Holiday!Bang 2008 entry for prompt 127 Part 2
Title: Dr. Harkness and Nurse Jones: Kenya (Part 2)
Author: blue_fjords
The days slowly fell into a kind of routine. Ianto woke early and went to check on the overnight patients. Then he started coffee for the other staff, and made toast for him and Jack, since Owen seemed to subsist on energy bars, and Martha and Nurse Smith did a night check on the overnight patients and had a snack together then. Jack would always greet him enthusiastically.
“Nurse Jones! Could I be greeted by a lovelier sight? Wait, wait. I will answer myself. No, I could not.”
Ianto would typically roll his eyes while handing Jack a coffee.
“And look! Coffee!” Jack liked to take an appreciative whiff. “This is my favorite morning since yesterday.”
Ianto couldn’t help himself from smiling. “There’s toast, too, Dr. Harkness.”
“Jack.”
“As you wish, Doctor.”
Then would come Ianto’s favorite part of the morning ritual. Their hands would meet as Ianto passed over the napkin with toast, already nutella-ed. Jack would run his thumb over Ianto’s fingers, and draw circles on the back of his hand. He would be rewarded with the barest of small hitches in Ianto’s breathing.
“Oi! Don’t I get any coffee?” Owen, of course.
Mgumbe would usually show up as Ianto brushed the crumbs of his toast into a bin.
Then it was triage with Nurse Smith. He usually aided Jack or Martha with whatever new patients came through. Whenever he had a spare moment, Ianto would obsessively take inventory. Being so isolated from any outside source of food and medicine made him nervous, and his countless lists and double-checks were the only ways he had found to help his anxiety. Nurse Smith provided lunch for the staff, and she and Ianto concocted the best meals possible for the overnight patients, as befit their needs. Lunch could take up to two hours, depending on who needed what kind of help. After lunch, Ianto liked to do the cleaning. A clinic in the middle of a dustbowl required continuous sweeping and dusting. Mgumbe also brought children to them in the afternoons for any preventative care they could provide. Then, on the rare days there were no new patients, Jack would wander by and see if Ianto needed a hand with rolling bandages or sterilizing the medical implements in the operating bay. At first, these impromptu visits made Ianto extremely nervous. Ever since their first meeting, he had felt Jack’s eyes on him as he went about his duties. Ianto didn’t know what to make of the man. He flirted outrageously with absolutely everybody, and still managed to be incredibly charming instead of smarmy. Gradually, though, he began to let his guard down more and more around Jack. He remembered the first time he laughed at one of his deliberately lame puns - Jack’s answering grin could have lit up the room. After prep time with Jack was nap time, again barring emergencies. It took Ianto a while to get used to the concept of sleeping in the middle of the day, but he soon learned the necessity of resting during the hottest part of the day. He conducted another check-up on the overnight patients after his nap, and then started preparing the meals for the patients. Nurse Smith tended to gossip during dinner-prep. It was like she charged her batteries during her nap, and had to burn off energy by running her mouth. Ianto soon perfected the art of appearing interested, even smiling and nodding at appropriate intervals, while his mind wandered down memory lane, dwelling on the green hills of Wales and the sunlight off the water in the Bay. Paperwork was reserved for the hours after dinner. Nurse Smith had several ideas about funding opportunities, plus there were charts to be updated and supplies to be requisitioned.
Ianto found that he was happy at Torched Wood. His first set of patients, the family of Sudanese refugees, had healed enough to continue their journey. (Jack told him privately that the young woman was convinced that her husband, a fighter in one of the roving bands in Sudan, had asked her to bring the family back to him. Jack was less than convinced, and Ianto’s heart ached at the sight of his distress.)
The days were full. Thus far, he had been lucky enough to avoid anything that he would definitely label as an emergency. Emergencies in this area usually involved violence and bloodshed. Gwen had told him some stories to try to prepare him. Apparently, soon after Doctors Harkness and Harper arrived at the clinic, a dozen young boys had found their way to the clinic, seeking refuge from the recruiters to the local warlord’s “army.” The boys had been beaten to within an inch of their lives. One had died at the clinic, and one was still a patient three months later. Owen was trying to teach him how to play chess.
Ianto fell into bed each night with the feeling that he was doing good, important work; making a difference. It was a good feeling.
“Owen and I knew this woman once, let’s call her Suzie, she was kind of crazy. Anyhow, Suzie liked to collect dead bugs. Scalpel,” Jack paused as Ianto placed the requested item in his gloved hand. “Thank you, Ianto.”
“Of course, Dr. Harkness.”
“Jack.”
“As you wish, Doctor.”
Jack canted his eyes at Ianto, then turned back to the open chest cavity in front of him.
Ianto peered alongside him. “Dead bugs?” he prompted.
“Nah, I’d say this looks more like a good clean knife thrust,” Jack replied, rolling the ‘r’ in thrust in a vaguely obscene manner. Ianto settled for rolling his eyes. He could feel Jack’s eyes smiling at him above his surgical mask.
“So, the dead bugs,” Jack resumed. “She pinned them to particle board with color-coded thumb tacks. Some of the tacks were bigger than the bugs. Anyhow, one day, actually scratch that, it was well past midnight - done with the scalpel for now, thanks.”
Ianto wordlessly took it back, his fingers brushing over Jack’s. He studiously ignored the way his own pulse quickened at the touch of the other man’s hand.
“We were just finishing a double shift. All I wanted was a long, hot shower, but there was this strange buzzing coming from the sleep-and-fuck room. Owen thought it was a couple of nurses with a dildo, and talked me into walking in on them.”
Ianto cocked an eyebrow at him.
“Hey, it was his idea! Anyway,” Jack hurriedly continued the story. “There were no dildos, or nurses, in the sleep-and-fuck room. It was Suzie. Suzie and an old tape recorder, blasting insect noises - crickets, cicadas, mosquitoes, bees. And let’s not forget the piece de resistance! She had her bug collection with her. She was standing over the bug collection, making buzzing noises, just like on the tape! She had killed them all, and now she was attempting to bring them back.”
Ianto’s eyebrow was getting a workout. “And precisely how was she planning to do that?”
Jack grinned with his eyes. “Electric shock therapy. She was wearing wool socks!”
Ianto let out a snort of laughter. Jack laughed with him, a pleased look in his eyes.
“May I ask what position Suzie occupied at your hospital?”
“Head of neurosurgery.”
Ianto laughed again, Jack right along with him. Their eyes met.
“Oi! You lot just about done in there?” Owen’s voice called from the corridor. “I’ve got a bloke out here that could really use Nurse Jones’ deft touch with a needle and thread.”
Jack gave Ianto another grin. “You better be careful when Owen pays you a compliment, you know.”
Ianto’s lips quirked into an answering smile. “Hmm, I think I got that when Sarah Jane miraculously wound up with laundry duty every day last week.” Owen had proclaimed loudly that Sarah Jane Smith softened fabric just by smiling at it. “Though between you and me, I really do like stitches.”
In fact, Ianto’s favorite medical procedure was stitches. They were ugly to look at, but they made everything so neat. Lining the skin up, thread pulled tight and tied off, the tiny scar reminding that here, right here, it could have been so much worse. Stitches helped the skin repair itself, which it already wanted to do, and when he thought of it, wasn’t that amazing? The human body, joining back together again, closing gaping wounds, the skin protecting all those vital organs and precious arteries, always tenaciously striving for life. And stitches were Ianto’s way of being of use. So if Owen wanted to foist them off on Ianto, Ianto didn’t mind.
The heat was oppressive, and the sandstorm yesterday had prevented Gwen from making her scheduled trip out to the clinic. Ianto was on edge; everyone was, really. Word had reached them two days ago about possible skirmishes to the west. Two competing warlords were fighting for the privilege of negotiating with USAID contractors to get an educational project going in their own villages. It was impossible to tell if smoke had joined the sand clouds on the horizon, but Ianto privately thought he could smell it, more so than the underlying smell from their own burnt village. What really had him on pins and needles, though, was Jack. It had started after Mgumbe had left two days ago, to pass the news of the fighting to the villages beyond the clinic. Ianto thought it would be prudent to prepare extra dressings and field kits for any potential victim of the skirmishes. Jack had agreed and was giving him a hand. Owen, who usually went off by himself during the prep time, had joined them. Ianto and Jack were talking quietly, hands occasionally brushing as they divided supplies and rolled bandages.
“So then I turned to my buddy Gerald and I said, ‘if you wanted some sushi, all you had to do was ask!’”
Ianto snorted. “Blowfish sushi? You certainly do take risks.”
“What’s life without a little risky business, eh?” Jack grinned at him. Ianto rolled his eyes.
“One blowfish has enough poison to kill thirty adult humans.”
Jack laughed. “You do really know everything, don’t you, Ianto?”
Ianto smiled and reached for the bandage Jack was handing him. “I try.”
Their eyes met, as did their fingers.
“Oh, get a room, why don’t you?” Owen said in disgust. “Could the two of you be any more obvious?”
Ianto blushed and dropped his end of the bandage.
Jack turned lazily to face Owen. “What’s the matter, Owen? You jealous?”
He snorted loudly. “Trust me, Nurse Jones is all yours, Harkness. Do with him as you will, just not in front of me.”
Ianto thought his face would burn off. “Don’t you have a chess game to get to, Dr. Harper? You’ve never helped with any preparations before; no need to start now.”
Owen glared back at him. “Oh, come on, Ianto, we all know you want his hands on your body,” Owen said. “Stop dancing around the issue and go get laid. There’s nothing else to do here right now, anyhow.”
Ianto stared at Owen with his mouth hanging open. He couldn’t believe that Owen had actually said it out loud. Ianto had never struck another being in anger before in his life (well, all right, his sister Gwen when they were kids), but he wanted nothing so much as to bash Owen’s nose into his head and wipe that smirk off his face.
Jack noticed, he had to notice, that Ianto was having a little difficulty reigning in his temper, but the next words out of his mouth were, “You know, Owen, that’s not such a bad idea. A little crudely put, to be sure, but…”
They were both looking at Ianto now, Owen with a smug smirk, Jack with an amused one. Taking a firm grip of his dignity, he addressed the air in between them, “Dr. Harper. Dr. Harkness. I believe you have this situation well in-hand. I will leave you to it. Good day.”
Ianto turned on his heel and marched off.
He hurried down the corridor, pushed the doors open to the courtyard and stalked outside, seething. The nerve of that man! Both of them! It was rude, unprofessional, and, holy crap, were his feelings for Jack really that obvious? And how dare Jack treat him like that?
“Ianto!” Jack came running out into the courtyard, as well. “Hey, Ianto! Slow down. Chill.”
“Chill? Chill?”
“Yeah. It means ‘calm down’ - a little outdated, perhaps -“
“You want me to calm down? After that?” Ianto was incredulous. ”I haven’t been so badly humiliated since - actually, I can’t think of a time!”
“Really? Did you have middle school in Wales?”
Ianto glowered.
“Sorry, sorry, perhaps not the best time for -“ Jack backtracked hastily.
“Jack, you need to tell him that there’s nothing - I mean, that we’re not - I mean, we’re colleagues.” Ianto finished, somewhat lamely.
“Colleagues.”
“Yes, colleagues,” Ianto answered firmly.
Jack just stood there with his arms folded across his chest.
“You want me to march in there and tell Owen to stop picking on you because we are colleagues.”
“You don’t have to tell him to stop picking on me, Jack, I can take care of myself!”
“Well, isn’t that what you just said?”
“No, I said - ”
“Ianto, you really need to lighten up.”
“I am plenty lightened up, Jack; what he said was not appropriate. We have a collegial relationship, nothing more, and he just -“
“Collegial? So when you smile at me, and your hand brushes mine, and you laugh at my jokes, and you stand just a little too close - you would do all those things with Owen because you have a collegial relationship with him, too?”
Ianto stopped and looked at Jack. He swallowed noisily.
“Yes,” he said softly.
“Really. Well, I don’t believe you.”
“Jack -“
“No, Ianto, look, you have got to get that stick out of your ass, or you’re never going to get anything to take its place.”
Ianto made strangled noises.
“Take care of your own problems with Owen. He is your colleague, after all.”
Jack turned and strode quickly back into the Hub, leaving Ianto standing in the middle of the courtyard, feeling humiliated, and stupid, and alone.
That had been two days ago. Since then, Ianto had not said a word to either Jack or Owen that was not “yes, doctor,” or “no, doctor.” Jack and Owen were snappish to each other, and tended to ignore everyone else. Martha and Sarah Jane were downright bewildered. When Mgumbe showed up on the third day and asked if two of them would accompany him to one of the outlying villages that had been targeted in the latest raids, Owen leapt at the chance. Martha decided to go with him. Now there was just Jack to avoid.
Mgumbe returned the next day, sans Owen and Martha but with nine young women crammed into the back of the truck. They had met up with a Red Cross mobile medical unit, complete with armed escort, and the Torched Wood doctors had opted to stay with them and send these patients back to the clinic. They would be more comfortable in an actual facility, Mgumbe said, and Ianto had to agree.
The women had all suffered at the hands of a supposed doctor performing female circumcision. The doctor had thoroughly botched the job, however, and the women were in extreme pain and would most likely not be able to bear children in the future. It was, sadly enough, a common story in that part of Kenya. Done right, female circumcision did not have to interfere with the ability to experience sexual pleasure nor did it prevent conception. However, it was a very delicate procedure and few doctors had the necessary training and equipment to do the job. It reminded Ianto of back-alley abortions, accept that female circumcision carried no social stigma in Kenya. Ianto had been treated to a lecture on how it was misogynistic and evil from a fellow nurse at his hospital in Wales before he left for Kenya. Privately, he found it to be a totally unnecessary medical procedure, but he wasn’t sure if he considered it to be misogynistic or just something his culture wasn’t used to.
Pulling on gloves, he and Jack set to work on the first patient. Calling her a young woman was a little too generous. She was perhaps thirteen. After ten minutes, Ianto decided he was going to have to go with the misogynistic label. He clenched his jaw to control his fury at the sight of swollen and mangled flesh, and willed his hands to be steady and gentle.
Ianto risked a glance at Jack. He looked gray-faced and there was blood on his lip, but his hands were also steady.
“Bring in the others,” Ianto called outside to Mgumbe, pulling on a new pair of gloves.
Over the next five hours, they saw eight more women, all suffering the effects of botched female circumcision. The infection had spread so far in two of them that all Ianto could do was increase their morphine intake and hope that Gwen made it back soon with the antibiotics. The other six women alternated between dull hopelessness and confused disbelief. Jack finished up with their last patient, a girl of about twelve, and stumbled out of the Hub into the darkening gloom. Ianto looked after him worriedly, but there were a few more things he had to do before he could focus on Jack.
Ianto scrubbed his hands and walked through the Spoke, stopping at each woman’s cot to make sure they were resting as comfortably as they could under the circumstances. None of the patients met his eyes. Sighing heavily, Ianto stepped out into the night to look for Jack.
He didn’t have to look far. Jack had barely made it around the corner before collapsing in on himself. As Ianto hurried forward, he could make out the sound of Jack retching into the dead grass.
“Jack?” Ianto asked softly, laying a hand on Jack’s broad shoulder.
Jack stiffened, and pulled himself upright. “Leave me alone, Ianto.”
Ianto gripped him by the shoulders and turned him to look him in the eyes.
Jack had been crying. The tears and sweat were running down his face, his nose had started to run, and spit from getting violently sick was starting to collect in the corner of his mouth. In short, he looked absolutely terrible, completely un-Jack-like. Ianto wanted nothing more than to enclose him in his arms and hold on for dear life, but he was brought up short by the anger in Jack’s eyes.
“Jack. You did everything you could.”
He snorted. “Not much, though, was it? Two of those women aren’t going to make it through the night. The others? They’ll certainly never have children. What kind of future will they have here? They’re supposed to grow up to be mothers. What use does this society have for mothers that aren’t fucking mothers?”
“Maybe they can leave.”
“Leave? Leave?! Stop being so fucking naïve, Ianto! These women aren’t going anywhere!”
Ianto just stood there and assessed him calmly. “You’re right. Their lives are now shit. I really shouldn’t try out optimism; I’m not well-suited for it. I just thought it would make you feel better.”
Jack stared at him incredulously. A gurgling laugh escaped his lips. His eyes opened wide, and he covered his mouth with his hands. “This isn’t funny.” Another hysterical laugh/snort burst forth. “It’s fucking depressing.” He began to laugh harder and cry at the same time.
Ianto moved forward slowly, as if he was approaching a wild animal. He placed one hand on Jack’s shoulder, the other circling his waist and bringing him closer. Jack took a shuddering breath, and moved into the embrace. Closing his eyes, tears still streaming down his face, he laid his head on Ianto’s shoulder. Ianto began to make soothing little humming noises as he moved his one hand across Jack’s shoulder over to the nape of his neck, where he began to run his fingers through Jack’s hair. Ianto’s other hand tightened on Jack’s waist. They stayed that way until Jack’s shuddering came to a stop.
Jack took a deep breath and a step back. “Thank you.”
Ianto nodded gravely. “Would you like some mint leaves?”
“That bad, huh?” Jack huffed, and gave a low-key version of his patented grin. “Yes, please.”
Ianto handed over the mint leaves, and then didn’t know what to do with his hands. He wanted to hold Jack still, but Jack seemed like he wanted his distance again. Ianto settled for stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“We should get back to the Hub,” Jack said, turning in that direction. “And I really need to wash up.”
“Yup.”
Jack stopped abruptly, and turned to face Ianto again. He swallowed. “I’m sorry. About what I said earlier . . . with Owen. And about giving you the cold shoulder for days, and yelling at you just now. And getting snot on your uniform.”
Ianto looked down. Sure enough, there was snot on his uniform. He gave Jack a small smile. “It’s . . . I’m sorry, too. Thanks,” he finished awkwardly.
Jack gave him a look that he couldn’t read. “So . . . let’s get back, yeah? We’re good, right?”
Ianto nodded. “Yup.”
As dusk darkened to evening, and evening slowly became night, the two women who didn’t stand a chance lost their battles. Ianto was with them as each one drew her last breath. Very carefully, he washed and dried each corpse, and dressed them in white dresses from the Foundation’s store of donated clothing. By the time he was finished, they looked utterly at peace. He gently placed them on the double-decker gurney and wheeled them into the one compartment the Hub had for those awaiting burial.
He was just locking them in when Sarah Jane came bustling up to him. “Ianto, we’re having a little trouble with Nigalni, Owen’s chess player. One of us is going to have to help Dr. Harkness. Do you want to do that, or keep an eye on our new patients?”
Ianto ran a hand over his eyes and through his hair, trying to wake himself up. “I’ll help Dr. Harkness. I think the women think I’m bad luck now,” he finished, grimacing.
Sarah Jane gave him an understanding pat on the arm. “You did all that could be done.”
“I know. I just . . . you know how it goes.”
Ianto hurried over to the operating room. Jack was already in there with Nigalni, who looked completely out of it. His hands were moving restlessly, plucking at his hospital gown and pinching his forearms.
“Ianto, I need to start the anesthia now while you scrub in.” Ianto nodded and headed to the sinks. Jack turned his attention back to Nigalni. “Nigalni? Look at me, Nigalni. I’m going to put you to sleep now, and Nurse Jones and I are going to take care of you, okay?”
Nigalni nodded absently, then frowned, and whispered, “Owen?”
Jack did not hesitate. “Owen will be here when you wake up. Just relax for now.”
Nigalni’s eyes slowly shut, and Ianto joined Jack at the operating table. “What happened?”
Jack sighed. “I can’t say for sure. I think he may be developing a clot. We’ll have to open him back up again to make certain, and remove the clot if that’s what it is.”
Three hours later, Ianto spied an innocuous looking growth in one of Nigalni’s main stomach arteries.
“Jack. Look there.”
“I see it. Good work, Ianto.”
Jack began to delicately work away at the clot as Ianto carefully siphoned blood away from the area. It took another hour, but Jack was satisfied that they had it all out. Ianto began the delicate process of stitching Nigalni back up.
Jack was giving Ianto a hand with bandages when the heart monitor hiccupped. The two men exchanged a glance over Nigalni. Jack frowned at the monitor as Ianto peered at Nigalni’s chest. The heart monitor stuttered again, and then flatlined.
“Fuck! Ianto, charge the paddles.” Ianto was already moving towards them. “Come on Nigalni, don’t give up! Owen’s going to go apeshit if anything happens to you,” Jack snarled, as he took off a few bandages to make room for the paddles on Nigalni’s chest.
Ianto squirted the gel on the paddles and placed them on Nigalni. Jack stepped back. Nigalni’s body gave a minor jolt as the electricity kicked in. The heart monitor hiccupped yet again, but did not catch on.
“Up the charge,” Jack barked roughly.
Ianto charged the paddles and reapplied them. “Clear,” he said softly. Nigalni’s body flopped again, but again the heart monitor did not show good news.
Ianto didn’t wait for unnecessary instructions. He upped the charge yet again, and delivered a third jolt. Still nothing. Ianto moved to up the charge again when Jack caught his wrist.
“Ianto. He’s gone.”
“No, no, we can fix this. Owen will be expecting us to fix this.”
“Ianto . . .”
“Clear!” Nigalni reacted to the fourth jolt in the same way.
“This isn’t right. This isn’t right. We got the clot, it went perfectly, he should be fine, why isn’t it working?” Ianto was vaguely aware that he was starting to babble.
Jack gave him a sympathetic look. “Sometimes people just die, Ianto. It doesn’t make any sense.” Jack glanced up at the clock. “Time of death is 02:41.”
“No! We did it right. He should be fine.” Ianto couldn’t bring himself to look at Nigalni’s body. Looking at Jack was even worse. Ianto didn’t think he could bear to see the sympathy in those blue eyes.
“Ianto - “ Jack reached out a placating hand, which Ianto roughly pushed aside.
Jack sighed. “Why don’t you get cleaned up? I’ll set this room to rights and do the autopsy in the morning. We’re both running on fumes here.”
“There isn’t any room in the morgue drawer. I already put two dead women in it tonight.”
Ianto turned on his heel and marched out of the operating room, down the corridor, out the door, across the courtyard, and into the shower room in the cells. He could hear blood rushing in his ears. No one else was in the cells. Gwen was stuck in the Lodwar, Owen and Martha were still making a circuit of the villages, Sarah Jane was doing the night shift in the Spoke, Mickey was at his post at the gate, and Jack was tending to a dead body. A dead body who, just yesterday morning, had smiled at Ianto and asked when Owen would be back. Resolutely, Ianto turned on the hot water. There wasn’t always plenty of water, but at least it was always hot. He peeled off his bloody uniform, still with a bit of snot from earlier in the day, when the two women and Nigalni were alive. Ianto knew, on an intellectual level, that there was probably no way he could have saved their lives. They did not have the proper medicines. They did not have enough time. All three patients were too far gone. Ianto knew this, but it did not make it any better. In some ways, it was worse. What was the point then? What was the fucking point of throwing himself up against this brick wall? It never gave. Nothing changed. It was hopeless.
Ianto didn’t realize he was sobbing until he heard a strange keening echo in the shower room. He crouched down on his heels, holding his knees and rocking back and forth in the hot spray. He never saw Jack walk in, peel off his own bloody scrubs, and pick up a sponge.
Ianto started violently at the first touch of Jack’s hand on his bare back. It was as if their positions had been reversed from earlier that day. Jack hummed, and used the sponge to wash away the dried blood. Ianto squeezed his eyes shut and felt Jack move to his hair, shampooing and rinsing. Slowly, Ianto stood up and opened his eyes, gazing at Jack warily. Jack brought the sponge over again for Ianto’s arms and chest. Their only point of contact now was the sponge, dripping with soapy water. Jack finished cleaning Ianto and brought the sponge up to his own chest, quickly washing away the blood, sweat, and dust of the day. Ianto reached out, plucked the sponge out of Jack’s hands, and proceeded to scrub down Jack’s back. Ianto dropped the sponge, and picked up the bottle of shampoo, doing for Jack what Jack had just done for him. Jack’s eyes were closed, head tilted back under the spray, a slight smile on his face. Ianto watched, fascinated, as a drop of water traveled down Jack’s forehead and balanced precariously on the tip of his nose. Slowly, slowly, the drop of water fell from Jack’s nose, and landed with a splash on his bottom lip. Without even thinking about it, Ianto stepped forward and ran his thumb along the lip where the drop had fallen. Jack’s eyes opened in surprise. They stood there under the spray of hot water, staring at each other, the only contact Ianto’s thumb on Jack’s lower lip, for what seemed eternity. Afterwards, neither of them could recall exactly who moved first. Was it Jack, mouth closing around Ianto’s thumb, nipping at the callouses, kisses trailing down to Ianto’s palm and then wrist? Or was it Ianto, stepping further into Jack’s personal space, his other hand reaching up to stroke Jack’s neck? All rational thought flew out the window as their two wet bodies made full contact, chest against chest, thigh against thigh, mouth against mouth. Fingers and tongues went exploring, mapping out histories in the planes and curves, swells and dips and scars of each other’s bodies: the L-shaped scar on Ianto’s thigh from when he had run into the corner of a window when he was a small child; the muscles in Jack’s back from four years’ of college baseball; the strong calf muscles in Ianto’s legs from kilometers and kilometers of running to clear his head; a long scar low on Jack’s back, as if someone had stabbed him there. Jack’s chest was smooth and silky, Ianto’s was slightly furry. Jack’s hands were large and his fingers were thick, Ianto’s hands were small but his fingers were long and delicate. They both had callouses on their fingertips from so long dealing with needles, shots, and shears.
Ianto felt his back come into contact with the tiled wall of the shower room and then Jack’s hands were under him, lifting him up. Ianto clung to Jack’s neck, kissing his mouth fiercely, again and again as he drew his legs up around Jack’s hips. Their eyes locked, and Ianto could feel Jack, in him and around him and so much closer than it was possible to be. It wasn’t close enough. He scrabbled for purchase around Jack’s neck, bringing him in even deeper, and he had time for one fleeting thought to question why they had waited so long to do this when he felt Jack go off like an explosion inside him. He could feel Jack trembling, and slid his legs to the floor to take back his own weight. Jack’s mouth was on his lips, his neck, Jack’s tongue caressing his pulse and trailing down his chest as Jack fell to his knees at Ianto’s feet. Jack’s hands were on his hips and Jack’s mouth was on him and Ianto almost passed out from the pleasure of it. Now Ianto was in Jack and around Jack and all he could see was Jack and all he could feel was Jack and all he wanted was Jack.
Afterwards they curled up into the same bunk in the cells, arms around each other, feet tangled together.
Ianto’s night was filled with unsettling dreams. He was walking down a sidewalk in a nameless European city, hand in hand with Jack, when Lisa stepped out of an alleyway and asked him why he didn’t love her anymore. Then he was in a consultation with Jack, and in the middle of a discussion about the patient’s high blood pressure, Jack asked him why he was betraying Lisa. In each dream Ianto was with Jack and in each dream Lisa was sad and angry.
Ianto woke up slowly, feeling sore and overly warm. There was a large weight on his chest and for a moment he panicked, unable to move. Memory returned as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. Jack was sprawled across his chest, mouth breathing into his neck, hand curled possessively around his hip. Ianto had a crick in his neck from sleeping on Jack’s arm, and a pain in his chest from his dreams of Lisa. He had no idea how to gracefully disentangle himself.
“Jack?” he whispered, giving the man a gentle shake. “Jack, we have to do rounds now.”
“Hngjik myu shewlof,” Jack muttered back, lips trailing over Ianto’s jawline, hand tightening on Ianto’s hipbone.
“That’s a little tight, Jack. Let me up.”
Jack just burrowed even closer. Ianto sighed, and gave him a slight shove.
“Ouch!” Jack rolled away, sitting up. “Hey! What was that for?”
“Sorry! Just trying to get up here,” Ianto couldn’t meet his eyes. “Are you alright?”
Jack smiled blearily. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He leaned in to give Ianto a kiss. Ianto pulled away.
“We need to get to rounds.”
“Well, yeah, okay. . .” Jack was perplexed. “Ianto, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing! Nothing!” Ianto was quick to reassure him. “I just, we need to get to work.”
“What time is it? Six already?” Jack yawned without covering his mouth. “I think I could handle another shower,” he said, shooting a grin in Ianto’s direction.
“I don’t have enough time, but you go ahead, I’ll go make the coffee, did you want some toast?” Ianto realized he was babbling and shut his mouth with a snap. He finished buttoning up his uniform and turned to face Jack.
Jack was staring at him with his mouth open. “Ianto, did I do something wrong?”
“No!”
“Because you’re acting a little weird.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yeah, you are. Last night you. . .you wanted me. This morning you practically kicked me out of bed. I’m not usually one for hearts and flowers, but come on, don’t you think that’s a little harsh?”
Ianto took a deep breath -
“Jack! Bloody hell! Get your arse up here!” Mickey’s voice suddenly sounded over the intercom. “I think it’s Martha and Owen!”
Jack practically flew out of the bed.
“Jack! Clothes! I’ll go help Mickey.”
Jack nodded and hurriedly began dressing as Ianto ran from the room.
It was Mgumbe’s truck. Ianto could just make out Martha in the cab of the truck through the hazy dawn light. The truck skidded to a halt as Ianto ran up and jerked the door open.
Martha looked like death warmed over. “Ianto. I’m glad you’re here,” she said with a warbly smile.
“Dr. Jones. Here, let me help you down,” Ianto leaned in and unbuckled her seat belt; sliding one arm under her knees, he gently lifted her out of the cab. He was vaguely aware of Mgumbe getting out of the other door and crossing around to the back of the truck as Jack came running up.
“Martha!” The relief and happiness were very apparent in Jack’s voice. He grabbed one of her hands and kissed her fingers. “Are you okay? What happened? Where’s Owen?”
“Jack…” she whispered, face crumpling. Tears leaked from her eyes. “Jack, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
Ianto tightened his arms around her shaking body, his eyes meeting Jack’s stricken ones.
“Dr. Harkness?” Mgumbe’s voice sounded as if from a great distance. “Dr. Harkness, we were able to bring his body back with us…”
Jack broke eye contact with Ianto, and turned towards Mgumbe. “His body?”
“Here, in the back of the truck.”
The words took a moment to sink in. Martha continued to cry into Ianto’s shoulder, mumbling apologies.
Jack took a shaky breath. “Right. Nurse Jones, please take Dr. Jones into the Spoke and get her set up in a room. Mgumbe, will you help me get Dr. Harper into the Hub?”
Mgumbe nodded, and turned to climb up in the bed of the truck.
Ianto hesitated, and shifting Martha slightly in his arms, he reached out and squeezed Jack’s shoulder. Jack gripped his hand for a moment before clearing his throat. “Martha, I’ll be with you soon. Ianto will take care of you until I get there, okay?”
Martha was silent as Ianto carried her into the Spoke and into a spare room. Sarah Jane came hurrying over from a room down the hall. She took one look at Martha, and Ianto could see her heart breaking. She placed one arm about Martha’s shoulders and murmured assurances in her ear. Ianto went out into the hall to get her some water and the medical supplies cart, and allow time for Sarah Jane to help her change out of her filthy clothes. Ianto took a deep breath, knowing he would have to ask Martha about what happened, and that he would have to listen.
Martha looked up when he came back into the room, dragging the cart. “Ianto,” she started, cleared her throat, and tried again. “Ianto, I don’t want to tell this story more than once. Is it okay to wait for Jack?”
Ianto nodded reassuringly. “That’s fine, Dr. Jones. Why don’t you just tell me where you’re injured for now so Sarah Jane and I can help you?”
Martha nodded back and began to recite her injuries: dehydration; what felt like a couple of cracked ribs; a definitely sprained ankle; some minor scrapes and bruises on her knees, the palms of her hands, her backside, and her chin.
As Ianto set to work with Sarah Jane, his mind wandered to Jack, over in the Hub with the body of his closest friend. His brain shied away from the horrors that autopsy would contain.
Jack joined them about an hour later. Ianto searched his face from his position on the far side of Martha. Jack’s world-weariness was apparent in the cant of his shoulders, the furrows in his brow, the shadows in his eyes. Nevertheless, he took one of Martha’s hands in his and said, gently, “Please tell us.”
Martha took a quavering breath and looked deep into Jack’s eyes. They held their stare for over a minute, then Martha squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking from the corners.
“We went to the village to check on the kids. It was just as Mgumbe had described it: the recruitment forces had been through, taking all the little boys. They had raped the women, and taken a few of them along, too, for “future needs.” The elders of the village had tried to stop them, but they were all slaughtered. The recruiters had machine guns. The elders had stones. There was no contest.
“Owen was…I had never seen him like that. He was so beyond furious, but so gentle with the survivors. We worked for two straight days, patching everyone up. One of the little girls really took a shine to Owen. She followed him around, and tried to be his nurse.
“We were still with the group from the Red Cross. We thought, safety in numbers, you know? We thought no way would they attack so many of us, not after already going through the village. We were wrong.”
Martha was crying in earnest now, tears streaming down her cheeks, but not sobbing. She took a shaky breath.
“The same group came back. I don’t know why. They already had everything they wanted. There was a fight. I was running towards the Red Cross truck with Owen’s little nurse. And then, I wasn’t. I was still holding her hand, but she was dead. She was hit by a couple of bullets. I could see the man who killed her. I could see him raise his gun at me. Owen . . . I never even saw him, but suddenly he was there. He took the bullet that should have killed me.”
Jack squeezed her hand tighter. Ianto’s heart ached for the both of them.
“I don’t even remember getting injured myself. One of the Red Cross guards carried Owen’s body to the truck. We drove . . . we met up with Mgumbe in another village; he had delivered the young women from that first village and was looking for us. The Red Cross wanted me to stay with them, but I had to get back here. I had to bring Owen home. I needed to see you, Jack. I -“ her voice cut off as she finally gave in to the desire to sob out loud. Jack moved closer and gathered her up in his arms, rocking her on the bed. Ianto signaled to Sarah Jane, and the two nurses quietly left them alone. Out in the hall, Ianto submitted to a hug from Sarah Jane before mumbling something about checking back in with their patients. He was able to lose himself in the work for a couple of hours, but after each dosage had been checked, blankets adjusted, drinks fetched and bedpans scoured, there was nothing for it but to go back to the cells and try to sleep through the hottest part of the day. He looked into Martha’s room on his way out of the Spoke. She slept the sleep of the drugged. Sarah Jane had taken Jack’s place in the chair by the bed. She gave him a soft smile and a mouthed “good night.”
Ianto trudged across the courtyard and into the cells, but pulled up short, seeing Jack lying on his bed - the same bed they’d used just the previous night. Hesitantly, he walked over and looked down at Jack. His eyes were open, red-rimmed and staring unseeing at the ceiling.
“Jack? Would…would you like some tea or…anything?”
Jack snorted. “Anything? Yeah, I’d like a little ‘anything,’ Ianto. You offering?”
Ianto flushed, and turned to walk away.
“No. No, don’t walk away. I want to know what I did wrong.” Jack sat up suddenly and fixed Ianto with an angry stare. “My friend is lying dead across the courtyard and I had to do the autopsy. The closest thing I have to a sister is in horrible pain and I can’t do anything to put her heart back together. We are surrounded by death and horror and hopelessness on every side, and what am I stuck thinking about? That last night you loved me and I worshiped every square inch of you, and today, you want to act like it never happened! Tell me, Ianto, what is wrong with me?!”
They were standing so close now. Jack’s blue eyes filled Ianto’s field of vision. He felt he was drowning in them, sinking deeper and deeper with every breath.
“I…I’m sorry,” he managed to whisper. There was a long pause.
“That’s all?” Jack’s voice was soft, unemotional now. It was his turn to walk away.
“Wait. Please?”
Jack looked back over his shoulder. “Am I going to get an answer?”
Ianto sat down heavily on the bed. “Jack, the last person I lo - maybe Gwen had told you, but the reason she thought I should come to Africa was because my girlfriend died several months ago and I kind of shriveled up inside. Lisa was so vibrant, and determined, and charming. You’d have liked her,” he added in a small voice.
“Anyhow, I came here, and I met you, and I just started being…happy…again.” Ianto risked a glance up at Jack. Jack was standing there, arms crossed over his chest, but he was listening intently.
“Last night wasn’t a mistake,” he continued, holding Jack’s gaze until he came over to the bed and sat down next to Ianto.
“The thing is, I feel myself falling for you, and that scares me. I don’t know what to expect. I’ve never fallen for a man before, and, well, I know what men are like. When I’m around you, it doesn’t matter. Everything feels right, and I can forget that this is too soon and too much and I’m putting my foot in my mouth -“
Jack’s lips were on his, effectively silencing him. Jack’s hand was on his chest, Jack’s body maneuvering his own flat onto the bed. Jack was like a wave crashing over him, stealing his breath, turning his limbs to jelly. Ianto was completely submerged. He wanted to *want* to fight it, but it was so difficult.
Jack’s fingers expertly undid Ianto’s neat row of buttons, peeling the shirt off him and discarding it somewhere on the floor. Ianto’s belt followed before he could think clearly enough to push Jack off of him.
“Wait.”
Jack’s tongue and teeth were caressing and nipping at Ianto’s neck as Jack’s hands were lifting Ianto’s hips, pulling at his pants.
“Jack, I said wait!”
Jack rocked back on his heels.
“What?”
“Didn’t you hear what I said?”
“You said everything feels right.”
“Well, yes, but -“
“No butts until later.”
“Jack.”
“Sorry, time and place.” Jack settled back onto the bed. “Sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Look, I know I don’t have a stellar reputation. And I’m a bit of a flirt. And we’re both a little…broken.” He bit his lip. “But I make you happy. And you make me happy. And right now, happy is in short supply. We’re lucky to have found each other, don’t you think?”
Ianto nodded slowly.
“So let’s see where this goes! Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to try to live for right now, Ianto, just once in your life?”
“But what if -“
“I won’t break you. You’re stronger than you think. And I’ll never intentionally hurt you. Give me a chance. Please.”
Ianto hesitated. “You sure you want to put up with me? I can be awfully stubborn.”
Jack smiled. “Yeah. I like it.”
Ianto hmphed, but returned the smile. He reached out for Jack and helped him shuck his shirt. Their lips met again, mouths opening, as Jack moved back to slipping off Ianto’s trousers and pants, shoes and socks. Ianto’s fingers deftly undid the buckle on Jack’s belt. Jack pushed Ianto back into the pillows as he shed the rest of his own clothing. His fingers caressed Ianto’s hips as he licked his lips and took Ianto deep into his mouth. Ianto threw his head back and couldn’t stop the moan from traveling up his throat and out into the hot air of the cells. He dug his fingers into Jack’s hair.
“Jack, I want - I need - Jack,” Ianto tugged on Jack’s head. Ianto was amazed at the look in his eyes. How could he inspire such lust and affection? If Jack had been an inexorable wave earlier, he was a raging bonfire now.
Ianto’s breath caught in his throat even as he pushed Jack back. “I want to feel you,” he whispered as he crawled up Jack’s body. Jack nodded, eyes burning brighter and brighter. Ianto was already slick and aching from Jack’s earlier ministrations. Slowly, slowly Jack let him inside. Ianto wanted to fill every empty space in Jack’s life. He could almost feel the ghost of Owen in the room with them, and all the others that Jack worked alongside in previous wars, men and women who laid down their lives for a cause and would never feel this fire. He felt sorry for them, even as he reveled in the sensation of Jack all around him. He pushed in deeper, and Jack let out a strangled moan and dragged his nails down Ianto’s back. He began to chant Ianto’s name as Ianto got closer and closer to the edge. Ianto’s teeth latched onto the precise spot where Jack’s neck met his shoulder, and they both came hard.
Ianto collapsed onto Jack’s chest, mumbling incoherently. Jack clung to his back, breathing heavily. The heat, emotional exhaustion, and yesterday’s long hours started to take their toll, and they both drifted off to sleep.
Ianto woke with a start at 15:58. His muscles twitched involuntarily and he tightened his grip around Jack’s chest. He stared perplexedly at his alarm clock. Something had woken him up, but he had no idea what. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he sat up, giving Jack’s shoulders a gentle shake.
“Jack.”
“Hnghkly.”
“That’s fascinating. I’m going to take a shower now. You want in?”
Jack was suddenly wide awake and sat bolt upright, hair going in about one hundred different directions. “Of course!”
Jack’s face was a map of pillow creases. Hiding a smile, Ianto rooted around in the cell’s cupboard for a couple of clean towels. He could feel Jack watching him, and smiled broader.
The showers at Torched Wood were sometimes uncomfortably hot due to the sun warming the water in the pipes throughout the daylight hours. Still, Jack and Ianto managed to drag out their shower. Jack’s hands caressed Ianto’s shoulders, torso and stomach. They stood under the shower together, eye to eye. Ianto liked the new sensation of being on the same eye level as his partner. He also really liked what Jack was doing with his hands. Jack touched him like he was completely new, fragile, but not like Ianto was breakable. Fragile as in cherished. Fragile as in Jack didn’t want to lose him. Ianto reveled in the sense of adoration as the water smoothed away the soap and shampoo, the smell of sex and Jack’s own particular odor, which Ianto seemed to have taken in through his pores. Ianto’s own hands traveled over Jack’s hips, gripping his waist, tickling the soft skin where the legs started being legs and ceased being buttocks. Jack moved in closer. Ianto’s brain completely shut off and didn’t turn back on until they switched the water off.
They dried off at a faster pace, anxious to get back to Martha and their new patients. As they walked down the hall of the cells towards the courtyard, it suddenly hit Ianto what had woken him up.
“The animals. I haven’t heard any animals this afternoon, not even any birds or insects.” Ianto broke into a run, Jack on his heels.
“Ianto, what -“
Both men skidded to a stop in the courtyard. Mickey was on his knees, bloody gag in his mouth. Ianto couldn’t even spare him a second glance. His eyes were transfixed by the large gang leader holding a rifle rather casually on his hip, with a smaller gun in his other hand, pointed to Mickey’s forehead. He was wearing chunky black combat boots, camo trousers, and a dirty pale blue overshirt, similar to workshirts worn in petrol stations all over the world. “Hello, My Name Is JOHN. How May I Be of Service?” was stitched in a name tag over his heart. At least a half dozen of his cohorts were ranged through the courtyard.
“Dr. Harkness! I have come to rain death and destruction down on you and yours!” John proclaimed in a loud clear voice.
Ianto stifled an inappropriate giggle. He sounds like he was taught English by Owen, he thought before he could catch himself.
“Indeed. Surely we can work something out?” Jack’s voice sounded calm in Ianto’s ears. They were really well-armed. Ianto’s breathing started coming a little faster.
“All I want is for this place to not be here. Torch the Torched Wood!” John snickered, gestured to his men, and they all started to snicker, too.
Ooh, clever. We’re going to die at the hands of cut-rate Bond villains. Brilliant.
“Let’s be reasonable. Isn’t a clinic useful for soldiers in a time of war?” Ianto had no idea how Jack was maintaining this calm; he was gibbering uncontrollably in his own head.
John snorted and opened his mouth to reply when one of his soldiers emerged from the Spoke. Ianto’s heart caught in his throat. Martha, Sarah Jane, Mgumbe, all of their patients - what had happened to them? He couldn’t make out what the soldier was saying. Ianto recognized the words for “bed” and “woman,” but the dialect was slightly different and the wind wasn’t helping.
“What are you playing at, Dr. Harkness? You say this is a clinic - where are the patients?” John moved closer to Jack and Ianto, one of his soldiers taking up the position behind Mickey.
Jack was silent, his features still. Ianto tried to imitate him.
“Well?!” John was now just inches away. Ianto could see the spittle in the corners of his mouth and individual grains of sand on his shirt. Ianto frowned. The wind was really picking up, but there were no telltale clouds beyond the wall.
“Bah!” John was turning away, so he missed seeing the copter blades make their appearance over the trees. He didn’t miss hearing the machine gun rattle. Two of the gang members fell in the first wave, and all hell broke loose.
Later, Ianto had a hard time making sense of what had happened in the courtyard. He remembered snippets, burned into his memory. Mickey, rolling to the side and kicking his captor high in the chest with what Ianto could only describe as a break-dance move. (Ianto could not later remember untying him after that, but Mickey assured him that he did.) Mgumbe’s face, peering around the corner of the garage, and how had he got there when Ianto was pretty sure he had been in the Spoke with Sarah Jane? (The underground tunnels that Sarah Jane had glanced over in his orientation - the six current patients, Sarah Jane, and Martha had followed Mgumbe under the courtyard and up into the garage at Mickey’s first warning shout.) Rhys, clinging to the controls of the helicopter, his face set with determination and terror. (Again, later, Rhys told him privately that only years of video arcade games had allowed him to maintain the height of the copter. He had had precisely five minutes of training after he and Gwen had received the one distress call Mickey had been able to put out - luckily they had already been enroute.) Gwen on the machine guns in the helicopter, face contorted with rage. Ianto had no idea she even knew how to load a gun, and there she was, firing away and shrieking obscenities. She looked like an avenging angel. (She told him, later, that she liked the power she felt when firing the machine gun. It worried her.) But what was emblazoned in his memory was Jack.
In that first frozen moment after the sound of the machine gun fire died, Jack hurled himself at John, knocking him down. As fights raged all around them (and there was Mickey again, untied and brandishing two guns he had managed to take from the soldiers), Jack and John wrestled for control over John’s firearms. A couple of soldiers got close and were picked off by Gwen. (Later, Ianto was told that he had acquitted himself admirably in defense of Jack, aiming for kneecaps and not shooting to kill. Ianto has no memory of this, or of how he got his hands on a gun in the first place.) Slowly, slowly Jack got the upper hand, kicking the rifle away and seizing the handgun. Breaking free of John, Jack stood and aimed down at him. John’s hand dipped down to his combat boot and as Jack fired, John threw the knife that he had concealed there. Ianto could see it like it was in slow motion, but he couldn’t move fast enough to prevent the damage, only to pull Jack to the side. The knife lodged under his ribcage on his left side. There was so much blood, welling up and over Ianto’s fingers as he frantically tried to stem the flow.
“Jack! You can’t die. You can’t die. You can’t die.” It became his mantra; Ianto couldn’t stop repeating it even if he had wanted to.
He was unaware of the fighting stopping around him, or the copter easing down in the grass outside the walls. (Later, they told him that Mgumbe and Martha drove the truck with the patients and Sarah Jane in the back, and Ianto followed with Jack in the copter, Gwen back at the controls, Rhys acting as co-pilot, and Mickey across from them, having stashed Owen’s corpse rather awkwardly into the fourth bucket seat.) Ianto didn’t remember how they got there, just the color of Jack’s blood on his hands and the wind ruffling Jack’s hair and when Ianto finally looked up, Owen was looking back at them.
“Hey, mate. See you got your hands around Jack, yeah?”
Ianto gave him a watery smile. “Yup.”
“The two of you going to head off and star in your own movie now? The African Queens? Out in Africa?”
“I Dreamed of Dead Owen in Africa.”
“You better hold tight. He can be a slippery sucker.”
Ianto chuckled softly to himself, sniffling a little. “I’ve figured that part out myself.”
Owen gave a small smile. “You’re well-suited for each other, did I ever tell you that?”
“Can’t say as you did.”
“Yeah, well, do you blame me? He was my best friend, but then with you…well. I could’ve been more welcoming, I reckon.”
“Wouldn’t have been you, then.”
Owen snorted. “Guess not.”
There was a silence, broken only by the whirring of copter blades.
“Ianto, mate…you’ll be a friend to him, too, won’t you? He needs someone to call him on his shit from time to time, you know.”
“I can do that.”
“Good, good.” Another pause. “Listen, I need to get going. I don’t want to see your ugly mug, or Jack’s, for a long time, understand?”
“Thank you, Owen. You won’t.”
Owen smiled, and looked away.
Ianto caught himself as he started nodding off. His hands were a sticky mess, but the blood was drying. Jack had stopped bleeding. He had less color in his cheeks than usual, but they were not a deathly hue. Stretching his neck, Ianto peered around at their surroundings. They were in the back of the helicopter. Mickey was dozing in one of the seats across from them. Owen’s sheet-wrapped corpse was balanced in the seat next to him. Ianto wrinkled his nose. Owen was starting to stink. Ianto looked over his shoulder. Gwen and Rhys were in the cab of the copter, talking quietly. Settling back, Ianto could just make out a dust cloud on the road below them: the big truck from Torched Wood, hopefully transporting Martha, Sarah Jane, Mgumbe and all the patients. Ianto had no idea where they were headed, or even how he had gotten into the copter in the first place, but he found himself strangely not minding. At least he was awake now, and not carrying on conversations with dead men.
“Ianto?” Jack’s voice was barely there.
“Save your strength, Jack,” Ianto replied, tightening his grip and kissing the top of Jack’s head.
“Just one thing.”
“What’s that, then?”
“I love you.”
Ianto felt tears threaten his eyes. “You’re not dying.”
“I know that. I still love you.”
“Thank you,” Ianto whispered back. “I love you, too.”
Part Three: blue-fjords.livejournal.com/3861.html
Author: blue_fjords
The days slowly fell into a kind of routine. Ianto woke early and went to check on the overnight patients. Then he started coffee for the other staff, and made toast for him and Jack, since Owen seemed to subsist on energy bars, and Martha and Nurse Smith did a night check on the overnight patients and had a snack together then. Jack would always greet him enthusiastically.
“Nurse Jones! Could I be greeted by a lovelier sight? Wait, wait. I will answer myself. No, I could not.”
Ianto would typically roll his eyes while handing Jack a coffee.
“And look! Coffee!” Jack liked to take an appreciative whiff. “This is my favorite morning since yesterday.”
Ianto couldn’t help himself from smiling. “There’s toast, too, Dr. Harkness.”
“Jack.”
“As you wish, Doctor.”
Then would come Ianto’s favorite part of the morning ritual. Their hands would meet as Ianto passed over the napkin with toast, already nutella-ed. Jack would run his thumb over Ianto’s fingers, and draw circles on the back of his hand. He would be rewarded with the barest of small hitches in Ianto’s breathing.
“Oi! Don’t I get any coffee?” Owen, of course.
Mgumbe would usually show up as Ianto brushed the crumbs of his toast into a bin.
Then it was triage with Nurse Smith. He usually aided Jack or Martha with whatever new patients came through. Whenever he had a spare moment, Ianto would obsessively take inventory. Being so isolated from any outside source of food and medicine made him nervous, and his countless lists and double-checks were the only ways he had found to help his anxiety. Nurse Smith provided lunch for the staff, and she and Ianto concocted the best meals possible for the overnight patients, as befit their needs. Lunch could take up to two hours, depending on who needed what kind of help. After lunch, Ianto liked to do the cleaning. A clinic in the middle of a dustbowl required continuous sweeping and dusting. Mgumbe also brought children to them in the afternoons for any preventative care they could provide. Then, on the rare days there were no new patients, Jack would wander by and see if Ianto needed a hand with rolling bandages or sterilizing the medical implements in the operating bay. At first, these impromptu visits made Ianto extremely nervous. Ever since their first meeting, he had felt Jack’s eyes on him as he went about his duties. Ianto didn’t know what to make of the man. He flirted outrageously with absolutely everybody, and still managed to be incredibly charming instead of smarmy. Gradually, though, he began to let his guard down more and more around Jack. He remembered the first time he laughed at one of his deliberately lame puns - Jack’s answering grin could have lit up the room. After prep time with Jack was nap time, again barring emergencies. It took Ianto a while to get used to the concept of sleeping in the middle of the day, but he soon learned the necessity of resting during the hottest part of the day. He conducted another check-up on the overnight patients after his nap, and then started preparing the meals for the patients. Nurse Smith tended to gossip during dinner-prep. It was like she charged her batteries during her nap, and had to burn off energy by running her mouth. Ianto soon perfected the art of appearing interested, even smiling and nodding at appropriate intervals, while his mind wandered down memory lane, dwelling on the green hills of Wales and the sunlight off the water in the Bay. Paperwork was reserved for the hours after dinner. Nurse Smith had several ideas about funding opportunities, plus there were charts to be updated and supplies to be requisitioned.
Ianto found that he was happy at Torched Wood. His first set of patients, the family of Sudanese refugees, had healed enough to continue their journey. (Jack told him privately that the young woman was convinced that her husband, a fighter in one of the roving bands in Sudan, had asked her to bring the family back to him. Jack was less than convinced, and Ianto’s heart ached at the sight of his distress.)
The days were full. Thus far, he had been lucky enough to avoid anything that he would definitely label as an emergency. Emergencies in this area usually involved violence and bloodshed. Gwen had told him some stories to try to prepare him. Apparently, soon after Doctors Harkness and Harper arrived at the clinic, a dozen young boys had found their way to the clinic, seeking refuge from the recruiters to the local warlord’s “army.” The boys had been beaten to within an inch of their lives. One had died at the clinic, and one was still a patient three months later. Owen was trying to teach him how to play chess.
Ianto fell into bed each night with the feeling that he was doing good, important work; making a difference. It was a good feeling.
“Owen and I knew this woman once, let’s call her Suzie, she was kind of crazy. Anyhow, Suzie liked to collect dead bugs. Scalpel,” Jack paused as Ianto placed the requested item in his gloved hand. “Thank you, Ianto.”
“Of course, Dr. Harkness.”
“Jack.”
“As you wish, Doctor.”
Jack canted his eyes at Ianto, then turned back to the open chest cavity in front of him.
Ianto peered alongside him. “Dead bugs?” he prompted.
“Nah, I’d say this looks more like a good clean knife thrust,” Jack replied, rolling the ‘r’ in thrust in a vaguely obscene manner. Ianto settled for rolling his eyes. He could feel Jack’s eyes smiling at him above his surgical mask.
“So, the dead bugs,” Jack resumed. “She pinned them to particle board with color-coded thumb tacks. Some of the tacks were bigger than the bugs. Anyhow, one day, actually scratch that, it was well past midnight - done with the scalpel for now, thanks.”
Ianto wordlessly took it back, his fingers brushing over Jack’s. He studiously ignored the way his own pulse quickened at the touch of the other man’s hand.
“We were just finishing a double shift. All I wanted was a long, hot shower, but there was this strange buzzing coming from the sleep-and-fuck room. Owen thought it was a couple of nurses with a dildo, and talked me into walking in on them.”
Ianto cocked an eyebrow at him.
“Hey, it was his idea! Anyway,” Jack hurriedly continued the story. “There were no dildos, or nurses, in the sleep-and-fuck room. It was Suzie. Suzie and an old tape recorder, blasting insect noises - crickets, cicadas, mosquitoes, bees. And let’s not forget the piece de resistance! She had her bug collection with her. She was standing over the bug collection, making buzzing noises, just like on the tape! She had killed them all, and now she was attempting to bring them back.”
Ianto’s eyebrow was getting a workout. “And precisely how was she planning to do that?”
Jack grinned with his eyes. “Electric shock therapy. She was wearing wool socks!”
Ianto let out a snort of laughter. Jack laughed with him, a pleased look in his eyes.
“May I ask what position Suzie occupied at your hospital?”
“Head of neurosurgery.”
Ianto laughed again, Jack right along with him. Their eyes met.
“Oi! You lot just about done in there?” Owen’s voice called from the corridor. “I’ve got a bloke out here that could really use Nurse Jones’ deft touch with a needle and thread.”
Jack gave Ianto another grin. “You better be careful when Owen pays you a compliment, you know.”
Ianto’s lips quirked into an answering smile. “Hmm, I think I got that when Sarah Jane miraculously wound up with laundry duty every day last week.” Owen had proclaimed loudly that Sarah Jane Smith softened fabric just by smiling at it. “Though between you and me, I really do like stitches.”
In fact, Ianto’s favorite medical procedure was stitches. They were ugly to look at, but they made everything so neat. Lining the skin up, thread pulled tight and tied off, the tiny scar reminding that here, right here, it could have been so much worse. Stitches helped the skin repair itself, which it already wanted to do, and when he thought of it, wasn’t that amazing? The human body, joining back together again, closing gaping wounds, the skin protecting all those vital organs and precious arteries, always tenaciously striving for life. And stitches were Ianto’s way of being of use. So if Owen wanted to foist them off on Ianto, Ianto didn’t mind.
The heat was oppressive, and the sandstorm yesterday had prevented Gwen from making her scheduled trip out to the clinic. Ianto was on edge; everyone was, really. Word had reached them two days ago about possible skirmishes to the west. Two competing warlords were fighting for the privilege of negotiating with USAID contractors to get an educational project going in their own villages. It was impossible to tell if smoke had joined the sand clouds on the horizon, but Ianto privately thought he could smell it, more so than the underlying smell from their own burnt village. What really had him on pins and needles, though, was Jack. It had started after Mgumbe had left two days ago, to pass the news of the fighting to the villages beyond the clinic. Ianto thought it would be prudent to prepare extra dressings and field kits for any potential victim of the skirmishes. Jack had agreed and was giving him a hand. Owen, who usually went off by himself during the prep time, had joined them. Ianto and Jack were talking quietly, hands occasionally brushing as they divided supplies and rolled bandages.
“So then I turned to my buddy Gerald and I said, ‘if you wanted some sushi, all you had to do was ask!’”
Ianto snorted. “Blowfish sushi? You certainly do take risks.”
“What’s life without a little risky business, eh?” Jack grinned at him. Ianto rolled his eyes.
“One blowfish has enough poison to kill thirty adult humans.”
Jack laughed. “You do really know everything, don’t you, Ianto?”
Ianto smiled and reached for the bandage Jack was handing him. “I try.”
Their eyes met, as did their fingers.
“Oh, get a room, why don’t you?” Owen said in disgust. “Could the two of you be any more obvious?”
Ianto blushed and dropped his end of the bandage.
Jack turned lazily to face Owen. “What’s the matter, Owen? You jealous?”
He snorted loudly. “Trust me, Nurse Jones is all yours, Harkness. Do with him as you will, just not in front of me.”
Ianto thought his face would burn off. “Don’t you have a chess game to get to, Dr. Harper? You’ve never helped with any preparations before; no need to start now.”
Owen glared back at him. “Oh, come on, Ianto, we all know you want his hands on your body,” Owen said. “Stop dancing around the issue and go get laid. There’s nothing else to do here right now, anyhow.”
Ianto stared at Owen with his mouth hanging open. He couldn’t believe that Owen had actually said it out loud. Ianto had never struck another being in anger before in his life (well, all right, his sister Gwen when they were kids), but he wanted nothing so much as to bash Owen’s nose into his head and wipe that smirk off his face.
Jack noticed, he had to notice, that Ianto was having a little difficulty reigning in his temper, but the next words out of his mouth were, “You know, Owen, that’s not such a bad idea. A little crudely put, to be sure, but…”
They were both looking at Ianto now, Owen with a smug smirk, Jack with an amused one. Taking a firm grip of his dignity, he addressed the air in between them, “Dr. Harper. Dr. Harkness. I believe you have this situation well in-hand. I will leave you to it. Good day.”
Ianto turned on his heel and marched off.
He hurried down the corridor, pushed the doors open to the courtyard and stalked outside, seething. The nerve of that man! Both of them! It was rude, unprofessional, and, holy crap, were his feelings for Jack really that obvious? And how dare Jack treat him like that?
“Ianto!” Jack came running out into the courtyard, as well. “Hey, Ianto! Slow down. Chill.”
“Chill? Chill?”
“Yeah. It means ‘calm down’ - a little outdated, perhaps -“
“You want me to calm down? After that?” Ianto was incredulous. ”I haven’t been so badly humiliated since - actually, I can’t think of a time!”
“Really? Did you have middle school in Wales?”
Ianto glowered.
“Sorry, sorry, perhaps not the best time for -“ Jack backtracked hastily.
“Jack, you need to tell him that there’s nothing - I mean, that we’re not - I mean, we’re colleagues.” Ianto finished, somewhat lamely.
“Colleagues.”
“Yes, colleagues,” Ianto answered firmly.
Jack just stood there with his arms folded across his chest.
“You want me to march in there and tell Owen to stop picking on you because we are colleagues.”
“You don’t have to tell him to stop picking on me, Jack, I can take care of myself!”
“Well, isn’t that what you just said?”
“No, I said - ”
“Ianto, you really need to lighten up.”
“I am plenty lightened up, Jack; what he said was not appropriate. We have a collegial relationship, nothing more, and he just -“
“Collegial? So when you smile at me, and your hand brushes mine, and you laugh at my jokes, and you stand just a little too close - you would do all those things with Owen because you have a collegial relationship with him, too?”
Ianto stopped and looked at Jack. He swallowed noisily.
“Yes,” he said softly.
“Really. Well, I don’t believe you.”
“Jack -“
“No, Ianto, look, you have got to get that stick out of your ass, or you’re never going to get anything to take its place.”
Ianto made strangled noises.
“Take care of your own problems with Owen. He is your colleague, after all.”
Jack turned and strode quickly back into the Hub, leaving Ianto standing in the middle of the courtyard, feeling humiliated, and stupid, and alone.
That had been two days ago. Since then, Ianto had not said a word to either Jack or Owen that was not “yes, doctor,” or “no, doctor.” Jack and Owen were snappish to each other, and tended to ignore everyone else. Martha and Sarah Jane were downright bewildered. When Mgumbe showed up on the third day and asked if two of them would accompany him to one of the outlying villages that had been targeted in the latest raids, Owen leapt at the chance. Martha decided to go with him. Now there was just Jack to avoid.
Mgumbe returned the next day, sans Owen and Martha but with nine young women crammed into the back of the truck. They had met up with a Red Cross mobile medical unit, complete with armed escort, and the Torched Wood doctors had opted to stay with them and send these patients back to the clinic. They would be more comfortable in an actual facility, Mgumbe said, and Ianto had to agree.
The women had all suffered at the hands of a supposed doctor performing female circumcision. The doctor had thoroughly botched the job, however, and the women were in extreme pain and would most likely not be able to bear children in the future. It was, sadly enough, a common story in that part of Kenya. Done right, female circumcision did not have to interfere with the ability to experience sexual pleasure nor did it prevent conception. However, it was a very delicate procedure and few doctors had the necessary training and equipment to do the job. It reminded Ianto of back-alley abortions, accept that female circumcision carried no social stigma in Kenya. Ianto had been treated to a lecture on how it was misogynistic and evil from a fellow nurse at his hospital in Wales before he left for Kenya. Privately, he found it to be a totally unnecessary medical procedure, but he wasn’t sure if he considered it to be misogynistic or just something his culture wasn’t used to.
Pulling on gloves, he and Jack set to work on the first patient. Calling her a young woman was a little too generous. She was perhaps thirteen. After ten minutes, Ianto decided he was going to have to go with the misogynistic label. He clenched his jaw to control his fury at the sight of swollen and mangled flesh, and willed his hands to be steady and gentle.
Ianto risked a glance at Jack. He looked gray-faced and there was blood on his lip, but his hands were also steady.
“Bring in the others,” Ianto called outside to Mgumbe, pulling on a new pair of gloves.
Over the next five hours, they saw eight more women, all suffering the effects of botched female circumcision. The infection had spread so far in two of them that all Ianto could do was increase their morphine intake and hope that Gwen made it back soon with the antibiotics. The other six women alternated between dull hopelessness and confused disbelief. Jack finished up with their last patient, a girl of about twelve, and stumbled out of the Hub into the darkening gloom. Ianto looked after him worriedly, but there were a few more things he had to do before he could focus on Jack.
Ianto scrubbed his hands and walked through the Spoke, stopping at each woman’s cot to make sure they were resting as comfortably as they could under the circumstances. None of the patients met his eyes. Sighing heavily, Ianto stepped out into the night to look for Jack.
He didn’t have to look far. Jack had barely made it around the corner before collapsing in on himself. As Ianto hurried forward, he could make out the sound of Jack retching into the dead grass.
“Jack?” Ianto asked softly, laying a hand on Jack’s broad shoulder.
Jack stiffened, and pulled himself upright. “Leave me alone, Ianto.”
Ianto gripped him by the shoulders and turned him to look him in the eyes.
Jack had been crying. The tears and sweat were running down his face, his nose had started to run, and spit from getting violently sick was starting to collect in the corner of his mouth. In short, he looked absolutely terrible, completely un-Jack-like. Ianto wanted nothing more than to enclose him in his arms and hold on for dear life, but he was brought up short by the anger in Jack’s eyes.
“Jack. You did everything you could.”
He snorted. “Not much, though, was it? Two of those women aren’t going to make it through the night. The others? They’ll certainly never have children. What kind of future will they have here? They’re supposed to grow up to be mothers. What use does this society have for mothers that aren’t fucking mothers?”
“Maybe they can leave.”
“Leave? Leave?! Stop being so fucking naïve, Ianto! These women aren’t going anywhere!”
Ianto just stood there and assessed him calmly. “You’re right. Their lives are now shit. I really shouldn’t try out optimism; I’m not well-suited for it. I just thought it would make you feel better.”
Jack stared at him incredulously. A gurgling laugh escaped his lips. His eyes opened wide, and he covered his mouth with his hands. “This isn’t funny.” Another hysterical laugh/snort burst forth. “It’s fucking depressing.” He began to laugh harder and cry at the same time.
Ianto moved forward slowly, as if he was approaching a wild animal. He placed one hand on Jack’s shoulder, the other circling his waist and bringing him closer. Jack took a shuddering breath, and moved into the embrace. Closing his eyes, tears still streaming down his face, he laid his head on Ianto’s shoulder. Ianto began to make soothing little humming noises as he moved his one hand across Jack’s shoulder over to the nape of his neck, where he began to run his fingers through Jack’s hair. Ianto’s other hand tightened on Jack’s waist. They stayed that way until Jack’s shuddering came to a stop.
Jack took a deep breath and a step back. “Thank you.”
Ianto nodded gravely. “Would you like some mint leaves?”
“That bad, huh?” Jack huffed, and gave a low-key version of his patented grin. “Yes, please.”
Ianto handed over the mint leaves, and then didn’t know what to do with his hands. He wanted to hold Jack still, but Jack seemed like he wanted his distance again. Ianto settled for stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“We should get back to the Hub,” Jack said, turning in that direction. “And I really need to wash up.”
“Yup.”
Jack stopped abruptly, and turned to face Ianto again. He swallowed. “I’m sorry. About what I said earlier . . . with Owen. And about giving you the cold shoulder for days, and yelling at you just now. And getting snot on your uniform.”
Ianto looked down. Sure enough, there was snot on his uniform. He gave Jack a small smile. “It’s . . . I’m sorry, too. Thanks,” he finished awkwardly.
Jack gave him a look that he couldn’t read. “So . . . let’s get back, yeah? We’re good, right?”
Ianto nodded. “Yup.”
As dusk darkened to evening, and evening slowly became night, the two women who didn’t stand a chance lost their battles. Ianto was with them as each one drew her last breath. Very carefully, he washed and dried each corpse, and dressed them in white dresses from the Foundation’s store of donated clothing. By the time he was finished, they looked utterly at peace. He gently placed them on the double-decker gurney and wheeled them into the one compartment the Hub had for those awaiting burial.
He was just locking them in when Sarah Jane came bustling up to him. “Ianto, we’re having a little trouble with Nigalni, Owen’s chess player. One of us is going to have to help Dr. Harkness. Do you want to do that, or keep an eye on our new patients?”
Ianto ran a hand over his eyes and through his hair, trying to wake himself up. “I’ll help Dr. Harkness. I think the women think I’m bad luck now,” he finished, grimacing.
Sarah Jane gave him an understanding pat on the arm. “You did all that could be done.”
“I know. I just . . . you know how it goes.”
Ianto hurried over to the operating room. Jack was already in there with Nigalni, who looked completely out of it. His hands were moving restlessly, plucking at his hospital gown and pinching his forearms.
“Ianto, I need to start the anesthia now while you scrub in.” Ianto nodded and headed to the sinks. Jack turned his attention back to Nigalni. “Nigalni? Look at me, Nigalni. I’m going to put you to sleep now, and Nurse Jones and I are going to take care of you, okay?”
Nigalni nodded absently, then frowned, and whispered, “Owen?”
Jack did not hesitate. “Owen will be here when you wake up. Just relax for now.”
Nigalni’s eyes slowly shut, and Ianto joined Jack at the operating table. “What happened?”
Jack sighed. “I can’t say for sure. I think he may be developing a clot. We’ll have to open him back up again to make certain, and remove the clot if that’s what it is.”
Three hours later, Ianto spied an innocuous looking growth in one of Nigalni’s main stomach arteries.
“Jack. Look there.”
“I see it. Good work, Ianto.”
Jack began to delicately work away at the clot as Ianto carefully siphoned blood away from the area. It took another hour, but Jack was satisfied that they had it all out. Ianto began the delicate process of stitching Nigalni back up.
Jack was giving Ianto a hand with bandages when the heart monitor hiccupped. The two men exchanged a glance over Nigalni. Jack frowned at the monitor as Ianto peered at Nigalni’s chest. The heart monitor stuttered again, and then flatlined.
“Fuck! Ianto, charge the paddles.” Ianto was already moving towards them. “Come on Nigalni, don’t give up! Owen’s going to go apeshit if anything happens to you,” Jack snarled, as he took off a few bandages to make room for the paddles on Nigalni’s chest.
Ianto squirted the gel on the paddles and placed them on Nigalni. Jack stepped back. Nigalni’s body gave a minor jolt as the electricity kicked in. The heart monitor hiccupped yet again, but did not catch on.
“Up the charge,” Jack barked roughly.
Ianto charged the paddles and reapplied them. “Clear,” he said softly. Nigalni’s body flopped again, but again the heart monitor did not show good news.
Ianto didn’t wait for unnecessary instructions. He upped the charge yet again, and delivered a third jolt. Still nothing. Ianto moved to up the charge again when Jack caught his wrist.
“Ianto. He’s gone.”
“No, no, we can fix this. Owen will be expecting us to fix this.”
“Ianto . . .”
“Clear!” Nigalni reacted to the fourth jolt in the same way.
“This isn’t right. This isn’t right. We got the clot, it went perfectly, he should be fine, why isn’t it working?” Ianto was vaguely aware that he was starting to babble.
Jack gave him a sympathetic look. “Sometimes people just die, Ianto. It doesn’t make any sense.” Jack glanced up at the clock. “Time of death is 02:41.”
“No! We did it right. He should be fine.” Ianto couldn’t bring himself to look at Nigalni’s body. Looking at Jack was even worse. Ianto didn’t think he could bear to see the sympathy in those blue eyes.
“Ianto - “ Jack reached out a placating hand, which Ianto roughly pushed aside.
Jack sighed. “Why don’t you get cleaned up? I’ll set this room to rights and do the autopsy in the morning. We’re both running on fumes here.”
“There isn’t any room in the morgue drawer. I already put two dead women in it tonight.”
Ianto turned on his heel and marched out of the operating room, down the corridor, out the door, across the courtyard, and into the shower room in the cells. He could hear blood rushing in his ears. No one else was in the cells. Gwen was stuck in the Lodwar, Owen and Martha were still making a circuit of the villages, Sarah Jane was doing the night shift in the Spoke, Mickey was at his post at the gate, and Jack was tending to a dead body. A dead body who, just yesterday morning, had smiled at Ianto and asked when Owen would be back. Resolutely, Ianto turned on the hot water. There wasn’t always plenty of water, but at least it was always hot. He peeled off his bloody uniform, still with a bit of snot from earlier in the day, when the two women and Nigalni were alive. Ianto knew, on an intellectual level, that there was probably no way he could have saved their lives. They did not have the proper medicines. They did not have enough time. All three patients were too far gone. Ianto knew this, but it did not make it any better. In some ways, it was worse. What was the point then? What was the fucking point of throwing himself up against this brick wall? It never gave. Nothing changed. It was hopeless.
Ianto didn’t realize he was sobbing until he heard a strange keening echo in the shower room. He crouched down on his heels, holding his knees and rocking back and forth in the hot spray. He never saw Jack walk in, peel off his own bloody scrubs, and pick up a sponge.
Ianto started violently at the first touch of Jack’s hand on his bare back. It was as if their positions had been reversed from earlier that day. Jack hummed, and used the sponge to wash away the dried blood. Ianto squeezed his eyes shut and felt Jack move to his hair, shampooing and rinsing. Slowly, Ianto stood up and opened his eyes, gazing at Jack warily. Jack brought the sponge over again for Ianto’s arms and chest. Their only point of contact now was the sponge, dripping with soapy water. Jack finished cleaning Ianto and brought the sponge up to his own chest, quickly washing away the blood, sweat, and dust of the day. Ianto reached out, plucked the sponge out of Jack’s hands, and proceeded to scrub down Jack’s back. Ianto dropped the sponge, and picked up the bottle of shampoo, doing for Jack what Jack had just done for him. Jack’s eyes were closed, head tilted back under the spray, a slight smile on his face. Ianto watched, fascinated, as a drop of water traveled down Jack’s forehead and balanced precariously on the tip of his nose. Slowly, slowly, the drop of water fell from Jack’s nose, and landed with a splash on his bottom lip. Without even thinking about it, Ianto stepped forward and ran his thumb along the lip where the drop had fallen. Jack’s eyes opened in surprise. They stood there under the spray of hot water, staring at each other, the only contact Ianto’s thumb on Jack’s lower lip, for what seemed eternity. Afterwards, neither of them could recall exactly who moved first. Was it Jack, mouth closing around Ianto’s thumb, nipping at the callouses, kisses trailing down to Ianto’s palm and then wrist? Or was it Ianto, stepping further into Jack’s personal space, his other hand reaching up to stroke Jack’s neck? All rational thought flew out the window as their two wet bodies made full contact, chest against chest, thigh against thigh, mouth against mouth. Fingers and tongues went exploring, mapping out histories in the planes and curves, swells and dips and scars of each other’s bodies: the L-shaped scar on Ianto’s thigh from when he had run into the corner of a window when he was a small child; the muscles in Jack’s back from four years’ of college baseball; the strong calf muscles in Ianto’s legs from kilometers and kilometers of running to clear his head; a long scar low on Jack’s back, as if someone had stabbed him there. Jack’s chest was smooth and silky, Ianto’s was slightly furry. Jack’s hands were large and his fingers were thick, Ianto’s hands were small but his fingers were long and delicate. They both had callouses on their fingertips from so long dealing with needles, shots, and shears.
Ianto felt his back come into contact with the tiled wall of the shower room and then Jack’s hands were under him, lifting him up. Ianto clung to Jack’s neck, kissing his mouth fiercely, again and again as he drew his legs up around Jack’s hips. Their eyes locked, and Ianto could feel Jack, in him and around him and so much closer than it was possible to be. It wasn’t close enough. He scrabbled for purchase around Jack’s neck, bringing him in even deeper, and he had time for one fleeting thought to question why they had waited so long to do this when he felt Jack go off like an explosion inside him. He could feel Jack trembling, and slid his legs to the floor to take back his own weight. Jack’s mouth was on his lips, his neck, Jack’s tongue caressing his pulse and trailing down his chest as Jack fell to his knees at Ianto’s feet. Jack’s hands were on his hips and Jack’s mouth was on him and Ianto almost passed out from the pleasure of it. Now Ianto was in Jack and around Jack and all he could see was Jack and all he could feel was Jack and all he wanted was Jack.
Afterwards they curled up into the same bunk in the cells, arms around each other, feet tangled together.
Ianto’s night was filled with unsettling dreams. He was walking down a sidewalk in a nameless European city, hand in hand with Jack, when Lisa stepped out of an alleyway and asked him why he didn’t love her anymore. Then he was in a consultation with Jack, and in the middle of a discussion about the patient’s high blood pressure, Jack asked him why he was betraying Lisa. In each dream Ianto was with Jack and in each dream Lisa was sad and angry.
Ianto woke up slowly, feeling sore and overly warm. There was a large weight on his chest and for a moment he panicked, unable to move. Memory returned as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. Jack was sprawled across his chest, mouth breathing into his neck, hand curled possessively around his hip. Ianto had a crick in his neck from sleeping on Jack’s arm, and a pain in his chest from his dreams of Lisa. He had no idea how to gracefully disentangle himself.
“Jack?” he whispered, giving the man a gentle shake. “Jack, we have to do rounds now.”
“Hngjik myu shewlof,” Jack muttered back, lips trailing over Ianto’s jawline, hand tightening on Ianto’s hipbone.
“That’s a little tight, Jack. Let me up.”
Jack just burrowed even closer. Ianto sighed, and gave him a slight shove.
“Ouch!” Jack rolled away, sitting up. “Hey! What was that for?”
“Sorry! Just trying to get up here,” Ianto couldn’t meet his eyes. “Are you alright?”
Jack smiled blearily. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He leaned in to give Ianto a kiss. Ianto pulled away.
“We need to get to rounds.”
“Well, yeah, okay. . .” Jack was perplexed. “Ianto, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing! Nothing!” Ianto was quick to reassure him. “I just, we need to get to work.”
“What time is it? Six already?” Jack yawned without covering his mouth. “I think I could handle another shower,” he said, shooting a grin in Ianto’s direction.
“I don’t have enough time, but you go ahead, I’ll go make the coffee, did you want some toast?” Ianto realized he was babbling and shut his mouth with a snap. He finished buttoning up his uniform and turned to face Jack.
Jack was staring at him with his mouth open. “Ianto, did I do something wrong?”
“No!”
“Because you’re acting a little weird.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yeah, you are. Last night you. . .you wanted me. This morning you practically kicked me out of bed. I’m not usually one for hearts and flowers, but come on, don’t you think that’s a little harsh?”
Ianto took a deep breath -
“Jack! Bloody hell! Get your arse up here!” Mickey’s voice suddenly sounded over the intercom. “I think it’s Martha and Owen!”
Jack practically flew out of the bed.
“Jack! Clothes! I’ll go help Mickey.”
Jack nodded and hurriedly began dressing as Ianto ran from the room.
It was Mgumbe’s truck. Ianto could just make out Martha in the cab of the truck through the hazy dawn light. The truck skidded to a halt as Ianto ran up and jerked the door open.
Martha looked like death warmed over. “Ianto. I’m glad you’re here,” she said with a warbly smile.
“Dr. Jones. Here, let me help you down,” Ianto leaned in and unbuckled her seat belt; sliding one arm under her knees, he gently lifted her out of the cab. He was vaguely aware of Mgumbe getting out of the other door and crossing around to the back of the truck as Jack came running up.
“Martha!” The relief and happiness were very apparent in Jack’s voice. He grabbed one of her hands and kissed her fingers. “Are you okay? What happened? Where’s Owen?”
“Jack…” she whispered, face crumpling. Tears leaked from her eyes. “Jack, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
Ianto tightened his arms around her shaking body, his eyes meeting Jack’s stricken ones.
“Dr. Harkness?” Mgumbe’s voice sounded as if from a great distance. “Dr. Harkness, we were able to bring his body back with us…”
Jack broke eye contact with Ianto, and turned towards Mgumbe. “His body?”
“Here, in the back of the truck.”
The words took a moment to sink in. Martha continued to cry into Ianto’s shoulder, mumbling apologies.
Jack took a shaky breath. “Right. Nurse Jones, please take Dr. Jones into the Spoke and get her set up in a room. Mgumbe, will you help me get Dr. Harper into the Hub?”
Mgumbe nodded, and turned to climb up in the bed of the truck.
Ianto hesitated, and shifting Martha slightly in his arms, he reached out and squeezed Jack’s shoulder. Jack gripped his hand for a moment before clearing his throat. “Martha, I’ll be with you soon. Ianto will take care of you until I get there, okay?”
Martha was silent as Ianto carried her into the Spoke and into a spare room. Sarah Jane came hurrying over from a room down the hall. She took one look at Martha, and Ianto could see her heart breaking. She placed one arm about Martha’s shoulders and murmured assurances in her ear. Ianto went out into the hall to get her some water and the medical supplies cart, and allow time for Sarah Jane to help her change out of her filthy clothes. Ianto took a deep breath, knowing he would have to ask Martha about what happened, and that he would have to listen.
Martha looked up when he came back into the room, dragging the cart. “Ianto,” she started, cleared her throat, and tried again. “Ianto, I don’t want to tell this story more than once. Is it okay to wait for Jack?”
Ianto nodded reassuringly. “That’s fine, Dr. Jones. Why don’t you just tell me where you’re injured for now so Sarah Jane and I can help you?”
Martha nodded back and began to recite her injuries: dehydration; what felt like a couple of cracked ribs; a definitely sprained ankle; some minor scrapes and bruises on her knees, the palms of her hands, her backside, and her chin.
As Ianto set to work with Sarah Jane, his mind wandered to Jack, over in the Hub with the body of his closest friend. His brain shied away from the horrors that autopsy would contain.
Jack joined them about an hour later. Ianto searched his face from his position on the far side of Martha. Jack’s world-weariness was apparent in the cant of his shoulders, the furrows in his brow, the shadows in his eyes. Nevertheless, he took one of Martha’s hands in his and said, gently, “Please tell us.”
Martha took a quavering breath and looked deep into Jack’s eyes. They held their stare for over a minute, then Martha squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking from the corners.
“We went to the village to check on the kids. It was just as Mgumbe had described it: the recruitment forces had been through, taking all the little boys. They had raped the women, and taken a few of them along, too, for “future needs.” The elders of the village had tried to stop them, but they were all slaughtered. The recruiters had machine guns. The elders had stones. There was no contest.
“Owen was…I had never seen him like that. He was so beyond furious, but so gentle with the survivors. We worked for two straight days, patching everyone up. One of the little girls really took a shine to Owen. She followed him around, and tried to be his nurse.
“We were still with the group from the Red Cross. We thought, safety in numbers, you know? We thought no way would they attack so many of us, not after already going through the village. We were wrong.”
Martha was crying in earnest now, tears streaming down her cheeks, but not sobbing. She took a shaky breath.
“The same group came back. I don’t know why. They already had everything they wanted. There was a fight. I was running towards the Red Cross truck with Owen’s little nurse. And then, I wasn’t. I was still holding her hand, but she was dead. She was hit by a couple of bullets. I could see the man who killed her. I could see him raise his gun at me. Owen . . . I never even saw him, but suddenly he was there. He took the bullet that should have killed me.”
Jack squeezed her hand tighter. Ianto’s heart ached for the both of them.
“I don’t even remember getting injured myself. One of the Red Cross guards carried Owen’s body to the truck. We drove . . . we met up with Mgumbe in another village; he had delivered the young women from that first village and was looking for us. The Red Cross wanted me to stay with them, but I had to get back here. I had to bring Owen home. I needed to see you, Jack. I -“ her voice cut off as she finally gave in to the desire to sob out loud. Jack moved closer and gathered her up in his arms, rocking her on the bed. Ianto signaled to Sarah Jane, and the two nurses quietly left them alone. Out in the hall, Ianto submitted to a hug from Sarah Jane before mumbling something about checking back in with their patients. He was able to lose himself in the work for a couple of hours, but after each dosage had been checked, blankets adjusted, drinks fetched and bedpans scoured, there was nothing for it but to go back to the cells and try to sleep through the hottest part of the day. He looked into Martha’s room on his way out of the Spoke. She slept the sleep of the drugged. Sarah Jane had taken Jack’s place in the chair by the bed. She gave him a soft smile and a mouthed “good night.”
Ianto trudged across the courtyard and into the cells, but pulled up short, seeing Jack lying on his bed - the same bed they’d used just the previous night. Hesitantly, he walked over and looked down at Jack. His eyes were open, red-rimmed and staring unseeing at the ceiling.
“Jack? Would…would you like some tea or…anything?”
Jack snorted. “Anything? Yeah, I’d like a little ‘anything,’ Ianto. You offering?”
Ianto flushed, and turned to walk away.
“No. No, don’t walk away. I want to know what I did wrong.” Jack sat up suddenly and fixed Ianto with an angry stare. “My friend is lying dead across the courtyard and I had to do the autopsy. The closest thing I have to a sister is in horrible pain and I can’t do anything to put her heart back together. We are surrounded by death and horror and hopelessness on every side, and what am I stuck thinking about? That last night you loved me and I worshiped every square inch of you, and today, you want to act like it never happened! Tell me, Ianto, what is wrong with me?!”
They were standing so close now. Jack’s blue eyes filled Ianto’s field of vision. He felt he was drowning in them, sinking deeper and deeper with every breath.
“I…I’m sorry,” he managed to whisper. There was a long pause.
“That’s all?” Jack’s voice was soft, unemotional now. It was his turn to walk away.
“Wait. Please?”
Jack looked back over his shoulder. “Am I going to get an answer?”
Ianto sat down heavily on the bed. “Jack, the last person I lo - maybe Gwen had told you, but the reason she thought I should come to Africa was because my girlfriend died several months ago and I kind of shriveled up inside. Lisa was so vibrant, and determined, and charming. You’d have liked her,” he added in a small voice.
“Anyhow, I came here, and I met you, and I just started being…happy…again.” Ianto risked a glance up at Jack. Jack was standing there, arms crossed over his chest, but he was listening intently.
“Last night wasn’t a mistake,” he continued, holding Jack’s gaze until he came over to the bed and sat down next to Ianto.
“The thing is, I feel myself falling for you, and that scares me. I don’t know what to expect. I’ve never fallen for a man before, and, well, I know what men are like. When I’m around you, it doesn’t matter. Everything feels right, and I can forget that this is too soon and too much and I’m putting my foot in my mouth -“
Jack’s lips were on his, effectively silencing him. Jack’s hand was on his chest, Jack’s body maneuvering his own flat onto the bed. Jack was like a wave crashing over him, stealing his breath, turning his limbs to jelly. Ianto was completely submerged. He wanted to *want* to fight it, but it was so difficult.
Jack’s fingers expertly undid Ianto’s neat row of buttons, peeling the shirt off him and discarding it somewhere on the floor. Ianto’s belt followed before he could think clearly enough to push Jack off of him.
“Wait.”
Jack’s tongue and teeth were caressing and nipping at Ianto’s neck as Jack’s hands were lifting Ianto’s hips, pulling at his pants.
“Jack, I said wait!”
Jack rocked back on his heels.
“What?”
“Didn’t you hear what I said?”
“You said everything feels right.”
“Well, yes, but -“
“No butts until later.”
“Jack.”
“Sorry, time and place.” Jack settled back onto the bed. “Sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Look, I know I don’t have a stellar reputation. And I’m a bit of a flirt. And we’re both a little…broken.” He bit his lip. “But I make you happy. And you make me happy. And right now, happy is in short supply. We’re lucky to have found each other, don’t you think?”
Ianto nodded slowly.
“So let’s see where this goes! Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to try to live for right now, Ianto, just once in your life?”
“But what if -“
“I won’t break you. You’re stronger than you think. And I’ll never intentionally hurt you. Give me a chance. Please.”
Ianto hesitated. “You sure you want to put up with me? I can be awfully stubborn.”
Jack smiled. “Yeah. I like it.”
Ianto hmphed, but returned the smile. He reached out for Jack and helped him shuck his shirt. Their lips met again, mouths opening, as Jack moved back to slipping off Ianto’s trousers and pants, shoes and socks. Ianto’s fingers deftly undid the buckle on Jack’s belt. Jack pushed Ianto back into the pillows as he shed the rest of his own clothing. His fingers caressed Ianto’s hips as he licked his lips and took Ianto deep into his mouth. Ianto threw his head back and couldn’t stop the moan from traveling up his throat and out into the hot air of the cells. He dug his fingers into Jack’s hair.
“Jack, I want - I need - Jack,” Ianto tugged on Jack’s head. Ianto was amazed at the look in his eyes. How could he inspire such lust and affection? If Jack had been an inexorable wave earlier, he was a raging bonfire now.
Ianto’s breath caught in his throat even as he pushed Jack back. “I want to feel you,” he whispered as he crawled up Jack’s body. Jack nodded, eyes burning brighter and brighter. Ianto was already slick and aching from Jack’s earlier ministrations. Slowly, slowly Jack let him inside. Ianto wanted to fill every empty space in Jack’s life. He could almost feel the ghost of Owen in the room with them, and all the others that Jack worked alongside in previous wars, men and women who laid down their lives for a cause and would never feel this fire. He felt sorry for them, even as he reveled in the sensation of Jack all around him. He pushed in deeper, and Jack let out a strangled moan and dragged his nails down Ianto’s back. He began to chant Ianto’s name as Ianto got closer and closer to the edge. Ianto’s teeth latched onto the precise spot where Jack’s neck met his shoulder, and they both came hard.
Ianto collapsed onto Jack’s chest, mumbling incoherently. Jack clung to his back, breathing heavily. The heat, emotional exhaustion, and yesterday’s long hours started to take their toll, and they both drifted off to sleep.
Ianto woke with a start at 15:58. His muscles twitched involuntarily and he tightened his grip around Jack’s chest. He stared perplexedly at his alarm clock. Something had woken him up, but he had no idea what. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he sat up, giving Jack’s shoulders a gentle shake.
“Jack.”
“Hnghkly.”
“That’s fascinating. I’m going to take a shower now. You want in?”
Jack was suddenly wide awake and sat bolt upright, hair going in about one hundred different directions. “Of course!”
Jack’s face was a map of pillow creases. Hiding a smile, Ianto rooted around in the cell’s cupboard for a couple of clean towels. He could feel Jack watching him, and smiled broader.
The showers at Torched Wood were sometimes uncomfortably hot due to the sun warming the water in the pipes throughout the daylight hours. Still, Jack and Ianto managed to drag out their shower. Jack’s hands caressed Ianto’s shoulders, torso and stomach. They stood under the shower together, eye to eye. Ianto liked the new sensation of being on the same eye level as his partner. He also really liked what Jack was doing with his hands. Jack touched him like he was completely new, fragile, but not like Ianto was breakable. Fragile as in cherished. Fragile as in Jack didn’t want to lose him. Ianto reveled in the sense of adoration as the water smoothed away the soap and shampoo, the smell of sex and Jack’s own particular odor, which Ianto seemed to have taken in through his pores. Ianto’s own hands traveled over Jack’s hips, gripping his waist, tickling the soft skin where the legs started being legs and ceased being buttocks. Jack moved in closer. Ianto’s brain completely shut off and didn’t turn back on until they switched the water off.
They dried off at a faster pace, anxious to get back to Martha and their new patients. As they walked down the hall of the cells towards the courtyard, it suddenly hit Ianto what had woken him up.
“The animals. I haven’t heard any animals this afternoon, not even any birds or insects.” Ianto broke into a run, Jack on his heels.
“Ianto, what -“
Both men skidded to a stop in the courtyard. Mickey was on his knees, bloody gag in his mouth. Ianto couldn’t even spare him a second glance. His eyes were transfixed by the large gang leader holding a rifle rather casually on his hip, with a smaller gun in his other hand, pointed to Mickey’s forehead. He was wearing chunky black combat boots, camo trousers, and a dirty pale blue overshirt, similar to workshirts worn in petrol stations all over the world. “Hello, My Name Is JOHN. How May I Be of Service?” was stitched in a name tag over his heart. At least a half dozen of his cohorts were ranged through the courtyard.
“Dr. Harkness! I have come to rain death and destruction down on you and yours!” John proclaimed in a loud clear voice.
Ianto stifled an inappropriate giggle. He sounds like he was taught English by Owen, he thought before he could catch himself.
“Indeed. Surely we can work something out?” Jack’s voice sounded calm in Ianto’s ears. They were really well-armed. Ianto’s breathing started coming a little faster.
“All I want is for this place to not be here. Torch the Torched Wood!” John snickered, gestured to his men, and they all started to snicker, too.
Ooh, clever. We’re going to die at the hands of cut-rate Bond villains. Brilliant.
“Let’s be reasonable. Isn’t a clinic useful for soldiers in a time of war?” Ianto had no idea how Jack was maintaining this calm; he was gibbering uncontrollably in his own head.
John snorted and opened his mouth to reply when one of his soldiers emerged from the Spoke. Ianto’s heart caught in his throat. Martha, Sarah Jane, Mgumbe, all of their patients - what had happened to them? He couldn’t make out what the soldier was saying. Ianto recognized the words for “bed” and “woman,” but the dialect was slightly different and the wind wasn’t helping.
“What are you playing at, Dr. Harkness? You say this is a clinic - where are the patients?” John moved closer to Jack and Ianto, one of his soldiers taking up the position behind Mickey.
Jack was silent, his features still. Ianto tried to imitate him.
“Well?!” John was now just inches away. Ianto could see the spittle in the corners of his mouth and individual grains of sand on his shirt. Ianto frowned. The wind was really picking up, but there were no telltale clouds beyond the wall.
“Bah!” John was turning away, so he missed seeing the copter blades make their appearance over the trees. He didn’t miss hearing the machine gun rattle. Two of the gang members fell in the first wave, and all hell broke loose.
Later, Ianto had a hard time making sense of what had happened in the courtyard. He remembered snippets, burned into his memory. Mickey, rolling to the side and kicking his captor high in the chest with what Ianto could only describe as a break-dance move. (Ianto could not later remember untying him after that, but Mickey assured him that he did.) Mgumbe’s face, peering around the corner of the garage, and how had he got there when Ianto was pretty sure he had been in the Spoke with Sarah Jane? (The underground tunnels that Sarah Jane had glanced over in his orientation - the six current patients, Sarah Jane, and Martha had followed Mgumbe under the courtyard and up into the garage at Mickey’s first warning shout.) Rhys, clinging to the controls of the helicopter, his face set with determination and terror. (Again, later, Rhys told him privately that only years of video arcade games had allowed him to maintain the height of the copter. He had had precisely five minutes of training after he and Gwen had received the one distress call Mickey had been able to put out - luckily they had already been enroute.) Gwen on the machine guns in the helicopter, face contorted with rage. Ianto had no idea she even knew how to load a gun, and there she was, firing away and shrieking obscenities. She looked like an avenging angel. (She told him, later, that she liked the power she felt when firing the machine gun. It worried her.) But what was emblazoned in his memory was Jack.
In that first frozen moment after the sound of the machine gun fire died, Jack hurled himself at John, knocking him down. As fights raged all around them (and there was Mickey again, untied and brandishing two guns he had managed to take from the soldiers), Jack and John wrestled for control over John’s firearms. A couple of soldiers got close and were picked off by Gwen. (Later, Ianto was told that he had acquitted himself admirably in defense of Jack, aiming for kneecaps and not shooting to kill. Ianto has no memory of this, or of how he got his hands on a gun in the first place.) Slowly, slowly Jack got the upper hand, kicking the rifle away and seizing the handgun. Breaking free of John, Jack stood and aimed down at him. John’s hand dipped down to his combat boot and as Jack fired, John threw the knife that he had concealed there. Ianto could see it like it was in slow motion, but he couldn’t move fast enough to prevent the damage, only to pull Jack to the side. The knife lodged under his ribcage on his left side. There was so much blood, welling up and over Ianto’s fingers as he frantically tried to stem the flow.
“Jack! You can’t die. You can’t die. You can’t die.” It became his mantra; Ianto couldn’t stop repeating it even if he had wanted to.
He was unaware of the fighting stopping around him, or the copter easing down in the grass outside the walls. (Later, they told him that Mgumbe and Martha drove the truck with the patients and Sarah Jane in the back, and Ianto followed with Jack in the copter, Gwen back at the controls, Rhys acting as co-pilot, and Mickey across from them, having stashed Owen’s corpse rather awkwardly into the fourth bucket seat.) Ianto didn’t remember how they got there, just the color of Jack’s blood on his hands and the wind ruffling Jack’s hair and when Ianto finally looked up, Owen was looking back at them.
“Hey, mate. See you got your hands around Jack, yeah?”
Ianto gave him a watery smile. “Yup.”
“The two of you going to head off and star in your own movie now? The African Queens? Out in Africa?”
“I Dreamed of Dead Owen in Africa.”
“You better hold tight. He can be a slippery sucker.”
Ianto chuckled softly to himself, sniffling a little. “I’ve figured that part out myself.”
Owen gave a small smile. “You’re well-suited for each other, did I ever tell you that?”
“Can’t say as you did.”
“Yeah, well, do you blame me? He was my best friend, but then with you…well. I could’ve been more welcoming, I reckon.”
“Wouldn’t have been you, then.”
Owen snorted. “Guess not.”
There was a silence, broken only by the whirring of copter blades.
“Ianto, mate…you’ll be a friend to him, too, won’t you? He needs someone to call him on his shit from time to time, you know.”
“I can do that.”
“Good, good.” Another pause. “Listen, I need to get going. I don’t want to see your ugly mug, or Jack’s, for a long time, understand?”
“Thank you, Owen. You won’t.”
Owen smiled, and looked away.
Ianto caught himself as he started nodding off. His hands were a sticky mess, but the blood was drying. Jack had stopped bleeding. He had less color in his cheeks than usual, but they were not a deathly hue. Stretching his neck, Ianto peered around at their surroundings. They were in the back of the helicopter. Mickey was dozing in one of the seats across from them. Owen’s sheet-wrapped corpse was balanced in the seat next to him. Ianto wrinkled his nose. Owen was starting to stink. Ianto looked over his shoulder. Gwen and Rhys were in the cab of the copter, talking quietly. Settling back, Ianto could just make out a dust cloud on the road below them: the big truck from Torched Wood, hopefully transporting Martha, Sarah Jane, Mgumbe and all the patients. Ianto had no idea where they were headed, or even how he had gotten into the copter in the first place, but he found himself strangely not minding. At least he was awake now, and not carrying on conversations with dead men.
“Ianto?” Jack’s voice was barely there.
“Save your strength, Jack,” Ianto replied, tightening his grip and kissing the top of Jack’s head.
“Just one thing.”
“What’s that, then?”
“I love you.”
Ianto felt tears threaten his eyes. “You’re not dying.”
“I know that. I still love you.”
“Thank you,” Ianto whispered back. “I love you, too.”
Part Three: blue-fjords.livejournal.com/3861.html