sorry.”
“Lisa, look at me,” Ianto soothed. She tried to kiss his lips, and he flinched away. She sniffed again.
“I have to work for them, or they won't give it to you, and you'll suffer.”
“I don't understand.”
“The heroin, Ianto,” Lisa breathed. “They'll only let you have it if I work for them. If I give them the money.”
Ianto stared at her for a moment, then breathed in deeply. “Where am I?” he asked.
“A safe house - that's all I know. I don't know where. I'm blindfolded when they bring me here.”
Heels tapped on the floor outside, and the blond woman, who had now tied her hair up in an elegant bun and slathered red lipstick over her mouth, stood in the doorway. “Time's up, Miss Hallett,” she said, her voice mocking them.
“Miss Foster,” Lisa choked out. “Please - I won't leave. I won't leave. I didn't mean it when I said about resigning.”
“Oh - I think you did,” Miss Foster replied, unimpressed. “You'll be a valuable asset Lisa - why on Earth would I let you go? Now, come along, dear. Young Mr. Jones needs his rest. I can assure you we'll take very, very good care of him - as long as you keep your end of the bargain, of course.”
With an arm around Lisa's shoulders, Miss Foster guided her from the room and shut the door behind her. Ianto noticed no lock clicked to keep him contained. He stood in the middle of the room, wondering what was supposed to happen.
“What now?” asked Borrower Jack.
Ianto shrugged. He went over to the wardrobe and pulled open the doors, finding an arrangement of clothes inside, like he had, indeed, been expected. “What time is it?” he called over to Borrower Jack.
“Look at the clock on the dresser and find out.”
Ianto flicked his eyes over to the dresser, seeing it was nearly midnight. “How long have we been missing?”
“Since about eleven AM the day before yesterday.”
“Longer than forty-eight hours, then?”
“I guess so.”
“He'll think we're dead.”
“He'll think you'redead,” Borrower Jack reminded him. “He doesn't know about me.”
Yawning, Ianto crawled back into bed. He still felt the ache and stiffness in his muscles from being so cramped for so long in that awful hole. Borrower Jack came to settle close beside him, and Ianto helped him under the blanket and tucked him in.
“Why are we back in bed?” he asked, giving a tiny yawn.
“Because we're tired,” Ianto explained.
“We need to escape, though.”
“We can need to plan it properly,” Ianto said. “They'll be on high alert, thinking we're going to try it tonight, or soon. We should lure them into a false sense of security, then make a break for it.”
Borrower Jack's brow furrowed. “Well, you're the boss,” he eventually conceded. “I, personally, think it's a very bad idea.”
“It'll be fine,” Ianto scowled. “I'm always right. We know that.”
Folding his arms and huffing, Borrower Jack set his jaw. “Don't jinx yourself,” he said. “The longer the run of right answers, the greater the risk of a wrong one - and if the part of you that's still sane is manifested in me, and I'm vocalising the fact you think it's a bad ide-”
“Shut up, Jack,” snapped Ianto.
Borrower Jack sighed regretfully. “I'm here to help you, Ianto,” he tried, soothingly. He reached out and put his little hand on Ianto's nose before shuffling over to kiss it. “You have to listen to me.”
Ianto stroked Borrower Jack's tummy. “I'll try,” he promised.
But they both knew it was a lie.
~*~*~*~
Jack woke up the second the sedatives wore off. He sat up and stretched, and pressed his call button.
He was again denied a walk outside, and if he'd had something to throw across the room he would have. At least when he was in confinement to one room in prison, he had Ianto.
And Ianto was now probably dead.
A student nurse timidly knocked on the door, and he snapped a rather harsh 'What?' in her direction before calming himself and apologising.
The nurse cleared her throat. “You have a visitor from your prison,” she told him. “I was sent to tell you.”
“Thank you,” he replied, trying to sound kindly. He chanced a smile, and the nurse tried to smile back before making herself scarce as fast as she could.
A few moments later, Dr. Owen Harper was led into the room by Officer Cooper carrying a bag with what looked suspiciously like chocolate bars in it. She dumped it on his lap with a grin. “Gwen done good?” she asked.
Jack smiled weakly. “They think he's dead.”
Gwen's face dropped, and she became overwhelmed with tears. Owen patted her back as soothingly as he could, and eventually she had to excuse herself to Jack's en suite to tidy her make-up strewn face.
“What've you heard?” Jack whispered as soon as the door was shut.
“It's Saxon's lot,” Owen muttered. “Everybody knows about it.”
“Is he alive, Owen?”
Owen nodded. “His ex, Lisa, tried to leave the ring. They're keeping him as an insurance policy.”
Jack drew in a long shaking breath. “Strangely, that's the best news I've heard all d-d … all day,” he managed. Tears threatened him, too, but he fought them back.
“That's not all, though,” Owen continued. “Saxon's … Saxon knows about you two. I told you to be discrete, but you never fucking listened, did you? No! … Anyway, he's sent me with a message.”
“Which is?”
“Saxon wants half a bar over a period of five years.”
“Which one's 'half a bar' again?”
“Five hundred grand. He knows what you did, Jack. He knows you can cough up.”
Jack stared at Owen for a second. “That money is for Alice.”
“If she never knows about it, she never misses it.”
“Why five years?”
“You get out if five years. Saxon's lot keep him safe and sound, then when you get out you get him back and can run away somewhere.”
“And in the meantime?”
“Monitored postcard contact only.”
Jack sighed and put his head in his hands. “That money is for Alice,” he groaned.
“They already gave him a hit, Jack. That's what Saxon says.”
“He's Lisa's insurance policy.”
“If he works as yours, too, why not take advantage?” Owen pointed out.
Jack raised his head. “There's no point keeping Lisa alive if there's no leverage over her. He's probably going to off her. Using one policy for two people will be confusing. What if one gets the cash and the other doesn't?” Owen didn't reply, mulling it over. Jack scrubbed a hand through his hair, then clapped his hands together decisively. “I'll go along with it until I can figure out where he is.”
Owen nodded, and they both arranged their faces to something neutral when they heard the toilet flush and the lock slide back.
“Sorry,” muttered Gwen, sinking into the chair on the other side of Jack.
“Here,” Jack said, offering her a bar of chocolate.
She sniffed, accepting it. “Ianto used to give me chocolate.”
“No good talking like that,” Jack smiled. “He might give you chocolate again some day. We just need to keep our eyes and ears open.”
“Yeah,” she nodded. “Jack … I have to ask … You and Ianto - were you … y'know?”
Jack chuckled. “Like rabbits,” he assured her, and Owen tutted.
“Discretion,” he sighed.
Jack threw a chocolate bar at him. “Eat it, you scrawny git.”
Owen ripped open the foil packaging. “Better than sex,” he sighed.
Jack raised an eyebrow. He severely doubted Owen had had any decent shags if he thought chocolate was better than sex.
Turning to stare out of the window, he found his mind wandering, wondering where the 'safe house' was.
He wished Ianto was with him, instead.
Comments are like the best free love ever. *hint hint* :D
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