Will My Arms Be Strong Enough 41/45
Title: Will My Arms Be Strong Enough? 41/45
Pairings: Jack/Ianto, Gwen/Rhys...and others!
Characters: Jack, Ianto, Gwen, Rhys, John Hart, two OC's, Andrea (Andie) Carlowe and Nick Jones.
Spoilers: Set after Exit Wounds.
Summary: A realisation and a reunion.
Chapter 41
One week later…
Gwen wiped her brow as she emptied the last round of bullets into the target and tossed her training gun onto the table. “It seems like ages since I was last down here,” she remarked.
“It’s only been a week,” replied Andie as she re-tied her long blonde hair. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“You just seem a little distracted. Are you having trouble with Rhys?”
“No…no, it’s nothing,” muttered Gwen as she started to tidy up, but the other woman caught her arm and looked at her with eyes that were a little too understanding.
“You’re worrying about Nick, aren’t you?”
“It’s hard not to worry about him, right now,” admitted Gwen. “Every time I’ve seen him recently, he’s just looked…I don’t know, lost, I suppose.”
“Well, he is trying to deal with the news that someone who he thought was his friend has had a child with his wife,” replied Andie as she sat down and leaned against the wall.
“I can’t believe Ianto never told him.”
“I know.” Andie rubbed her head. “I’ve tried to talk to Nick, but I just can’t get through to him.” She sighed. “I’m not sure how much more of this he can take, Gwen.”
Gwen shook her head. “I know. As if having his wife sucked in and spat out by the Rift and then having to give up his children wasn’t bad enough, he then finds out that one of the children he’s loved and raised isn’t even his.”
Andie shook her head. “Nick’s biggest problem is that he cares too much,” she said. “I’ve heard it said before about several doctors, but in his case, it really is true. One of his former colleagues saw us out together once and came to talk to me. She told me about something that happened to him in the past.”
“What was it?”
“There was a young girl, I think she was fourteen or fifteen, who came to the hospital with symptoms no one had seen before; she was in a lot of pain, but she was so strong - a real fighter.” Andie paused to compose herself. “Anyway, Nick apparently spent hours, whole nights even, researching the symptoms and carrying out tests. He took her on when no one else did. I think he started to look at her like a sister or something.”
“What happened?” asked Gwen, feeling tears prick her eyes.
“The usual.” Andie sighed. “The girl was eventually transferred to a more specialised hospital and four weeks later, news came through that she’d died.”
“God, I bet he didn't take that well.”
“No. He kept looking and researching - said he wanted to be prepared for if something like this happened again. His friend who I met said he didn’t stop until their boss intervened.”
“Oh my God,” whispered Gwen, her voice shaking with emotion.
“I know. And I’d bet that that’s not the first time something like that’s happened.”
“Oh, bless him,” sighed Gwen. “I wish I could help; maybe I should talk to him.”
But Andie shook her head. “No, I don’t think that talking to him would help much.” She thought for a moment. “Maybe John will know what to do. He seems to be the only one who can get through to Nick at the moment. Let’s go and talk to him.”
~*~
Jack rubbed at his neck for what felt like the hundredth time in the past five minutes. He was supposed to be doing paperwork, but the dull ache he was experiencing was making it very difficult to concentrate. It hadn’t been life-threatening - Nick’s quick work had seen to that - and he could feel it healing, but the pain wasn’t going away.
Now, he was attempting to concentrate on a medical report, something which was not his strongest suite. Ordinarily, this would, of course, have been Nick’s field, but with everything else that had happened, he had insisted on taking it on himself.
It was plain to see that the young doctor was struggling. The recent revelation about his wife’s infidelity had been a shock, but that was just the tip of the iceberg. The real root of his problems lay deeper, much deeper…
Jack sighed as he thought about how he had treated Ianto directly after Canary Wharf and the aftermath of the death of the woman he had loved. He had only realised later on how desperate his young lover had been and had barely managed to save him before it had been too late. His early unwillingness to see past Ianto’s connections to Torchwood London had been a terrible mistake - and he now realised he was in serious danger of making a very similar mistake with Nick as well.
As he saw Gwen and Andie come up from the shooting range and walk up to John, he made a decision. There was no way he was going to lose Nick the way he had almost lost Ianto. So, he was going to talk to the one person who he knew would be able to help him right now.
Taking a deep breath, he walked up to the others. “Mind if I have a word with John too?”
He couldn’t undo what had been done. But he could at least stop the past repeating itself.
~*~
Forty minutes later…
John came down the steps and leaned against the wall, watching Nick clean up. It had been a quiet day, but someone had still managed to get injured, even from handling a piece of alien tech. In this case, it had been Jack who had fallen foul of what had appeared to be little more than a harmless hairbrush, but which had actually almost ripped his head off his shoulders when he had accidentally squeezed it. Apparently, it had turned out to be a tool used to aid doctors from the sixty-fifth century and beyond with autopsies and dissections. The good news was that Nick and Ianto had been on hand to deal with the situation quickly - Nick to treat Jack and Ianto to archive the artefact - and the damage had therefore been contained.
The bad news, however, was twofold. Firstly, the wound in Jack’s throat had been bleeding heavily (it had been a miracle that Jack hadn’t bled to death), which had meant that Nick, who was already exhausted from a week with hardly any sleep due to an unusually high amount of Rift and alien activity, had been left with a lot of extra cleaning up to deal with.
Secondly, things between Nick and Ianto were no better than they had been a week before. Both men were incredibly stubborn and believed that they were both right. While Nick was prepared to accept that what Alison had done wasn’t Ianto’s fault, he couldn’t accept that his cousin hadn’t told him as soon as he’d found out what had happened. On the other hand, Ianto still fiercely maintained that Nick had no right to be angry with him and that there was no way he could easily have told him the truth.
Personally, John could see both viewpoints; Ianto was right to say that it wouldn’t be an easy thing to mention, but he could understand why Nick was upset as well. To hear something like that from a letter that your new partner had found had to be one of the worst ways to find out.
He started suddenly, realising that Nick was singing quietly to himself as he cleaned the bloodstains. Frowning slightly, he cocked his head and listened closer to the words spilling from his young lover’s lips.
“Take me to the roads where I used to drive
Away from small town schemes.
Cobblestones on bumpy roads
To the life on silver screens.
Memories from a life escaping
When the dark is closing in
After storms have passed I see at last
The magic can begin.”
While it was true that Nick wasn’t a gifted singer, the words sent chills rippling through the former Time Agent’s body. He swallowed at the soft resignation he heard that the young man would never have that normality again.
“You can say something if you want to.”
John jumped - he hadn’t even realised that Nick knew he was there. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat, trying to decide where he should begin. Eventually, he decided to just come straight out and say it.
“Jack wants you to get some counselling.”
“I know.”
“You’re not keen on the idea?”
Nick turned around, his voice painfully quiet. “The things I’ve seen…here, Canary Wharf…” he shook his head. “John, what counsellor on this earth is going to believe me?”
“Who says it has to be someone from this planet?” asked John, coming forwards. “This is breaking you apart inside, Nick. I don’t want to see someone I love this much -”
“Don’t!” interrupted Nick. “Just don’t!” Without waiting for another word, he turned away and swept out of the room, only to walk straight into someone, who he soon realised was Jack.
“Hey!” exclaimed Jack, catching his shoulders. “Easy on the dramatics there, son!”
“Sorry,” muttered Nick, keeping his gaze focused on the floor so that the older man wouldn’t see that his eyes were watering behind his glasses. However, a moment later, a large hand was placed under his chin, tilting his head up until he was looking into a pair of bright blue eyes.
Jack smiled sadly and dropped his hand down so it was resting on Nick’s shoulder. “John’s right, you know,” he said quietly. “You need some help. I don't want to watch someone with a heart as big as yours fall to pieces like this. Just think about it, okay?”
Nick shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate this, Jack, but…who is going to believe me? If I go in there talking about Daleks and…and Cybermen and all that, everyone is either going to think I’m either going insane or that I’m already insane.”
John was by his side in a moment. “All right, even if you don’t want to share the Torchwood-related stuff, at least try to talk to someone about the rest of it.”
“We will find someone, Nick,” promised Jack. “I left it too late to help people I cared about before. I won’t make the same mistake again.” He tilted Nick’s face up again. “But, for now, at least do what John suggested before it tears you apart.”
Nick’s shoulders slumped. “Okay,” he whispered, not having the energy to fight any more.
“Good man.” Jack clapped his shoulder. “Now, go and get changed and get yourself out of here.”
Once Nick was out of earshot, Jack turned to John. “Take him out somewhere for a while. Give him some sense of normality again. Don’t let him sit at home and dwell on all this.”
John nodded. “Yeah, I was going to do that anyway.” And I know exactly where to take him.
~*~
Twenty minutes later…
“When we get back to Cardiff, I’m going to find Will and I’m going to have it out with him,” growled Nick, clenching his fists and not paying attention to the countryside they were driving through.
John turned to look at him, frowning. “What's the point?” he asked. “I mean, if you really do want to go and beat the life out of him, fine, I'll come along and help you out, but what will that do? Will you feel better? Will it change what happened?”
He paused for a moment, his fingers flexing on the cool leather of the steering wheel as he pushed the speed limit on the Jaguar a bit, moaning slightly as he felt the power rumbling through the car. “Will it make Estelle any more your than she already is in the way that matters most? Really Nick, what good will it do?”
Nick turned sharply and stared at him. “Way to go for the jugular there, John,” he murmured.
“Well, will it?”
“It might make me feel better,” answered Nick. “I just…I feel like I need to do something, John - I feel like I’ll just explode if I don’t.”
John turned down into a street lined with old-looking shops. “Well, maybe later, we can go down to the training room and put that aggression to some use,” he said without a hint of innuendo in his voice. “And,” he added as he pulled into a parking space, “if you need to let off steam, you know I’ll be there for you.”
“Thanks.” Nick looked out of the window, about to ask where they were, but then he caught sight of a very familiar sign with faded gold lettering on it.
Jones and Sons, fine tailors, established 1869.
His shoulders slumped slightly as he took in the dilapidated shop front, with the blue paint chipping off the front door. “It hasn’t changed a bit since I last saw it,” he muttered. “And that was nearly ten years ago.” His eyes flickered to a small house with a yellow front door a few minutes down the street. “Neither has that.”
John nodded softly. “Do you want to go on your own or do you want me to come too?”
Nick hesitated. “I want you to come with me…but I need to do this on my own.”
“Okay. I’ll wait in the car.”
“Thanks.” Taking a deep breath and, with a quick peck to John’s lips, Nick stepped onto the street and walked up to the tailor’s shop, feeling his heart jump as he heard the bell ring.
He swallowed hard as he realised that everything was as it had been the last time he had been inside the shop. The rolls of fabric were still balanced on the shelves, the elaborately dressed mannequins still stood in the window, and even the small scribbles where he and Ianto had played when they were young were still on the floor.
The only difference was the pram sat beside the windowsill with the two peacefully sleeping babies curled up underneath the blanket. Swallowing, Nick brushed a small tuft of auburn hair underneath one of the little hats and bent down, whispering to them in Welsh.
A door clicked open suddenly. “Can I help you?”
Nick jumped and turned around, intending to say no, but when he saw who was speaking, the words died in his throat.
The other man’s eyes widened. “Oh my God…”
Somehow, the shock he heard gave Nick courage to speak. “Hello, Dad.”
***
Next Time: Nick talks with his father. .
Pairings: Jack/Ianto, Gwen/Rhys...and others!
Characters: Jack, Ianto, Gwen, Rhys, John Hart, two OC's, Andrea (Andie) Carlowe and Nick Jones.
Spoilers: Set after Exit Wounds.
Summary: A realisation and a reunion.
Chapter 41
One week later…
Gwen wiped her brow as she emptied the last round of bullets into the target and tossed her training gun onto the table. “It seems like ages since I was last down here,” she remarked.
“It’s only been a week,” replied Andie as she re-tied her long blonde hair. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“You just seem a little distracted. Are you having trouble with Rhys?”
“No…no, it’s nothing,” muttered Gwen as she started to tidy up, but the other woman caught her arm and looked at her with eyes that were a little too understanding.
“You’re worrying about Nick, aren’t you?”
“It’s hard not to worry about him, right now,” admitted Gwen. “Every time I’ve seen him recently, he’s just looked…I don’t know, lost, I suppose.”
“Well, he is trying to deal with the news that someone who he thought was his friend has had a child with his wife,” replied Andie as she sat down and leaned against the wall.
“I can’t believe Ianto never told him.”
“I know.” Andie rubbed her head. “I’ve tried to talk to Nick, but I just can’t get through to him.” She sighed. “I’m not sure how much more of this he can take, Gwen.”
Gwen shook her head. “I know. As if having his wife sucked in and spat out by the Rift and then having to give up his children wasn’t bad enough, he then finds out that one of the children he’s loved and raised isn’t even his.”
Andie shook her head. “Nick’s biggest problem is that he cares too much,” she said. “I’ve heard it said before about several doctors, but in his case, it really is true. One of his former colleagues saw us out together once and came to talk to me. She told me about something that happened to him in the past.”
“What was it?”
“There was a young girl, I think she was fourteen or fifteen, who came to the hospital with symptoms no one had seen before; she was in a lot of pain, but she was so strong - a real fighter.” Andie paused to compose herself. “Anyway, Nick apparently spent hours, whole nights even, researching the symptoms and carrying out tests. He took her on when no one else did. I think he started to look at her like a sister or something.”
“What happened?” asked Gwen, feeling tears prick her eyes.
“The usual.” Andie sighed. “The girl was eventually transferred to a more specialised hospital and four weeks later, news came through that she’d died.”
“God, I bet he didn't take that well.”
“No. He kept looking and researching - said he wanted to be prepared for if something like this happened again. His friend who I met said he didn’t stop until their boss intervened.”
“Oh my God,” whispered Gwen, her voice shaking with emotion.
“I know. And I’d bet that that’s not the first time something like that’s happened.”
“Oh, bless him,” sighed Gwen. “I wish I could help; maybe I should talk to him.”
But Andie shook her head. “No, I don’t think that talking to him would help much.” She thought for a moment. “Maybe John will know what to do. He seems to be the only one who can get through to Nick at the moment. Let’s go and talk to him.”
~*~
Jack rubbed at his neck for what felt like the hundredth time in the past five minutes. He was supposed to be doing paperwork, but the dull ache he was experiencing was making it very difficult to concentrate. It hadn’t been life-threatening - Nick’s quick work had seen to that - and he could feel it healing, but the pain wasn’t going away.
Now, he was attempting to concentrate on a medical report, something which was not his strongest suite. Ordinarily, this would, of course, have been Nick’s field, but with everything else that had happened, he had insisted on taking it on himself.
It was plain to see that the young doctor was struggling. The recent revelation about his wife’s infidelity had been a shock, but that was just the tip of the iceberg. The real root of his problems lay deeper, much deeper…
Jack sighed as he thought about how he had treated Ianto directly after Canary Wharf and the aftermath of the death of the woman he had loved. He had only realised later on how desperate his young lover had been and had barely managed to save him before it had been too late. His early unwillingness to see past Ianto’s connections to Torchwood London had been a terrible mistake - and he now realised he was in serious danger of making a very similar mistake with Nick as well.
As he saw Gwen and Andie come up from the shooting range and walk up to John, he made a decision. There was no way he was going to lose Nick the way he had almost lost Ianto. So, he was going to talk to the one person who he knew would be able to help him right now.
Taking a deep breath, he walked up to the others. “Mind if I have a word with John too?”
He couldn’t undo what had been done. But he could at least stop the past repeating itself.
~*~
Forty minutes later…
John came down the steps and leaned against the wall, watching Nick clean up. It had been a quiet day, but someone had still managed to get injured, even from handling a piece of alien tech. In this case, it had been Jack who had fallen foul of what had appeared to be little more than a harmless hairbrush, but which had actually almost ripped his head off his shoulders when he had accidentally squeezed it. Apparently, it had turned out to be a tool used to aid doctors from the sixty-fifth century and beyond with autopsies and dissections. The good news was that Nick and Ianto had been on hand to deal with the situation quickly - Nick to treat Jack and Ianto to archive the artefact - and the damage had therefore been contained.
The bad news, however, was twofold. Firstly, the wound in Jack’s throat had been bleeding heavily (it had been a miracle that Jack hadn’t bled to death), which had meant that Nick, who was already exhausted from a week with hardly any sleep due to an unusually high amount of Rift and alien activity, had been left with a lot of extra cleaning up to deal with.
Secondly, things between Nick and Ianto were no better than they had been a week before. Both men were incredibly stubborn and believed that they were both right. While Nick was prepared to accept that what Alison had done wasn’t Ianto’s fault, he couldn’t accept that his cousin hadn’t told him as soon as he’d found out what had happened. On the other hand, Ianto still fiercely maintained that Nick had no right to be angry with him and that there was no way he could easily have told him the truth.
Personally, John could see both viewpoints; Ianto was right to say that it wouldn’t be an easy thing to mention, but he could understand why Nick was upset as well. To hear something like that from a letter that your new partner had found had to be one of the worst ways to find out.
He started suddenly, realising that Nick was singing quietly to himself as he cleaned the bloodstains. Frowning slightly, he cocked his head and listened closer to the words spilling from his young lover’s lips.
“Take me to the roads where I used to drive
Away from small town schemes.
Cobblestones on bumpy roads
To the life on silver screens.
Memories from a life escaping
When the dark is closing in
After storms have passed I see at last
The magic can begin.”
While it was true that Nick wasn’t a gifted singer, the words sent chills rippling through the former Time Agent’s body. He swallowed at the soft resignation he heard that the young man would never have that normality again.
“You can say something if you want to.”
John jumped - he hadn’t even realised that Nick knew he was there. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat, trying to decide where he should begin. Eventually, he decided to just come straight out and say it.
“Jack wants you to get some counselling.”
“I know.”
“You’re not keen on the idea?”
Nick turned around, his voice painfully quiet. “The things I’ve seen…here, Canary Wharf…” he shook his head. “John, what counsellor on this earth is going to believe me?”
“Who says it has to be someone from this planet?” asked John, coming forwards. “This is breaking you apart inside, Nick. I don’t want to see someone I love this much -”
“Don’t!” interrupted Nick. “Just don’t!” Without waiting for another word, he turned away and swept out of the room, only to walk straight into someone, who he soon realised was Jack.
“Hey!” exclaimed Jack, catching his shoulders. “Easy on the dramatics there, son!”
“Sorry,” muttered Nick, keeping his gaze focused on the floor so that the older man wouldn’t see that his eyes were watering behind his glasses. However, a moment later, a large hand was placed under his chin, tilting his head up until he was looking into a pair of bright blue eyes.
Jack smiled sadly and dropped his hand down so it was resting on Nick’s shoulder. “John’s right, you know,” he said quietly. “You need some help. I don't want to watch someone with a heart as big as yours fall to pieces like this. Just think about it, okay?”
Nick shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate this, Jack, but…who is going to believe me? If I go in there talking about Daleks and…and Cybermen and all that, everyone is either going to think I’m either going insane or that I’m already insane.”
John was by his side in a moment. “All right, even if you don’t want to share the Torchwood-related stuff, at least try to talk to someone about the rest of it.”
“We will find someone, Nick,” promised Jack. “I left it too late to help people I cared about before. I won’t make the same mistake again.” He tilted Nick’s face up again. “But, for now, at least do what John suggested before it tears you apart.”
Nick’s shoulders slumped. “Okay,” he whispered, not having the energy to fight any more.
“Good man.” Jack clapped his shoulder. “Now, go and get changed and get yourself out of here.”
Once Nick was out of earshot, Jack turned to John. “Take him out somewhere for a while. Give him some sense of normality again. Don’t let him sit at home and dwell on all this.”
John nodded. “Yeah, I was going to do that anyway.” And I know exactly where to take him.
~*~
Twenty minutes later…
“When we get back to Cardiff, I’m going to find Will and I’m going to have it out with him,” growled Nick, clenching his fists and not paying attention to the countryside they were driving through.
John turned to look at him, frowning. “What's the point?” he asked. “I mean, if you really do want to go and beat the life out of him, fine, I'll come along and help you out, but what will that do? Will you feel better? Will it change what happened?”
He paused for a moment, his fingers flexing on the cool leather of the steering wheel as he pushed the speed limit on the Jaguar a bit, moaning slightly as he felt the power rumbling through the car. “Will it make Estelle any more your than she already is in the way that matters most? Really Nick, what good will it do?”
Nick turned sharply and stared at him. “Way to go for the jugular there, John,” he murmured.
“Well, will it?”
“It might make me feel better,” answered Nick. “I just…I feel like I need to do something, John - I feel like I’ll just explode if I don’t.”
John turned down into a street lined with old-looking shops. “Well, maybe later, we can go down to the training room and put that aggression to some use,” he said without a hint of innuendo in his voice. “And,” he added as he pulled into a parking space, “if you need to let off steam, you know I’ll be there for you.”
“Thanks.” Nick looked out of the window, about to ask where they were, but then he caught sight of a very familiar sign with faded gold lettering on it.
Jones and Sons, fine tailors, established 1869.
His shoulders slumped slightly as he took in the dilapidated shop front, with the blue paint chipping off the front door. “It hasn’t changed a bit since I last saw it,” he muttered. “And that was nearly ten years ago.” His eyes flickered to a small house with a yellow front door a few minutes down the street. “Neither has that.”
John nodded softly. “Do you want to go on your own or do you want me to come too?”
Nick hesitated. “I want you to come with me…but I need to do this on my own.”
“Okay. I’ll wait in the car.”
“Thanks.” Taking a deep breath and, with a quick peck to John’s lips, Nick stepped onto the street and walked up to the tailor’s shop, feeling his heart jump as he heard the bell ring.
He swallowed hard as he realised that everything was as it had been the last time he had been inside the shop. The rolls of fabric were still balanced on the shelves, the elaborately dressed mannequins still stood in the window, and even the small scribbles where he and Ianto had played when they were young were still on the floor.
The only difference was the pram sat beside the windowsill with the two peacefully sleeping babies curled up underneath the blanket. Swallowing, Nick brushed a small tuft of auburn hair underneath one of the little hats and bent down, whispering to them in Welsh.
A door clicked open suddenly. “Can I help you?”
Nick jumped and turned around, intending to say no, but when he saw who was speaking, the words died in his throat.
The other man’s eyes widened. “Oh my God…”
Somehow, the shock he heard gave Nick courage to speak. “Hello, Dad.”
***
Next Time: Nick talks with his father. .