FIC: Dr. Harkness & Nurse Jones, India (Part III)
Title: Dr. Harkness & Nurse Jones, India (Part III)
Author: blue_fjords
Characters/Pairings: Jack, Ianto, Tosh, Donna, Martha, John Smith, Master Harold Saxon, Lucy Saxon, Jack/Ianto, Tosh/Donna
Rating: NC-17
Word Length: 9,200 this part; 22,700 overall
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: Well. It's been a long time coming. This is a continuation of my romance novel AU, which started here with Dr. Harkness & Nurse Jones: Kenya back in December of 2008 (yikes!) and continued with Dr. Harkness & Nurse Jones: Ghana, until we got to Dr. Harkness & Nurse Jones: India (Prologue - Ghana) in November of 2009. I am a slow writer, what can I say! Due to my slowness, you will find the character of John Smith is probably nothing like Eleven, as I created him long before Eleven was even cast, poor chap. So he's pretty much an OC, with shades of different Doctors. And, well, human, as this is an AU. Everybody's human! Many, many thanks to adjovi for the beta, and to my peeps for putting up w/ me complaining about writer's block etc. during the writing of this thing. Also, I have never been to India. Google goes there frequently, though. Finally, this story has an epilogue, but it does not end on a cliffhanger. There are a few loose ends I want to tie up (Donna! Gwen & Rhys! Boating!), hopefully in the upcoming week. Thanks for your patience.
Part III
“Donna?!” Jack gasped. “How - never mind; let’s go!” He pulled her into a tight hug and bussed her on the lips before releasing her and moving eagerly towards the door.
“Right,” Donna agreed, a tad breathlessly. “Give me a hand with Mrs. Saxon.”
Jack paused in the doorway. “Donna, I don’t think . . .”
Lucy Saxon stared at him, smirking. “Abandoning your oaths, Doctor?” she wheezed.
“Of course he’s not!” Donna snapped, striding over to stand by the bed. “Come on, Jack!”
Jack walked slowly back to the bed and looked down at Lucy. “Do you want to leave, Lucy?”
“You’re going to take me out of here,” she managed, struggling up on her elbows, “but I’m never leaving. I’ll never leave Harold. I chose him!”
It was the longest uninterrupted speech Jack had heard from her. He exchanged a glance with Donna. Her brow was furrowed in confusion. “Well . . . we can at least try?”
Jack nodded, despite his misgivings. He really couldn’t leave Lucy behind, not sick and in pain when there was something he could do about it. He scooped her up, one arm beneath her knees and the other supporting her shoulders, like she was his beloved bride. She squawked in protest, but her eyes glittered with something like anticipation. But anticipation for strangling Jack or possibly seeing her Harold again, Jack couldn’t say.
“Lead on, Donna. What’s our plan?”
Donna moved quickly through the suite and poked her head down the corridor. “Still clear, good. Follow me. Here’s the deal: after they took you away, we got assigned as new housecleaners and given these lovely dresses.” For the first time it registered on Jack that Donna was wearing Saxon’s servant uniform. It was obviously made for someone shorter, as it barely made it to her knees. “So of course we broke into Saxon’s office under the pretext of dusting his damn drum collection. And Tosh hacked his computer.” She looked back over her shoulder and flashed Jack a grin. “She’s brilliant. Anyhow, she got some techno mumbo jumbo stuff on that Archangel thing - don’t ask me, it made no sense - and she found something else.”
Donna paused in her recitation at another crossroads and pulled a slip of paper from her pocket. “We turn left here,” she mumbled.
Jack shifted Lucy against his chest. “Not to interrupt, Donna, but where the hell are all the guards?”
“They’re a little distracted.”
“By . . . ?”
“Um, Tosh is firing the poppy fields. Not one anyone is working in!” she added hurriedly at his widening eyes. “We thought we could get some allies from the other servants, but that didn’t go over too well. So she’s doing it, and we’ll meet her in the garage.”
“Dammit, we have to hurry. I don’t want Tosh stuck out there with a burning field and no back-up!” Those guards could tear her apart.
Donna nodded, eyes clouding with worry. “One more corridor,” she said. “Anyhow. The other thing Tosh found? Saxon has a very full file on the Tyler Foundation staff.”
Lucy made a noise at that, a strangled little moan, and Jack looked down at her, trying to see her face. Her eyes were closed and chin down, hiding her expression. “What do you know about this, Lucy?” he asked. “Is this why you hate me?”
Lucy breathed heavily through her nose and clenched her hands into gnarled little fists, but wouldn’t speak.
“Never mind,” Jack sighed in exasperation. “We almost there, Donna?”
“Yup,” she said, and rounded one last corner. Jack looked over her shoulder. A door to the outside world, finally.
“Where does this put us?” he asked.
“In a back garden,” Donna replied. “This is a servant entrance - the kitchen’s right next to us. This is a door for getting veggies and things from the gardens to the kitchen.”
Donna cautiously pressed against it, turning the handle, and slowly slid her head outside to get a look around. “Oh, wow, that fire is huge!” she exclaimed, pushing the door all the way open and stepping outside. Jack hurried out behind her, careful to not jostle Lucy too much against the doorframe.
Smoke billowed up from the poppy fields. More than one was on fire. Jack could just make out little figures in guard uniforms, highlighted by the flames. “Remind me not to ever cross Toshiko.” He shook his head, breaking his reverie. “Garage, Donna?”
“Right.” She nodded her head decisively. “This way.”
Jack followed along the perimeter of the mansion as Lucy mumbled to herself in his arms. He wondered if the firing of the poppy fields bothered her, or if she was glad to be rid of them. He couldn’t read Lucy. A shiver danced along his spine.
“There it is,” Donna whispered, stopping abruptly. The rest of the way to the garage was across the central courtyard, with no cover. Jack craned his neck around. He couldn’t see any guards. Or servants, either.
“Where are the servants?” he asked Donna, and she shrugged.
“Taking advantage of the diversion and scattering? We got the impression that they wouldn’t stop us. All of the servants are in debt to Saxon. If something destroys his base in India, well, all to the good. They just didn’t want to get caught helping.”
Lucy grunted in Jack’s arms, and muttered something that sounded like, “Ungrateful.” Jack rolled his eyes.
“Okay, I say we go for boldness. It’s just a few yards, and I can’t see anyone over here. I can’t move fast with Lucy here,” he gave her a little squeeze and she yelped, “so if you just cover your hair, from a distance, we could look like we belong here.”
“That’d be good, except I hate head coverings. I don’t have one on me,” Donna said.
“Okay. The crouch-run it is, then.” He smiled at her. “Let’s go thank Tosh for her wonderful diversion, shall we?”
They were halfway across the courtyard when Jack spotted Saxon, leading about a dozen guards and heading straight towards them. His hands closed convulsively around Lucy and she looked up. “Shit,” he hissed.
“Harold!” Lucy called, her voice breaking. “Harold!”
Donna sped up, one arm going behind Jack to help him along. They stumbled into the relative safety of the garage and pulled up short. There was only one car in the garage, a classic Aston Martin that had definitely seen better days, and several piles of junk and a couple of rickshaws. Tosh looked up from her inspection of the car’s engine.
“Toshiko! You okay?” Jack gasped out, lowering Lucy carefully to the floor. Donna crossed the space and drew her into a quick hug.
“I’m fine, except for the utter failure of the escape portion of our plan,” Tosh answered, patting Donna’s back. “How could he treat his car this way? Can you get it running, Jack?”
“Let me look at it. You two try to block the doors; Saxon is right on our tail.”
It didn’t look promising. Jack ruthlessly squashed a wave of panic. Oil. It needed oil first thing, get a little lubrication going. Lucy began to cackle from her spot on the floor, and Jack wondered for a second if he had made the obvious joke out loud.
“You’re trapped! Harold’s got you!” she cooed. “He’s got us all.” She smiled loopily. “Harold travels by boat, not cars.”
“You couldn’t have mentioned this earlier?” Donna snapped at her. “You knew we were heading for the garage!”
Jack looked down at Lucy. Of course she knew. That’s why she didn’t say anything. Lucy met his eyes and gave him a sardonic smile.
An outboard motor sounded from a distance, and quite clearly, right outside the garage, Saxon’s voice reached them, “Half of you, get to the docks and SEE WHAT’S GOING ON!”
Half. Leaving Saxon and six armed guards for them. The odds were better, though still terrible. Jack ran to one of the piles of junk. “Tosh, Donna - here, arm yourselves -”
SMASH! Jack ducked as the window next to him shattered. “What was -” He looked around wildly and spotted the grenade two seconds before it detonated. He was blown back against the wall and slammed into it, sliding to the floor. His ears were ringing and his eyesight did a little loop-de-loop before settling.
Fine Italian leather shoes paused in front of him and Jack blinked up at the form of Harold Saxon. His lips were moving, no doubt revisiting his Evil Overlord speech, and Jack was actually a little grateful that he could hear only ringing in his ears. He looked around the smoky interior of the garage. The Aston Martin was crumpled. A guard stood over Toshiko, slumped against the far wall, but conscious. Donna’s distinctive red hair was splayed out all around her, a few feet away from Tosh. She wasn’t moving and Jack narrowed his eyes. Was her hair a darker red than usual? Please not that. He couldn’t see Lucy at all.
The ringing stopped abruptly.
“ - and all I ask if my due. Simple acknowledgement of my genius. This could have all been avoided. Why on earth did they have to send you?” Saxon paused in his tirade to draw breath.
“Who were you expecting, the Queen of England?” Jack muttered, sitting up straighter. How many guns, how many guns, he needed to count the guns.
“Smith! John Smith!” Saxon waved his hands in the air. “Haven’t you been listening?!”
Jack gaped up at him. “What?”
“Archangel, Harkness. I have created a thing that is going to irrevocably change the world, and Smith runs around thinking he can still save it with his little foundation. News flash: the world’s not worth saving. Everyone is corruptible. Just look at my bloody wife!”
“You - wait.” His brain was moving sluggishly, trying to keep up with Saxon’s madness. What did Smith have to do with anything? And which Smith, come to think of it? “Which Smith?”
“What do you mean, which Smith? John Smith!”
“There are eleven John Smiths, Saxon.” Jack detected a movement near the door. Lucy . . . ?
“They’re all the same man, Harkness. All so focused on finding the good. Morons. John Smith was supposed to come here. I wanted to explain! I wanted him to see that I’d won!”
“What about healing Lucy?” Jack asked, frowning.
“Lucy? Lucy was a convenient excuse to keep you here. She’s nothing. Nothing.”
“Nothing?” a voice rasped out. Jack looked around Saxon to find Lucy, standing on wobbly legs, supported by one of her husband’s guards. “I am nothing to you, Harold? Have I always been nothing?”
“You were very useful, Lucy. Now go sit down before you fall over. There’s blood all down your dressing gown,” Saxon dismissed her. There was blood all over Lucy. Her face was stark white, and Jack was amazed that she was standing, even supported as she was.
“But I chose you, Harold,” Lucy whispered in her hoarse voice. Jack winced. Lucy’s illusions were no more solid than the clouds of smoke and dust from the grenade, and she withered visibly as Saxon dispelled them.
“Understandable,” Saxon said. “But you’re dying now, Lucy. Why don’t you lie down and do it in peace?”
Jack knew exactly what she was going to do the second before she did it, and he opened his mouth to say her name - to convince her not to? To encourage her? He couldn’t tell - but she moved too fast. She grabbed the gun from the holster of her startled guard and aimed it at Harold Saxon, firing three quick rounds.
Everyone froze, except for Saxon, whose eyes opened wide, so wide as he toppled slowly to the floor. Jack struggled up on one knee to move toward him, but Saxon pushed feebly at his hands. “It’s always the women,” he mumbled.
“Jack!” Tosh called, and he lifted his head from Saxon’s death scene. Her guard was moving from foot to foot, uncertain whether he should finish off the intruders, or forget about it as the guarantee for his next paycheck expired before his eyes.
“Your Master is dead,” Jack told him. The guard seemed to understand. “You should go while you can.” The man’s fingers tightened on his gun and his eyes darted to Lucy’s guard, still standing there with his mouth open, catching flies. “Take him, and your buddies watching this building, and get out before the authorities get here.”
Lucy muttered something to them in Malayalam, and that decided matters. Her guard lowered her to the floor and they both left. Jack approached her carefully. She still held the gun. “Lucy?” he asked.
She looked at him without seeing him. “He said I was nothing,” she whispered in a wheeze. She curled up into a ball. “I told them to take his precious drums. They’re worth something.”
Jack touched her shoulder. “Let me see where you’re hurt, Lucy.”
“I’m already dead, Harkness. See to your ginger girl. Get the hell out of my sight.”
“Jack, she’s not waking up,” Tosh called to him. He gave Lucy one last look, which she ignored, before he turning his back on her and stepping around the detritus of the exploded junk piles to get to Tosh and Donna.
Tosh gave him a worried look. He avoided meeting her eyes. Donna was bleeding from her scalp. It looked like she had hit her head in the blast. Jack gave her a quick perusal. It didn’t look like she had any other injuries, and the cut on her scalp wasn’t near as deep as others he’d seen. Still, she was utterly comatose and they had no means of transportation . . .
“Didn’t I see a couple of rickshaws in here when we came in?” Jack asked. “I want to get Donna to a hospital.”
Tosh made a low sound in her throat and he reached over and grabbed her hand. “Tosh. I don’t think it’s life-threatening. Head wounds are tricky, though, so the sooner we get her to a hospital, the better.”
Tosh nodded and cleared her throat. “The rickshaws were in the back right corner.”
Jack picked his way through the strewn junk to the corner. One of the rickshaws had a crushed wheel, but the other actually looked serviceable. It had been spared by some metal sheeting falling at an angle and blocking it from the grenade. “We’re in luck!” he announced. It took a little doing, but between him and Tosh, they were able to finagle it out and clear of the blast zone, and then get Donna onto the bench. Jack went back for Lucy.
She had died quietly while they worked to get free. Jack knelt and felt for her pulse, just to be sure. Lucy Saxon had left her body.
“Jack?” Tosh asked softly from the rickshaw.
“She’s not leaving this place, she said.” He closed her eyes and rose to his feet. “But we are.”
He took his place at the front of the rickshaw and gripped the handles, pulling them out of the garage, across the compound and up the hill, leaving the Saxons and their burning estate behind.
***
Ianto gaped at the fire until Martha poked him in the shoulder. “Ianto! That’s probably our signal, come on!”
“Wait!” Ianto caught at her sleeve as she surged forward. “Look!” He pointed to a group of guards and a man in a suit, the only ones running away from the fire. He couldn’t see what they could see from his angle. “What do you think the chances are . . .”
“That they’re running towards the same people we’re here to rescue?” Martha finished. “What is it with Jack and attracting people who want to kill him?”
“It’s a gift,” Smith said very seriously. “I have it, too.”
“Brilliant,” Ianto replied. “Right, I think we need a diversion from . . . their diversion.”
“The boats?” Martha asked, raising a brow.
“The boats,” Ianto answered.
“Oh, yes, the boats,” Smith chimed in.
Ianto rose to a half-crouch, though the guards and man in a suit weren’t looking towards them. Ianto just felt safer hunched all over. He began to run, the other two following him, towards the docks. It wasn’t far, and they made it while the other group was still approaching their target. Ianto still couldn’t see what they were trying to do.
There were four boats tied up at the docks. “We’ll just do two?” Martha huffed and he nodded.
“Yeah, no need to stick around here longer than we have to. Smith, will you be lookout?”
“With pleasure!” Smith exclaimed.
Ianto knelt at the first boat, and Martha set to work on the one across from him. He gave the outboard motor a couple of tugs, and it sparked to life. He sighed with relief, as that was the extent of his boating knowledge, garnered from watching Hawaii Five-O reruns as a kid. That, and he had to untie the rope thing connecting the boat to the dock. Well, that decides it. Jack and I are definitely going out on a boat after this so I can learn the proper terms and not sound like a prat in my own head.
Martha’s boat also sparked to life, and Smith shouted down from the start of the dock. “Looks like they heard us! Hold on there, what are you doing?” he asked, running to Ianto.
Ianto pushed the boat away from the dock with his foot. “Diversioning.”
“We’re not going in the boat?” Smith asked.
“No, we just want them to think we did,” Martha answered, joining them. “Come on, let’s see if we can get out of here without being seen.”
They had just made it to the end of the dock when a loud explosion sounded from the compound. Ianto’s heart caught in his throat and he almost tripped over his feet in his desire to take off towards the noise.
“Ianto, get down!” Martha yelled behind him and he fell gracelessly to his stomach. A bullet flew over his head and lodged itself into the wood of the dock.
“Diversion was a success, then!” Smith ran to him and helped him up to a crouch. “Shed to our left!” Smith tugged him over to a barrel - and why were there always these barrels on docks, what did they possibly contain, he’d have to add it to his list of things to ask Jack about boating, and shit he was babbling now - and they hid behind it.
“Wait, where’s Martha?” Ianto asked, looking around wildly.
“Here!” she called, pushing open the door to the shed. Another bullet hit their barrel and Ianto wrinkled his nose. Something pickled. Solves that. He and Smith crawled into the shed.
“Any brilliant ideas? Anyone?” he asked, a little breathlessly. “I bet Jack’s where that explosion was.”
“I don’t doubt it, knowing Jack,” Martha agreed. “But how do we get there?”
Ianto risked a glance out the window. Figures were slowly approaching the docks. “I count . . . six armed guards coming his way. They don’t know that all we have are a couple of tasers. They’re going slow.”
“That’s not all we have!” Smith was eyeing the contents of the shed, hands on his hips. He gave Ianto and Martha a wide grin. “It’ll be the work of a moment to concoct a little surprise!”
“With tar and rope?” Martha asked raising her brow. She stepped closer to Smith. “I don’t think -”
“Wait, Martha!” Ianto held up his hand. “Walk over that bit again!”
“What?” she asked, turning to him and taking another step forward.
“No, back up one!”
“Ianto, what -”
He rushed forward and pushed aside the reed mat on the floor. The outline of a trapdoor was clearly visible.
“Brilliant!” Smith breathed. “And thank goodness for my handy dandy screwdriver!” He knelt down and plunged his gadget into the keyhole. Ianto shot another glance out the window. The guards were practically on top of them. “And in we go!” Smith exclaimed. “Ladies first.”
Martha shot them a grin and scrabbled down the steps. “There’s a corridor!” she called up. Ianto heard her unzip her bag and rummage around inside, then light shone up the steps. “A long one!”
“Go on, Jonesy, I’ll go last and lock it behind us!” Smith brandished the screwdriver excitedly and Ianto hurried to follow Martha down the steps, Smith at his heels. They didn’t wait to hear if the guards checked out their shed but immediately took off down the corridor. Ianto tried to orient himself against what he remembered of the compound.
“What do you think, Martha? Are we headed towards the . . . garage?” he asked.
She shrugged. “My sense of direction is crap down here. But I suppose that makes sense, you know? Connect the two forms of transportation. If one thing arrives by car, you could smuggle it out by boat with none the wiser.”
It wasn’t long before they came to another set of steps, leading up. Smith pushed forward. “Allow me. Screwdriver, you know.”
There was a soft snick, and Smith slowly raised the trapdoor. “Oh, my! Quickly, get up here!”
Ianto and Martha exchanged a look, then he went scrambling up the steps. Martha followed immediately after him. The trapdoor fell shut with a bang, unnoticed by them as they took in the destruction.
Junk was strewn all about the garage, across the floor, crushing an Aston Martin - an actual Aston Martin, Ianto’s heart did a little flip - and over by the door -
“Oh my God,” Martha breathed. She moved towards the woman, though she looked quite dead to Ianto. The man, though, still had the barest spark of life in his eyes. Ianto and Smith crouched on either side of him.
“Sir?” Ianto asked quietly. “Are you Harold Saxon?” He could be. The pictures Ianto had seen on the web depicted a smiling, healthy Saxon, but this near-corpse could certainly be the same man. Saxon’s eyelashes fluttered, trying to open wider.
“Smith?” he croaked. Ianto looked at Smith, startled, and Smith shrugged his shoulders.
“Ah, yes?” he answered.
“Look, Smith.” Saxon half-raised a bloody hand. “I won.”
Ianto looked around at the destruction of the garage, at Martha, shaking her head over the body of the dead woman. There was no sign of Jack, Tosh or Donna. What on earth had he won?
“Sorry, old chap. Were we in a contest?” Smith asked kindly.
Saxon looked at him for a long moment before he started to cackle. “You’re the wrong Smith!” he wheezed. “You’re actually the wrong Smith! That’s rich! Oh! I thought you would understand!”
“Listen, Saxon, I’m a nurse and we have a doctor here,” Ianto said, interrupting Saxon’s rambling. “Let us see to your wounds.”
“Thought you’d understand,” Saxon wheezed again. His mouth went slack and his eyes dull and just like that, Harold Saxon departed this mortal coil.
Ianto stood up slowly. “I want to find Jack and get out of here,” he declared. His hands were shaking, and he stuffed them into his pockets.
Martha gave him a sympathetic look. “Yeah. Come on, Smith.”
Smith gently closed Saxon’s eyes and then rose to his feet. “No arguments here.”
They stumbled out of the garage. The fires in the poppy fields were starting to die down. Several guards were carrying items from a large mansion down to the docks and one of the two boats left there. They completely ignored Ianto, Martha and Smith. No one’s in charge anymore. Ianto shaded his eyes with his hand.
“Martha, may I borrow your binoculars?” he asked, his heart rate quickening. She wordlessly handed them over, and he focused them on the road leading out of the compound. A rickshaw was disappearing over the rise, but he was just able to catch a flash of red hair in the back.
“That rickshaw was carrying Donna,” he said, pointing to where it disappeared. “And where we find Donna, we’ll find Jack and Tosh.”
“Let’s cut them off at the pass, then,” Martha said, stuffing her binoculars back in her pack and slinging it over her shoulder.
They took off at a jog, cutting overland for a more direct route. Each step brought him closer to Jack, and Ianto’s heart began to beat harder, a quick “Ja-ack” rhythm. They made it to the road before the rickshaw passed by, and Ianto turned to look back down the road.
Then, finally, an achingly familiar figure appeared at the top of the previous rise. Jack. Ianto felt the fist unclench from around his heart. Jack, battered, exhausted and bruised, but so wonderfully alive. His feet were moving of their own accord. He was dimly aware of Martha calling out to Jack and the others, but her voice sounded as if from a great distance. Jack heard it, though, and looked up, eyes searching until he spotted Ianto.
A part of Ianto felt a little ridiculous for the picture they must have made, two lovers running to each other in a dusty lane in the hazy Indian dusk. Someday, he’d retell this story, and in it, there would be no desperate touching of each other’s faces, no muffled half-sobs, no tears sheening blue eyes. He would leave the kisses in, but just one or two, and not mention that Jack’s mouth tasted like old socks, or how frantically he peppered Jack’s jawline with a string of little kisses, or how tightly Jack clung to his neck.
After a few moments, Jack took a step back, just enough to speak. “Ianto, you’re here . . . and . . . I really need your help with Donna. How did you . . . and how did that . . . and, wait, did I hear Martha calling my name?”
Ianto took his face in his hands and pressed a firm kiss to his lips. “Right. Martha and Smith are here with me. We came to rescue you. Which . . . right. Looks like you did fine on your own. Now tell me what’s the matter with Donna.” He finally registered that neither Tosh nor Donna had spoken yet.
“She hit her head in a little explosion. I want to get her someplace with an MRI.” Martha made her way down to them while Jack was talking, Smith trailing along behind her, and Jack threw his arms around her while still trying to hold on to Ianto. Ianto gently peeled his fingers away to go to the rickshaw.
“Tosh?” he asked softly.
Tosh raised her head slowly. “She won’t wake up.”
“May I see her, Tosh?”
She shifted slightly and Ianto got a good look at the side of Donna’s face. A little blood trickled from a cut in her scalp, less than he would expect. That could be good news. Her skin was rather ashen and her breathing shallow, and he frowned. Though she was breathing, so that was something, at least. He finished his detached assessment and then allowed himself to truly see her: Donna Noble of the indefatigable spirit and larger-than-life personality. He could draw direct parallels between the pairing of Tosh and Donna, and him and Jack.
“Tosh,” he said, keeping his voice steady and low. “We have a jeep stashed less than a mile from here.”
Her eyes widened, and he nodded. “We’re going to get her to safety, Tosh.”
Martha and Smith left their packs with the rickshaw and set out at a run to get the jeep and bring it back to them. Ianto dug into the packs and handed over water bottles and some snacks he’d packed. Jack ate like a starving man, and Ianto cursed himself for not packing even more food. Tosh nibbled at her dried fruit, but gulped down the water.
Jack told him a very garbled version of what had happened at the estate and Ianto tried to pay attention to the meaning of the words instead of losing himself in the relief of Jack, solid and alive and standing right next to him. Harold Saxon was insane, he gathered that much, and they needed to do something about some software he’d developed. And there was something about a sick wife, and a history with John Smith -
“I know that bit,” Ianto said, when Jack paused to shove more crackers in his mouth. “We saw Saxon. He - he died in the garage. He reacted strangely to John Smith.”
“Wait, he was alive when you saw him?” Jack asked, crumbs flying.
“Not for long. He just sort of laughed when he saw Smith and, well, died.”
Jack and Tosh exchanged looks. “Did Smith know him?” Jack asked.
“No, I don’t think so. Why?”
Jack took another draught of his water before answering. “I think Harold Saxon felt some sort of connection to John Smith. Like they were in competition, almost.”
“There are eleven John Smiths, though. Not exactly a close contest,” Ianto pointed out.
“I don’t think that mattered to Saxon.”
Ianto frowned. It was a little sad, really, but compared to the pain Jack, Tosh and especially Donna had suffered, Ianto wasn’t in the forgiving mood. The setting sun was gilding Jack in gold and Ianto didn’t stop to think about it, just stepped forward and pulled Jack to him. He was still holding him when Martha and Smith pulled up in the jeep, and only released him to help maneuver Donna into the back seat. They sat squashed together in the far back for the ride back to Kochi, but Ianto didn’t mind the tight fit in the slightest.
***
There was an awful lot of confusion surrounding the burning of Saxon’s estate once they reached Kochi. Jack was happy to leave the explanation in Smith’s hands and head to the hospital with Donna, Tosh and Ianto. He would have to tell Ianto about his captivity eventually. He even wanted to. But for right now, he wanted to banish all thoughts of Harold and Lucy Saxon to a dark corner of his mind and focus instead on his loved ones.
The hospital was crowded, noisy and hot, but clean and efficient. Because of the nature of her injury, Donna was seen to right away. Ianto led Tosh to the corner of the waiting room before starting in on the paperwork, and Jack began to pace. His mind kept re-playing Donna, her red hair splayed out on the garage floor. What could he have done to prevent it? Why wasn’t he faster, stronger, better? He huffed to himself. Why wasn’t he the Six Million Dollar Man?
His eyes searched out Ianto, always coming back to him. Ianto was bent practically in half over a clipboard, filling out Donna’s insurance information, his long fingers gripping the pen and the very tip of his pink tongue jutting out of the corner of his mouth. Jack slowed in his pacing and drank in the sight: the sweep of Ianto’s eyelashes, the tiny lock of hair that curled around his ear, the flex of his shoulders as he went back and forth over the form, the tautness of his thigh as he used it for a table. He’d almost never seen that again.
Ianto paused, looked up and smiled briefly. Jack felt the awful tension coiled in his gut loosen, just slightly.
He paced for a few hours, pausing briefly only when Ianto brought back some food and water bottles for them. He’d forgotten how hungry he was, his roadside snack fading to memory. Tosh didn’t move from her seat. Ianto finished the paperwork and sat down next to her, offering his shoulder, but she didn’t take it. Jack turned to start up the corridor one more time when a doctor appeared at the end of it. He looked quickly around the waiting room. They’d been there the longest, and it had cleared out quite a bit as the night went on.
“Toshiko,” Jack said quietly. “I see the doctor coming.”
Tosh started violently, coming out of her reverie and almost sliding off the hard plastic chair. Ianto caught at her elbow, steadying her, and she allowed it for a moment before shaking him off, her jaw set. Jack exchanged a look with Ianto over the top of her head.
“Dr. Sato?” The doctor stopped in front of them and consulted his clipboard, as if he needed to ascertain that they were indeed Donna Noble’s party.
Tosh stood there mutely, eyes wide. Jack knew just what she was seeing, and he shifted his feet, shrugging off the specter of a dusty back alley in Ghana. He took a step forward. “This is Dr. Sato, and I am Dr. Harkness and this is Nurse Jones. What can you tell us about Donna?”
The doctor blinked down at his clipboard, long eyelashes fluttering. Once upon a time, Jack would have found the sight irresistible. But now . . . God, he’s young. Or am I just getting old?
“Brain injuries like these are notoriously difficult to pin down,” he began. He had a pleasant voice, a British-schooling accent with a gentle reminder of an Indian childhood, but Jack just wanted him to get to the point. “There was some swelling in her brain, but it has gone down now. We’ve also stopped the bleeding. When she wakes up,” and a spasm went through Tosh at that. When, not if. Jack reached out a steadying arm to her, and this time she took it, clinging tightly. The doctor continued, unnoticing, “there may be some changes. We can’t say for sure until it happens. The brain is still too much of a mystery.” He clenched his fist, as if personally affronted that Donna’s brain hadn’t revealed all its inner workings to him. “She could experience anything from aphasia to memory loss, short or long term, to waking up same as always. And these conditions could very well fade over time.”
“You seem quite certain that Donna will indeed awaken,” Ianto said, shooting a quick glance at Tosh.
“I’m optimistic, yes. She’s breathing on her own, and never lost her ability to breathe. The swelling in the brain went down relatively easy, as far as these things go. We’ve moved her out of surgery and placed her at the end of the row in the Intensive Care Ward. If you would like to see her, Dr. Sato?”
Tosh nodded vigorously. “Ye-es.” She coughed, cleared her throat. “Yes. Please.” Jack exchanged another look with Ianto over the top of her head.
“Cheers, Tosh,” Ianto said quietly, and bent to kiss her forehead.
Jack watched him over his shoulder as he helped Tosh, still shaking a bit, down the hall after their doctor. Ianto made his way to the bank of payphones along the far wall, and Jack felt a stab of guilt. He was probably calling Martha and Smith, checking in on how the aftermath of Saxon’s demise was playing out, or else calling Donna’s family. He vaguely remembered stories of her grandfather; the two of them sounded very close.
Their doctor pushed open wide doors to another hall, and Ianto was blocked from sight. The doctor tied on a face mask and indicated that Jack and Tosh should, too. Tosh’s breath was coming a little fast, and Jack gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
Donna was lying in a bed at the end of a row of beds in Intensive Care. Each bed was separated from the hallway by long curtains, but that did nothing to block the sounds. The first curtain hid someone whimpering in pain, the next contained labored, rattling breathing. Worse, though was the dead silence at the next bed. Everything was clean and sterile, and fans kept up a complicated venting system. Jack’s eyes roamed over the tubes and pipes, an attempt to keep one patient’s possibly contagious germs from infecting another’s, and frowned. The face masks were a good idea.
Their doctor, and he should have asked Ianto if he had caught the man’s name, pulled back the final curtain. Tosh gave a muffled cry. Donna lay there, pale and weak, and about half her head was shaved. A large bandage was wrapped around her whole head. Jack led Tosh to the bed, tears soaking her face mask, and the doctor tactfully pulled the curtains closed.
Tosh laid a shaky finger against Donna’s cheek, reached down and picked up her right hand. Jack blinked his eyes several times, trying to clear the image of Ianto lying in their bed in Ghana, his body bruised and broken.
“Donna’s going to look very punk when she wakes up,” he said gruffly. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “That’s one hell of a haircut.”
Tosh managed a weak laugh. He put his arms around her and she buried her face briefly in his shirt and then pulled back. “Your shirt’s a mess,” she said. She took a deep, calming breath. “Thank you, Jack, for getting us out of there.”
Jack had to hide his wince. He should have done so much more. He had needed Donna to free him, and now look at Donna. Something must have shown in his eyes, because Tosh began to shake her head. “No, Jack. Not. Your. Fault.”
“Tosh -”
“Anyhow,” she cut him off. “I’m going to stay here. You should find Smith, get him to get you a room somewhere, and take a bath. You stink.”
“You’re not exactly smelling of roses yourself, Toshiko.” He gave her a small smile, forgetting that she couldn’t see it.
“Donna doesn’t mind. Go on, Jack. I’ll call you when she wakes up. Now go.” She gave him another small hug and then pushed him towards the curtains. He looked back at her before he let the curtain fall. She was settling into the chair at the head of the bed and her focus was only on Donna.
Jack’s stride quickened as he left Intensive Care. He needed, he needed - he rounded the corner back into the waiting room and spotted Ianto hanging up a phone. He crossed the room quickly.
“Jack! How did she look - ?” Ianto began, turning towards him.
“Come with me,” Jack hissed, looking around. The room wasn’t crowded, and people weren’t paying attention to them, but he still didn’t grab Ianto’s hand, just bade him follow with the force of his gaze. He’d passed a supply closet, he knew it.
“I spoke to Donna’s grandfather,” Ianto said, wrinkling his forehead at his actions, but following him regardless. “And also to Martha. She’s going to be awhile with the authorities. John Smith is surprisingly helpful there. She also gave me the address of a hotel near here; they’ll be expecting us. One of Smith’s -”
Jack cut him off by the simple expedient of shoving him into the supply closet.
“What the hell, Jack?!” Ianto exclaimed, turning to face him as Jack pulled the flimsy door shut behind them. There wasn’t a light bulb, but light seeped in from the slats in the door.
Jack fell to his knees and buried his face in Ianto’s midsection, his arms circling him and holding him close. “I just - I just -” he mumbled against Ianto, and turned his face to mouth at his crotch. “I need.”
God, he was so predictable, answering every fear with sex, but then he looked up through his lashes and found Ianto staring back down at him and a shiver went through him. Because Ianto understood this language, in all its crassness and immediacy and physicality, that it was all those things, but so much more. It was a sonnet and a declaration and sweetness, and made sense when those words would fall flat and meaningless. Because how could he say life and love and forever when he could show them and feel them to his core?
He almost sobbed. God, he’d come so close to losing Ianto again. Ianto’s fingers were in his hair now, his hand lifted Jack’s chin. “It’s alright, Jack. It’s alright.”
Jack fumbled at Ianto’s belt with less grace and finesse than he prided himself on, but Ianto didn’t seem to mind. His cock was half-hard when Jack pulled it up and out and immediately began to suck on the head. Ianto leaned back against the shelves, full of cleaning supplies, the same the world over, despite the unfamiliar language on the bottles. Jack shifted on his knees, crowding closer to Ianto, shoving him farther back, and a shelf rattled.
He pulled at Ianto’s pants and trousers, forcing them farther down. They were damp with sweat and on the manky side, but probably ten times better than his own after the past few days. He put it out of his head, and drew more of Ianto’s cock into his mouth, nudging into his throat. He was slurping a bit now, and Ianto started a low hum of encouragement.
“That’s right, Jack, that’s good, that’s - unghhhh - God, your mouth, oh please -”
Jack pulled off with a smirk, and Ianto groaned, and then moaned as Jack leaned forward again to lap at his balls, then moved his tongue over the base of his shaft, and licked slowly all along its length. Ianto buried his fingers in Jack’s hair again and pulled him in closer. The scent of Ianto filled his nostrils as he began to pull his cock back into his mouth. Ianto was hard and leaking and Jack ran his tongue over the slit, spreading pre-come along his shift as he sucked him gently down. Ianto gave several encouraging tugs, and Jack raised his eyes to him.
Ianto’s eyes were huge and black with desire and lack of light, but Jack could clearly see what was in them and he paused for a moment, Ianto’s cock lying heavy and full on his tongue. There was history in that look, the weight of their shared past, the mistakes and the triumphs; and there was the future there, too, time stretching out in front of them to be explored, together. But what Jack wanted most, right at that moment, was Ianto now, alive and burning with desire. He winked up at him, as literally cocky a grin as he could manage, and almost laughed as he deep throated him, sucking him harder and harder as his hands gripped Ianto’s arse hard enough to leave a mark. Ianto lost it, throwing his head back and coming with a guttural moan. Jack sucked each bit down, swallowing loudly and licking the cock clean until Ianto was whimpering above him.
Jack stood up shakily, knees creaking, and helped Ianto pull his pants and trousers back up. They both leaned against the shelves a moment, trying to catch their breath. After a minute, Ianto reached over and kissed his neck. “Do you want - ?”
Jack kissed him on the nose. “No. I just wanted you.”
***
Ianto turned off the water and dipped an experimental toe into the sunken bath. It was huge, almost like a Jacuzzi, but just flat water, no jets of air. Pity, that. Still, they were lucky to get this room, in another one of Smith’s family friend’s hotels, this one located near the hospital. Tosh was staying with Donna for the rest of the night, sitting curled up in the guest chair, and Martha and Smith himself had rooms down the hall from this one. Everyone was as settled as they could be, for the night at least. Ianto checked his watch. Or the morning. Ianto wanted to flood their rooms with flowers or something to show his appreciation. He’d have to ponder that after a long sleep.
Ianto began to strip out of his dusty clothes. He wandered back out into the room to hang up his shirt. Not that he could wear again without a good washing, but old habits die hard. Jack was sprawled out on the bed, lying horizontal with his feet hanging off the edge. He was also snoring. Ianto debated letting him stay there, but then the stench reached his nose.
“Jack,” he said in a firm voice, and gave his leg a shake. “Wakey-wakey.”
“Wakey-wakey?” Jack groaned. “Have we gone back in time?”
“To before you smelled like an open grave? Not yet.” Jack cracked an eye at him and he held out his hand. “Come on, you’re getting stench all over the bed. And I’ve drawn bath water.” He waited for the inevitable response, and sure enough -
“Did you use a blue crayon?”
Rolling his eyes was just a reflex now. Jack grinned up at him, and finally seemed to notice Ianto’s proffered hand. “Hey!” he exclaimed, gripping Ianto around the forcep and sitting up. “You’re half-undressed already!”
“And I’d like to get all the way there.” He hauled Jack to his feet, and the other man took a staggering step forward. Ianto immediately slid an arm around his shoulders, heedless of the smell. “Lean on me, Jack.”
“I’m not hurt or anything,” Jack grumbled, trying to stand up straight.
“You don’t have to be hurt in order to lean on me,” Ianto said. Jack looked utterly exhausted, the lines around his eyes exaggerated by the dirt and dust on his face. Ianto liked the lines around his eyes, feeling that they demonstrated a good sense of humor, whereas Jack hated the lines in his own forehead, as they just made him look like a worrier.
“You’re my knight in shining armor,” Jack said, but he hooked his arm around Ianto’s waist, thumb sliding below the waistband of his trousers and Jack’s fingers splayed on Ianto’s bare back. He gave a low whistle of admiration when they stumbled into the bathroom and he spotted the sunken bath. “That -”
“Yup. But you’re going to rinse off in the shower stall first. No dirt in the bath.”
“Methinks you are not fully versed in the purpose of baths, kind sir,” Jack protested, a twinkle in his eye.
“And I think you won’t discover the joys of shared baths if you come in smelling like that.”
Jack barked a laugh, but began to doff his clothes. Ianto watched him as he fumbled with his own belt and trousers. It was the least sexy strip-tease either had ever accomplished, but Ianto could still feel Jack’s eyes on him as he settled into the hot bath. It smelled like roses, not his first choice or his tenth, but the only option available. Jack was already in the shower. Ianto took a deep breath.
“Jack,” he said, loudly enough to be heard over the falling water. “Do you want to tell me what happened with Lucy Saxon?”
Jack didn’t say anything for a minute. Ianto craned his neck to look into the shower. The curtain was translucent, and he could make out Jack’s fuzzy outline, scrubbing shampoo into his hair. Ianto looked back down at the clear water covering him. He could let it go. They’d been through enough, and Donna was still a major worry, pressing in on them. He’d never been one to demand things. But . . . he glanced back up at the shower as the water stopped. Jack stepped out from behind the curtain, skin glistening, droplets of water chasing themselves down his broad chest, his muscled thighs. Ianto felt the familiar stirring in his heart and in his groin.
“Lucy Saxon was completely mad,” Jack said, his wet feet slapping on the tiles as he made his way to the bath. “I take it you saw her body?”
Ianto nodded. Waves rocked the water as Jack climbed into the bath with him.
“Harold Saxon said he tried to cure her of an addiction to opium, but he just made matters much worse, and in the end,” Jack settled against the back of the bath with a loud sigh. “In the end,” he repeated, “he killed her, but not before she could kill him.”
There was a lot he wasn’t saying. Ianto could taste ghosts in the air around them. But it had been a hellishly long couple of days and when he placed his hand on Jack’s bicep, he could feel the throbbing tension in the muscle. “Here,” he said. “Lean forward.”
It was awkward and uncomfortable, but just for a minute before he settled himself behind Jack and picked up the bottle of shampoo. “Yeeeeeeeeah,” Jack breathed out the moment Ianto began massaging his scalp.
Ianto could feel the tension leak out of the other man as he washed and rinsed Jack’s hair. Suds floated on the surface of the bath like little islands of worries, and Ianto ran his fingers through a few, breaking them up. Jack leaned back and rested his wet head on Ianto’s shoulder and pressed his lips briefly to Ianto’s neck.
“I was so worried about you,” he said suddenly, his voice sounding strangely high-pitched in the bathroom acoustics.
Ianto flexed his left leg. It was always going to hurt a bit. “I was worried about you,” he admitted. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to find you. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to help you. I was worried I’d never see you again, hold you like this, think ridiculous thoughts of forever when I look in your eyes. He concentrated on watching Jack’s chest rise and fall beneath his splayed fingers.
“So . . . we’ve discovered we’re a couple of worrywarts,” Jack snorted.
Ianto smiled briefly and pressed a kiss into his hair. “There are worse things we could be.”
A comfortable silence settled over the bathroom. Ianto watched Jack’s eyelids droop closed. “Jack,” he murmured. “The water’s going to get cold.”
“Mr. Practical,” Jack mumbled back. “I’m sleepy.”
“Then get up and I’ll take you to bed.” Ianto slid his arms beneath Jack’s shoulders and gave him a nudge. Jack grumbled and huffed and rose on wobbly legs. Ianto stood up slowly, ignoring the twinge in his leg.
“Hey,” Jack said, and Ianto met his eyes. Not for the first time, he marveled at how blue they were, and how they could look at him with such warmth. They were narrowed slightly now, though. “Hey,” he said again, “if your leg is hurting, you tell me. No secrets, remember?”
Ianto sighed. Bath water splashed as he took a step forward and kissed the other man. “Jack,” he whispered against his lips, “my leg is always going to hurt. You are always going to feel guilty about the people you know you just CANNOT save. These are the facts of us. So there, now they’re acknowledged. They don’t have to control everything.”
Jack was staring at him, and Ianto couldn’t blame him. He didn’t think he’d ever been so blunt about something like that. “Okay,” Jack said slowly. “I can get behind that.” His solemn expression vanished suddenly, replaced by a blinding Jack-grin. “Now take me to bed.”
They stumbled, sleek and wet, into the bedroom and fell ungracefully into the bed. Ianto reached for the covers, but Jack stopped him with a look and Ianto had to swallow hard. Jack might be dead tired, but he wasn’t dead. Ianto fumbled in the nightstand, looking for the tube he’d tossed into the drawer earlier. When he looked back at Jack, his eyes were already closed.
“Jack?” he asked. “We don’t -”
“No,” Jack yawned. “I know that. But I want to fall asleep with you inside me. I need to know -” He cracked open one eye. “Come on, Ianto.”
“Okay.” Ianto nodded. “Stretch out.”
Jack rolled onto his side, and Ianto lay down behind him. They’d done this so many times, he knew Jack’s body better than his own - where to touch him for maximum pleasure, when to fuck him hard, when to be tender, how to make him come so hard he blanked out, how to say a simple ‘I love you’ with just a touch. His fingers stretched him open, guided himself inside until he could look down and see one being where before there were two. Jack let out a breathy moan when he began to move, slowly rocking forward and back, but never moving too far away. Ianto snaked an arm beneath Jack’s body and gripped Jack’s cock. Jack might have been falling asleep, but his cock was awake and eager and already leaking pre-come. Ianto slid his fingers up and down along the velvety skin, hot to the touch and still damp from their bath. Ianto spread the fingers of his other hand across Jack’s hip, holding him while he thrust into him. He didn’t hold back his own moans. He had Jack back, when he could have lost him. Jack was whole, uninjured. He was so lucky, and he didn’t even believe in luck. He tugged at Jack’s cock, squeezing it just the way Jack liked, and nibbled on Jack’s earlobe. Jack came with a groan, hot and sticky over Ianto’s fingers.
Ianto let out a shaky breath. He was still rock hard, completely sheathed in Jack’s welcoming body. “Jack,” he grunted, “you asleep?”
“Nggh,” came the response.
Ianto shifted his arm, the one beneath Jack’s body, and moved his hand over Jack’s stomach. Jack had smooth, hairless skin, and Ianto liked to trace the outline of the muscles, gently tickling.
“Mrfggle,” Jack mumbled into his pillow, his mouth upturning slightly.
“Yeah, there’s that,” Ianto replied. He was starting to sweat with his exertions, even as slow as he was moving. It felt so good to go so slow, as if time had stopped and it was just him and Jack and this exquisite tightness and heat wrapped around them. As if he had all the time in the world to explore the sensations of friction, skin rubbing against skin, nerve endings on fire. Jack’s broad back and neck filled his view and he gave into the urge to lick that skin and nip at it with his teeth, just grazing across. His hands gripped Jack around the waist and chest, pulling Jack close to him as he thrust in, deeper, deeper, deeper until he couldn’t possibly move, there was no way they could ever be separated again. He couldn’t stop kissing Jack, wet, slippery kisses along his neck. His breath came in ragged gasps between kisses and he thought for sure he would explode when Jack mumbled a sleepy, “M’Ianto,” and pushed desultorily back against him. Ianto came so hard his vision blanked.
When he blinked his eyes open a few moments later, Jack was still there, still a solid weight in his arms, still a hot slick presence around him. They were still together. He laughed in sheer wonder, for just a second, and Jack made a little noise that Ianto interpreted to mean “I love you.”
He kissed Jack’s neck again, nuzzling the soft skin beneath his chin, and as sleep overtook him, he made a silent vow to the man in his arms. There was no way they would ever be separated again.
Author: blue_fjords
Characters/Pairings: Jack, Ianto, Tosh, Donna, Martha, John Smith, Master Harold Saxon, Lucy Saxon, Jack/Ianto, Tosh/Donna
Rating: NC-17
Word Length: 9,200 this part; 22,700 overall
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: Well. It's been a long time coming. This is a continuation of my romance novel AU, which started here with Dr. Harkness & Nurse Jones: Kenya back in December of 2008 (yikes!) and continued with Dr. Harkness & Nurse Jones: Ghana, until we got to Dr. Harkness & Nurse Jones: India (Prologue - Ghana) in November of 2009. I am a slow writer, what can I say! Due to my slowness, you will find the character of John Smith is probably nothing like Eleven, as I created him long before Eleven was even cast, poor chap. So he's pretty much an OC, with shades of different Doctors. And, well, human, as this is an AU. Everybody's human! Many, many thanks to adjovi for the beta, and to my peeps for putting up w/ me complaining about writer's block etc. during the writing of this thing. Also, I have never been to India. Google goes there frequently, though. Finally, this story has an epilogue, but it does not end on a cliffhanger. There are a few loose ends I want to tie up (Donna! Gwen & Rhys! Boating!), hopefully in the upcoming week. Thanks for your patience.
Part III
“Donna?!” Jack gasped. “How - never mind; let’s go!” He pulled her into a tight hug and bussed her on the lips before releasing her and moving eagerly towards the door.
“Right,” Donna agreed, a tad breathlessly. “Give me a hand with Mrs. Saxon.”
Jack paused in the doorway. “Donna, I don’t think . . .”
Lucy Saxon stared at him, smirking. “Abandoning your oaths, Doctor?” she wheezed.
“Of course he’s not!” Donna snapped, striding over to stand by the bed. “Come on, Jack!”
Jack walked slowly back to the bed and looked down at Lucy. “Do you want to leave, Lucy?”
“You’re going to take me out of here,” she managed, struggling up on her elbows, “but I’m never leaving. I’ll never leave Harold. I chose him!”
It was the longest uninterrupted speech Jack had heard from her. He exchanged a glance with Donna. Her brow was furrowed in confusion. “Well . . . we can at least try?”
Jack nodded, despite his misgivings. He really couldn’t leave Lucy behind, not sick and in pain when there was something he could do about it. He scooped her up, one arm beneath her knees and the other supporting her shoulders, like she was his beloved bride. She squawked in protest, but her eyes glittered with something like anticipation. But anticipation for strangling Jack or possibly seeing her Harold again, Jack couldn’t say.
“Lead on, Donna. What’s our plan?”
Donna moved quickly through the suite and poked her head down the corridor. “Still clear, good. Follow me. Here’s the deal: after they took you away, we got assigned as new housecleaners and given these lovely dresses.” For the first time it registered on Jack that Donna was wearing Saxon’s servant uniform. It was obviously made for someone shorter, as it barely made it to her knees. “So of course we broke into Saxon’s office under the pretext of dusting his damn drum collection. And Tosh hacked his computer.” She looked back over her shoulder and flashed Jack a grin. “She’s brilliant. Anyhow, she got some techno mumbo jumbo stuff on that Archangel thing - don’t ask me, it made no sense - and she found something else.”
Donna paused in her recitation at another crossroads and pulled a slip of paper from her pocket. “We turn left here,” she mumbled.
Jack shifted Lucy against his chest. “Not to interrupt, Donna, but where the hell are all the guards?”
“They’re a little distracted.”
“By . . . ?”
“Um, Tosh is firing the poppy fields. Not one anyone is working in!” she added hurriedly at his widening eyes. “We thought we could get some allies from the other servants, but that didn’t go over too well. So she’s doing it, and we’ll meet her in the garage.”
“Dammit, we have to hurry. I don’t want Tosh stuck out there with a burning field and no back-up!” Those guards could tear her apart.
Donna nodded, eyes clouding with worry. “One more corridor,” she said. “Anyhow. The other thing Tosh found? Saxon has a very full file on the Tyler Foundation staff.”
Lucy made a noise at that, a strangled little moan, and Jack looked down at her, trying to see her face. Her eyes were closed and chin down, hiding her expression. “What do you know about this, Lucy?” he asked. “Is this why you hate me?”
Lucy breathed heavily through her nose and clenched her hands into gnarled little fists, but wouldn’t speak.
“Never mind,” Jack sighed in exasperation. “We almost there, Donna?”
“Yup,” she said, and rounded one last corner. Jack looked over her shoulder. A door to the outside world, finally.
“Where does this put us?” he asked.
“In a back garden,” Donna replied. “This is a servant entrance - the kitchen’s right next to us. This is a door for getting veggies and things from the gardens to the kitchen.”
Donna cautiously pressed against it, turning the handle, and slowly slid her head outside to get a look around. “Oh, wow, that fire is huge!” she exclaimed, pushing the door all the way open and stepping outside. Jack hurried out behind her, careful to not jostle Lucy too much against the doorframe.
Smoke billowed up from the poppy fields. More than one was on fire. Jack could just make out little figures in guard uniforms, highlighted by the flames. “Remind me not to ever cross Toshiko.” He shook his head, breaking his reverie. “Garage, Donna?”
“Right.” She nodded her head decisively. “This way.”
Jack followed along the perimeter of the mansion as Lucy mumbled to herself in his arms. He wondered if the firing of the poppy fields bothered her, or if she was glad to be rid of them. He couldn’t read Lucy. A shiver danced along his spine.
“There it is,” Donna whispered, stopping abruptly. The rest of the way to the garage was across the central courtyard, with no cover. Jack craned his neck around. He couldn’t see any guards. Or servants, either.
“Where are the servants?” he asked Donna, and she shrugged.
“Taking advantage of the diversion and scattering? We got the impression that they wouldn’t stop us. All of the servants are in debt to Saxon. If something destroys his base in India, well, all to the good. They just didn’t want to get caught helping.”
Lucy grunted in Jack’s arms, and muttered something that sounded like, “Ungrateful.” Jack rolled his eyes.
“Okay, I say we go for boldness. It’s just a few yards, and I can’t see anyone over here. I can’t move fast with Lucy here,” he gave her a little squeeze and she yelped, “so if you just cover your hair, from a distance, we could look like we belong here.”
“That’d be good, except I hate head coverings. I don’t have one on me,” Donna said.
“Okay. The crouch-run it is, then.” He smiled at her. “Let’s go thank Tosh for her wonderful diversion, shall we?”
They were halfway across the courtyard when Jack spotted Saxon, leading about a dozen guards and heading straight towards them. His hands closed convulsively around Lucy and she looked up. “Shit,” he hissed.
“Harold!” Lucy called, her voice breaking. “Harold!”
Donna sped up, one arm going behind Jack to help him along. They stumbled into the relative safety of the garage and pulled up short. There was only one car in the garage, a classic Aston Martin that had definitely seen better days, and several piles of junk and a couple of rickshaws. Tosh looked up from her inspection of the car’s engine.
“Toshiko! You okay?” Jack gasped out, lowering Lucy carefully to the floor. Donna crossed the space and drew her into a quick hug.
“I’m fine, except for the utter failure of the escape portion of our plan,” Tosh answered, patting Donna’s back. “How could he treat his car this way? Can you get it running, Jack?”
“Let me look at it. You two try to block the doors; Saxon is right on our tail.”
It didn’t look promising. Jack ruthlessly squashed a wave of panic. Oil. It needed oil first thing, get a little lubrication going. Lucy began to cackle from her spot on the floor, and Jack wondered for a second if he had made the obvious joke out loud.
“You’re trapped! Harold’s got you!” she cooed. “He’s got us all.” She smiled loopily. “Harold travels by boat, not cars.”
“You couldn’t have mentioned this earlier?” Donna snapped at her. “You knew we were heading for the garage!”
Jack looked down at Lucy. Of course she knew. That’s why she didn’t say anything. Lucy met his eyes and gave him a sardonic smile.
An outboard motor sounded from a distance, and quite clearly, right outside the garage, Saxon’s voice reached them, “Half of you, get to the docks and SEE WHAT’S GOING ON!”
Half. Leaving Saxon and six armed guards for them. The odds were better, though still terrible. Jack ran to one of the piles of junk. “Tosh, Donna - here, arm yourselves -”
SMASH! Jack ducked as the window next to him shattered. “What was -” He looked around wildly and spotted the grenade two seconds before it detonated. He was blown back against the wall and slammed into it, sliding to the floor. His ears were ringing and his eyesight did a little loop-de-loop before settling.
Fine Italian leather shoes paused in front of him and Jack blinked up at the form of Harold Saxon. His lips were moving, no doubt revisiting his Evil Overlord speech, and Jack was actually a little grateful that he could hear only ringing in his ears. He looked around the smoky interior of the garage. The Aston Martin was crumpled. A guard stood over Toshiko, slumped against the far wall, but conscious. Donna’s distinctive red hair was splayed out all around her, a few feet away from Tosh. She wasn’t moving and Jack narrowed his eyes. Was her hair a darker red than usual? Please not that. He couldn’t see Lucy at all.
The ringing stopped abruptly.
“ - and all I ask if my due. Simple acknowledgement of my genius. This could have all been avoided. Why on earth did they have to send you?” Saxon paused in his tirade to draw breath.
“Who were you expecting, the Queen of England?” Jack muttered, sitting up straighter. How many guns, how many guns, he needed to count the guns.
“Smith! John Smith!” Saxon waved his hands in the air. “Haven’t you been listening?!”
Jack gaped up at him. “What?”
“Archangel, Harkness. I have created a thing that is going to irrevocably change the world, and Smith runs around thinking he can still save it with his little foundation. News flash: the world’s not worth saving. Everyone is corruptible. Just look at my bloody wife!”
“You - wait.” His brain was moving sluggishly, trying to keep up with Saxon’s madness. What did Smith have to do with anything? And which Smith, come to think of it? “Which Smith?”
“What do you mean, which Smith? John Smith!”
“There are eleven John Smiths, Saxon.” Jack detected a movement near the door. Lucy . . . ?
“They’re all the same man, Harkness. All so focused on finding the good. Morons. John Smith was supposed to come here. I wanted to explain! I wanted him to see that I’d won!”
“What about healing Lucy?” Jack asked, frowning.
“Lucy? Lucy was a convenient excuse to keep you here. She’s nothing. Nothing.”
“Nothing?” a voice rasped out. Jack looked around Saxon to find Lucy, standing on wobbly legs, supported by one of her husband’s guards. “I am nothing to you, Harold? Have I always been nothing?”
“You were very useful, Lucy. Now go sit down before you fall over. There’s blood all down your dressing gown,” Saxon dismissed her. There was blood all over Lucy. Her face was stark white, and Jack was amazed that she was standing, even supported as she was.
“But I chose you, Harold,” Lucy whispered in her hoarse voice. Jack winced. Lucy’s illusions were no more solid than the clouds of smoke and dust from the grenade, and she withered visibly as Saxon dispelled them.
“Understandable,” Saxon said. “But you’re dying now, Lucy. Why don’t you lie down and do it in peace?”
Jack knew exactly what she was going to do the second before she did it, and he opened his mouth to say her name - to convince her not to? To encourage her? He couldn’t tell - but she moved too fast. She grabbed the gun from the holster of her startled guard and aimed it at Harold Saxon, firing three quick rounds.
Everyone froze, except for Saxon, whose eyes opened wide, so wide as he toppled slowly to the floor. Jack struggled up on one knee to move toward him, but Saxon pushed feebly at his hands. “It’s always the women,” he mumbled.
“Jack!” Tosh called, and he lifted his head from Saxon’s death scene. Her guard was moving from foot to foot, uncertain whether he should finish off the intruders, or forget about it as the guarantee for his next paycheck expired before his eyes.
“Your Master is dead,” Jack told him. The guard seemed to understand. “You should go while you can.” The man’s fingers tightened on his gun and his eyes darted to Lucy’s guard, still standing there with his mouth open, catching flies. “Take him, and your buddies watching this building, and get out before the authorities get here.”
Lucy muttered something to them in Malayalam, and that decided matters. Her guard lowered her to the floor and they both left. Jack approached her carefully. She still held the gun. “Lucy?” he asked.
She looked at him without seeing him. “He said I was nothing,” she whispered in a wheeze. She curled up into a ball. “I told them to take his precious drums. They’re worth something.”
Jack touched her shoulder. “Let me see where you’re hurt, Lucy.”
“I’m already dead, Harkness. See to your ginger girl. Get the hell out of my sight.”
“Jack, she’s not waking up,” Tosh called to him. He gave Lucy one last look, which she ignored, before he turning his back on her and stepping around the detritus of the exploded junk piles to get to Tosh and Donna.
Tosh gave him a worried look. He avoided meeting her eyes. Donna was bleeding from her scalp. It looked like she had hit her head in the blast. Jack gave her a quick perusal. It didn’t look like she had any other injuries, and the cut on her scalp wasn’t near as deep as others he’d seen. Still, she was utterly comatose and they had no means of transportation . . .
“Didn’t I see a couple of rickshaws in here when we came in?” Jack asked. “I want to get Donna to a hospital.”
Tosh made a low sound in her throat and he reached over and grabbed her hand. “Tosh. I don’t think it’s life-threatening. Head wounds are tricky, though, so the sooner we get her to a hospital, the better.”
Tosh nodded and cleared her throat. “The rickshaws were in the back right corner.”
Jack picked his way through the strewn junk to the corner. One of the rickshaws had a crushed wheel, but the other actually looked serviceable. It had been spared by some metal sheeting falling at an angle and blocking it from the grenade. “We’re in luck!” he announced. It took a little doing, but between him and Tosh, they were able to finagle it out and clear of the blast zone, and then get Donna onto the bench. Jack went back for Lucy.
She had died quietly while they worked to get free. Jack knelt and felt for her pulse, just to be sure. Lucy Saxon had left her body.
“Jack?” Tosh asked softly from the rickshaw.
“She’s not leaving this place, she said.” He closed her eyes and rose to his feet. “But we are.”
He took his place at the front of the rickshaw and gripped the handles, pulling them out of the garage, across the compound and up the hill, leaving the Saxons and their burning estate behind.
***
Ianto gaped at the fire until Martha poked him in the shoulder. “Ianto! That’s probably our signal, come on!”
“Wait!” Ianto caught at her sleeve as she surged forward. “Look!” He pointed to a group of guards and a man in a suit, the only ones running away from the fire. He couldn’t see what they could see from his angle. “What do you think the chances are . . .”
“That they’re running towards the same people we’re here to rescue?” Martha finished. “What is it with Jack and attracting people who want to kill him?”
“It’s a gift,” Smith said very seriously. “I have it, too.”
“Brilliant,” Ianto replied. “Right, I think we need a diversion from . . . their diversion.”
“The boats?” Martha asked, raising a brow.
“The boats,” Ianto answered.
“Oh, yes, the boats,” Smith chimed in.
Ianto rose to a half-crouch, though the guards and man in a suit weren’t looking towards them. Ianto just felt safer hunched all over. He began to run, the other two following him, towards the docks. It wasn’t far, and they made it while the other group was still approaching their target. Ianto still couldn’t see what they were trying to do.
There were four boats tied up at the docks. “We’ll just do two?” Martha huffed and he nodded.
“Yeah, no need to stick around here longer than we have to. Smith, will you be lookout?”
“With pleasure!” Smith exclaimed.
Ianto knelt at the first boat, and Martha set to work on the one across from him. He gave the outboard motor a couple of tugs, and it sparked to life. He sighed with relief, as that was the extent of his boating knowledge, garnered from watching Hawaii Five-O reruns as a kid. That, and he had to untie the rope thing connecting the boat to the dock. Well, that decides it. Jack and I are definitely going out on a boat after this so I can learn the proper terms and not sound like a prat in my own head.
Martha’s boat also sparked to life, and Smith shouted down from the start of the dock. “Looks like they heard us! Hold on there, what are you doing?” he asked, running to Ianto.
Ianto pushed the boat away from the dock with his foot. “Diversioning.”
“We’re not going in the boat?” Smith asked.
“No, we just want them to think we did,” Martha answered, joining them. “Come on, let’s see if we can get out of here without being seen.”
They had just made it to the end of the dock when a loud explosion sounded from the compound. Ianto’s heart caught in his throat and he almost tripped over his feet in his desire to take off towards the noise.
“Ianto, get down!” Martha yelled behind him and he fell gracelessly to his stomach. A bullet flew over his head and lodged itself into the wood of the dock.
“Diversion was a success, then!” Smith ran to him and helped him up to a crouch. “Shed to our left!” Smith tugged him over to a barrel - and why were there always these barrels on docks, what did they possibly contain, he’d have to add it to his list of things to ask Jack about boating, and shit he was babbling now - and they hid behind it.
“Wait, where’s Martha?” Ianto asked, looking around wildly.
“Here!” she called, pushing open the door to the shed. Another bullet hit their barrel and Ianto wrinkled his nose. Something pickled. Solves that. He and Smith crawled into the shed.
“Any brilliant ideas? Anyone?” he asked, a little breathlessly. “I bet Jack’s where that explosion was.”
“I don’t doubt it, knowing Jack,” Martha agreed. “But how do we get there?”
Ianto risked a glance out the window. Figures were slowly approaching the docks. “I count . . . six armed guards coming his way. They don’t know that all we have are a couple of tasers. They’re going slow.”
“That’s not all we have!” Smith was eyeing the contents of the shed, hands on his hips. He gave Ianto and Martha a wide grin. “It’ll be the work of a moment to concoct a little surprise!”
“With tar and rope?” Martha asked raising her brow. She stepped closer to Smith. “I don’t think -”
“Wait, Martha!” Ianto held up his hand. “Walk over that bit again!”
“What?” she asked, turning to him and taking another step forward.
“No, back up one!”
“Ianto, what -”
He rushed forward and pushed aside the reed mat on the floor. The outline of a trapdoor was clearly visible.
“Brilliant!” Smith breathed. “And thank goodness for my handy dandy screwdriver!” He knelt down and plunged his gadget into the keyhole. Ianto shot another glance out the window. The guards were practically on top of them. “And in we go!” Smith exclaimed. “Ladies first.”
Martha shot them a grin and scrabbled down the steps. “There’s a corridor!” she called up. Ianto heard her unzip her bag and rummage around inside, then light shone up the steps. “A long one!”
“Go on, Jonesy, I’ll go last and lock it behind us!” Smith brandished the screwdriver excitedly and Ianto hurried to follow Martha down the steps, Smith at his heels. They didn’t wait to hear if the guards checked out their shed but immediately took off down the corridor. Ianto tried to orient himself against what he remembered of the compound.
“What do you think, Martha? Are we headed towards the . . . garage?” he asked.
She shrugged. “My sense of direction is crap down here. But I suppose that makes sense, you know? Connect the two forms of transportation. If one thing arrives by car, you could smuggle it out by boat with none the wiser.”
It wasn’t long before they came to another set of steps, leading up. Smith pushed forward. “Allow me. Screwdriver, you know.”
There was a soft snick, and Smith slowly raised the trapdoor. “Oh, my! Quickly, get up here!”
Ianto and Martha exchanged a look, then he went scrambling up the steps. Martha followed immediately after him. The trapdoor fell shut with a bang, unnoticed by them as they took in the destruction.
Junk was strewn all about the garage, across the floor, crushing an Aston Martin - an actual Aston Martin, Ianto’s heart did a little flip - and over by the door -
“Oh my God,” Martha breathed. She moved towards the woman, though she looked quite dead to Ianto. The man, though, still had the barest spark of life in his eyes. Ianto and Smith crouched on either side of him.
“Sir?” Ianto asked quietly. “Are you Harold Saxon?” He could be. The pictures Ianto had seen on the web depicted a smiling, healthy Saxon, but this near-corpse could certainly be the same man. Saxon’s eyelashes fluttered, trying to open wider.
“Smith?” he croaked. Ianto looked at Smith, startled, and Smith shrugged his shoulders.
“Ah, yes?” he answered.
“Look, Smith.” Saxon half-raised a bloody hand. “I won.”
Ianto looked around at the destruction of the garage, at Martha, shaking her head over the body of the dead woman. There was no sign of Jack, Tosh or Donna. What on earth had he won?
“Sorry, old chap. Were we in a contest?” Smith asked kindly.
Saxon looked at him for a long moment before he started to cackle. “You’re the wrong Smith!” he wheezed. “You’re actually the wrong Smith! That’s rich! Oh! I thought you would understand!”
“Listen, Saxon, I’m a nurse and we have a doctor here,” Ianto said, interrupting Saxon’s rambling. “Let us see to your wounds.”
“Thought you’d understand,” Saxon wheezed again. His mouth went slack and his eyes dull and just like that, Harold Saxon departed this mortal coil.
Ianto stood up slowly. “I want to find Jack and get out of here,” he declared. His hands were shaking, and he stuffed them into his pockets.
Martha gave him a sympathetic look. “Yeah. Come on, Smith.”
Smith gently closed Saxon’s eyes and then rose to his feet. “No arguments here.”
They stumbled out of the garage. The fires in the poppy fields were starting to die down. Several guards were carrying items from a large mansion down to the docks and one of the two boats left there. They completely ignored Ianto, Martha and Smith. No one’s in charge anymore. Ianto shaded his eyes with his hand.
“Martha, may I borrow your binoculars?” he asked, his heart rate quickening. She wordlessly handed them over, and he focused them on the road leading out of the compound. A rickshaw was disappearing over the rise, but he was just able to catch a flash of red hair in the back.
“That rickshaw was carrying Donna,” he said, pointing to where it disappeared. “And where we find Donna, we’ll find Jack and Tosh.”
“Let’s cut them off at the pass, then,” Martha said, stuffing her binoculars back in her pack and slinging it over her shoulder.
They took off at a jog, cutting overland for a more direct route. Each step brought him closer to Jack, and Ianto’s heart began to beat harder, a quick “Ja-ack” rhythm. They made it to the road before the rickshaw passed by, and Ianto turned to look back down the road.
Then, finally, an achingly familiar figure appeared at the top of the previous rise. Jack. Ianto felt the fist unclench from around his heart. Jack, battered, exhausted and bruised, but so wonderfully alive. His feet were moving of their own accord. He was dimly aware of Martha calling out to Jack and the others, but her voice sounded as if from a great distance. Jack heard it, though, and looked up, eyes searching until he spotted Ianto.
A part of Ianto felt a little ridiculous for the picture they must have made, two lovers running to each other in a dusty lane in the hazy Indian dusk. Someday, he’d retell this story, and in it, there would be no desperate touching of each other’s faces, no muffled half-sobs, no tears sheening blue eyes. He would leave the kisses in, but just one or two, and not mention that Jack’s mouth tasted like old socks, or how frantically he peppered Jack’s jawline with a string of little kisses, or how tightly Jack clung to his neck.
After a few moments, Jack took a step back, just enough to speak. “Ianto, you’re here . . . and . . . I really need your help with Donna. How did you . . . and how did that . . . and, wait, did I hear Martha calling my name?”
Ianto took his face in his hands and pressed a firm kiss to his lips. “Right. Martha and Smith are here with me. We came to rescue you. Which . . . right. Looks like you did fine on your own. Now tell me what’s the matter with Donna.” He finally registered that neither Tosh nor Donna had spoken yet.
“She hit her head in a little explosion. I want to get her someplace with an MRI.” Martha made her way down to them while Jack was talking, Smith trailing along behind her, and Jack threw his arms around her while still trying to hold on to Ianto. Ianto gently peeled his fingers away to go to the rickshaw.
“Tosh?” he asked softly.
Tosh raised her head slowly. “She won’t wake up.”
“May I see her, Tosh?”
She shifted slightly and Ianto got a good look at the side of Donna’s face. A little blood trickled from a cut in her scalp, less than he would expect. That could be good news. Her skin was rather ashen and her breathing shallow, and he frowned. Though she was breathing, so that was something, at least. He finished his detached assessment and then allowed himself to truly see her: Donna Noble of the indefatigable spirit and larger-than-life personality. He could draw direct parallels between the pairing of Tosh and Donna, and him and Jack.
“Tosh,” he said, keeping his voice steady and low. “We have a jeep stashed less than a mile from here.”
Her eyes widened, and he nodded. “We’re going to get her to safety, Tosh.”
Martha and Smith left their packs with the rickshaw and set out at a run to get the jeep and bring it back to them. Ianto dug into the packs and handed over water bottles and some snacks he’d packed. Jack ate like a starving man, and Ianto cursed himself for not packing even more food. Tosh nibbled at her dried fruit, but gulped down the water.
Jack told him a very garbled version of what had happened at the estate and Ianto tried to pay attention to the meaning of the words instead of losing himself in the relief of Jack, solid and alive and standing right next to him. Harold Saxon was insane, he gathered that much, and they needed to do something about some software he’d developed. And there was something about a sick wife, and a history with John Smith -
“I know that bit,” Ianto said, when Jack paused to shove more crackers in his mouth. “We saw Saxon. He - he died in the garage. He reacted strangely to John Smith.”
“Wait, he was alive when you saw him?” Jack asked, crumbs flying.
“Not for long. He just sort of laughed when he saw Smith and, well, died.”
Jack and Tosh exchanged looks. “Did Smith know him?” Jack asked.
“No, I don’t think so. Why?”
Jack took another draught of his water before answering. “I think Harold Saxon felt some sort of connection to John Smith. Like they were in competition, almost.”
“There are eleven John Smiths, though. Not exactly a close contest,” Ianto pointed out.
“I don’t think that mattered to Saxon.”
Ianto frowned. It was a little sad, really, but compared to the pain Jack, Tosh and especially Donna had suffered, Ianto wasn’t in the forgiving mood. The setting sun was gilding Jack in gold and Ianto didn’t stop to think about it, just stepped forward and pulled Jack to him. He was still holding him when Martha and Smith pulled up in the jeep, and only released him to help maneuver Donna into the back seat. They sat squashed together in the far back for the ride back to Kochi, but Ianto didn’t mind the tight fit in the slightest.
***
There was an awful lot of confusion surrounding the burning of Saxon’s estate once they reached Kochi. Jack was happy to leave the explanation in Smith’s hands and head to the hospital with Donna, Tosh and Ianto. He would have to tell Ianto about his captivity eventually. He even wanted to. But for right now, he wanted to banish all thoughts of Harold and Lucy Saxon to a dark corner of his mind and focus instead on his loved ones.
The hospital was crowded, noisy and hot, but clean and efficient. Because of the nature of her injury, Donna was seen to right away. Ianto led Tosh to the corner of the waiting room before starting in on the paperwork, and Jack began to pace. His mind kept re-playing Donna, her red hair splayed out on the garage floor. What could he have done to prevent it? Why wasn’t he faster, stronger, better? He huffed to himself. Why wasn’t he the Six Million Dollar Man?
His eyes searched out Ianto, always coming back to him. Ianto was bent practically in half over a clipboard, filling out Donna’s insurance information, his long fingers gripping the pen and the very tip of his pink tongue jutting out of the corner of his mouth. Jack slowed in his pacing and drank in the sight: the sweep of Ianto’s eyelashes, the tiny lock of hair that curled around his ear, the flex of his shoulders as he went back and forth over the form, the tautness of his thigh as he used it for a table. He’d almost never seen that again.
Ianto paused, looked up and smiled briefly. Jack felt the awful tension coiled in his gut loosen, just slightly.
He paced for a few hours, pausing briefly only when Ianto brought back some food and water bottles for them. He’d forgotten how hungry he was, his roadside snack fading to memory. Tosh didn’t move from her seat. Ianto finished the paperwork and sat down next to her, offering his shoulder, but she didn’t take it. Jack turned to start up the corridor one more time when a doctor appeared at the end of it. He looked quickly around the waiting room. They’d been there the longest, and it had cleared out quite a bit as the night went on.
“Toshiko,” Jack said quietly. “I see the doctor coming.”
Tosh started violently, coming out of her reverie and almost sliding off the hard plastic chair. Ianto caught at her elbow, steadying her, and she allowed it for a moment before shaking him off, her jaw set. Jack exchanged a look with Ianto over the top of her head.
“Dr. Sato?” The doctor stopped in front of them and consulted his clipboard, as if he needed to ascertain that they were indeed Donna Noble’s party.
Tosh stood there mutely, eyes wide. Jack knew just what she was seeing, and he shifted his feet, shrugging off the specter of a dusty back alley in Ghana. He took a step forward. “This is Dr. Sato, and I am Dr. Harkness and this is Nurse Jones. What can you tell us about Donna?”
The doctor blinked down at his clipboard, long eyelashes fluttering. Once upon a time, Jack would have found the sight irresistible. But now . . . God, he’s young. Or am I just getting old?
“Brain injuries like these are notoriously difficult to pin down,” he began. He had a pleasant voice, a British-schooling accent with a gentle reminder of an Indian childhood, but Jack just wanted him to get to the point. “There was some swelling in her brain, but it has gone down now. We’ve also stopped the bleeding. When she wakes up,” and a spasm went through Tosh at that. When, not if. Jack reached out a steadying arm to her, and this time she took it, clinging tightly. The doctor continued, unnoticing, “there may be some changes. We can’t say for sure until it happens. The brain is still too much of a mystery.” He clenched his fist, as if personally affronted that Donna’s brain hadn’t revealed all its inner workings to him. “She could experience anything from aphasia to memory loss, short or long term, to waking up same as always. And these conditions could very well fade over time.”
“You seem quite certain that Donna will indeed awaken,” Ianto said, shooting a quick glance at Tosh.
“I’m optimistic, yes. She’s breathing on her own, and never lost her ability to breathe. The swelling in the brain went down relatively easy, as far as these things go. We’ve moved her out of surgery and placed her at the end of the row in the Intensive Care Ward. If you would like to see her, Dr. Sato?”
Tosh nodded vigorously. “Ye-es.” She coughed, cleared her throat. “Yes. Please.” Jack exchanged another look with Ianto over the top of her head.
“Cheers, Tosh,” Ianto said quietly, and bent to kiss her forehead.
Jack watched him over his shoulder as he helped Tosh, still shaking a bit, down the hall after their doctor. Ianto made his way to the bank of payphones along the far wall, and Jack felt a stab of guilt. He was probably calling Martha and Smith, checking in on how the aftermath of Saxon’s demise was playing out, or else calling Donna’s family. He vaguely remembered stories of her grandfather; the two of them sounded very close.
Their doctor pushed open wide doors to another hall, and Ianto was blocked from sight. The doctor tied on a face mask and indicated that Jack and Tosh should, too. Tosh’s breath was coming a little fast, and Jack gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
Donna was lying in a bed at the end of a row of beds in Intensive Care. Each bed was separated from the hallway by long curtains, but that did nothing to block the sounds. The first curtain hid someone whimpering in pain, the next contained labored, rattling breathing. Worse, though was the dead silence at the next bed. Everything was clean and sterile, and fans kept up a complicated venting system. Jack’s eyes roamed over the tubes and pipes, an attempt to keep one patient’s possibly contagious germs from infecting another’s, and frowned. The face masks were a good idea.
Their doctor, and he should have asked Ianto if he had caught the man’s name, pulled back the final curtain. Tosh gave a muffled cry. Donna lay there, pale and weak, and about half her head was shaved. A large bandage was wrapped around her whole head. Jack led Tosh to the bed, tears soaking her face mask, and the doctor tactfully pulled the curtains closed.
Tosh laid a shaky finger against Donna’s cheek, reached down and picked up her right hand. Jack blinked his eyes several times, trying to clear the image of Ianto lying in their bed in Ghana, his body bruised and broken.
“Donna’s going to look very punk when she wakes up,” he said gruffly. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “That’s one hell of a haircut.”
Tosh managed a weak laugh. He put his arms around her and she buried her face briefly in his shirt and then pulled back. “Your shirt’s a mess,” she said. She took a deep, calming breath. “Thank you, Jack, for getting us out of there.”
Jack had to hide his wince. He should have done so much more. He had needed Donna to free him, and now look at Donna. Something must have shown in his eyes, because Tosh began to shake her head. “No, Jack. Not. Your. Fault.”
“Tosh -”
“Anyhow,” she cut him off. “I’m going to stay here. You should find Smith, get him to get you a room somewhere, and take a bath. You stink.”
“You’re not exactly smelling of roses yourself, Toshiko.” He gave her a small smile, forgetting that she couldn’t see it.
“Donna doesn’t mind. Go on, Jack. I’ll call you when she wakes up. Now go.” She gave him another small hug and then pushed him towards the curtains. He looked back at her before he let the curtain fall. She was settling into the chair at the head of the bed and her focus was only on Donna.
Jack’s stride quickened as he left Intensive Care. He needed, he needed - he rounded the corner back into the waiting room and spotted Ianto hanging up a phone. He crossed the room quickly.
“Jack! How did she look - ?” Ianto began, turning towards him.
“Come with me,” Jack hissed, looking around. The room wasn’t crowded, and people weren’t paying attention to them, but he still didn’t grab Ianto’s hand, just bade him follow with the force of his gaze. He’d passed a supply closet, he knew it.
“I spoke to Donna’s grandfather,” Ianto said, wrinkling his forehead at his actions, but following him regardless. “And also to Martha. She’s going to be awhile with the authorities. John Smith is surprisingly helpful there. She also gave me the address of a hotel near here; they’ll be expecting us. One of Smith’s -”
Jack cut him off by the simple expedient of shoving him into the supply closet.
“What the hell, Jack?!” Ianto exclaimed, turning to face him as Jack pulled the flimsy door shut behind them. There wasn’t a light bulb, but light seeped in from the slats in the door.
Jack fell to his knees and buried his face in Ianto’s midsection, his arms circling him and holding him close. “I just - I just -” he mumbled against Ianto, and turned his face to mouth at his crotch. “I need.”
God, he was so predictable, answering every fear with sex, but then he looked up through his lashes and found Ianto staring back down at him and a shiver went through him. Because Ianto understood this language, in all its crassness and immediacy and physicality, that it was all those things, but so much more. It was a sonnet and a declaration and sweetness, and made sense when those words would fall flat and meaningless. Because how could he say life and love and forever when he could show them and feel them to his core?
He almost sobbed. God, he’d come so close to losing Ianto again. Ianto’s fingers were in his hair now, his hand lifted Jack’s chin. “It’s alright, Jack. It’s alright.”
Jack fumbled at Ianto’s belt with less grace and finesse than he prided himself on, but Ianto didn’t seem to mind. His cock was half-hard when Jack pulled it up and out and immediately began to suck on the head. Ianto leaned back against the shelves, full of cleaning supplies, the same the world over, despite the unfamiliar language on the bottles. Jack shifted on his knees, crowding closer to Ianto, shoving him farther back, and a shelf rattled.
He pulled at Ianto’s pants and trousers, forcing them farther down. They were damp with sweat and on the manky side, but probably ten times better than his own after the past few days. He put it out of his head, and drew more of Ianto’s cock into his mouth, nudging into his throat. He was slurping a bit now, and Ianto started a low hum of encouragement.
“That’s right, Jack, that’s good, that’s - unghhhh - God, your mouth, oh please -”
Jack pulled off with a smirk, and Ianto groaned, and then moaned as Jack leaned forward again to lap at his balls, then moved his tongue over the base of his shaft, and licked slowly all along its length. Ianto buried his fingers in Jack’s hair again and pulled him in closer. The scent of Ianto filled his nostrils as he began to pull his cock back into his mouth. Ianto was hard and leaking and Jack ran his tongue over the slit, spreading pre-come along his shift as he sucked him gently down. Ianto gave several encouraging tugs, and Jack raised his eyes to him.
Ianto’s eyes were huge and black with desire and lack of light, but Jack could clearly see what was in them and he paused for a moment, Ianto’s cock lying heavy and full on his tongue. There was history in that look, the weight of their shared past, the mistakes and the triumphs; and there was the future there, too, time stretching out in front of them to be explored, together. But what Jack wanted most, right at that moment, was Ianto now, alive and burning with desire. He winked up at him, as literally cocky a grin as he could manage, and almost laughed as he deep throated him, sucking him harder and harder as his hands gripped Ianto’s arse hard enough to leave a mark. Ianto lost it, throwing his head back and coming with a guttural moan. Jack sucked each bit down, swallowing loudly and licking the cock clean until Ianto was whimpering above him.
Jack stood up shakily, knees creaking, and helped Ianto pull his pants and trousers back up. They both leaned against the shelves a moment, trying to catch their breath. After a minute, Ianto reached over and kissed his neck. “Do you want - ?”
Jack kissed him on the nose. “No. I just wanted you.”
***
Ianto turned off the water and dipped an experimental toe into the sunken bath. It was huge, almost like a Jacuzzi, but just flat water, no jets of air. Pity, that. Still, they were lucky to get this room, in another one of Smith’s family friend’s hotels, this one located near the hospital. Tosh was staying with Donna for the rest of the night, sitting curled up in the guest chair, and Martha and Smith himself had rooms down the hall from this one. Everyone was as settled as they could be, for the night at least. Ianto checked his watch. Or the morning. Ianto wanted to flood their rooms with flowers or something to show his appreciation. He’d have to ponder that after a long sleep.
Ianto began to strip out of his dusty clothes. He wandered back out into the room to hang up his shirt. Not that he could wear again without a good washing, but old habits die hard. Jack was sprawled out on the bed, lying horizontal with his feet hanging off the edge. He was also snoring. Ianto debated letting him stay there, but then the stench reached his nose.
“Jack,” he said in a firm voice, and gave his leg a shake. “Wakey-wakey.”
“Wakey-wakey?” Jack groaned. “Have we gone back in time?”
“To before you smelled like an open grave? Not yet.” Jack cracked an eye at him and he held out his hand. “Come on, you’re getting stench all over the bed. And I’ve drawn bath water.” He waited for the inevitable response, and sure enough -
“Did you use a blue crayon?”
Rolling his eyes was just a reflex now. Jack grinned up at him, and finally seemed to notice Ianto’s proffered hand. “Hey!” he exclaimed, gripping Ianto around the forcep and sitting up. “You’re half-undressed already!”
“And I’d like to get all the way there.” He hauled Jack to his feet, and the other man took a staggering step forward. Ianto immediately slid an arm around his shoulders, heedless of the smell. “Lean on me, Jack.”
“I’m not hurt or anything,” Jack grumbled, trying to stand up straight.
“You don’t have to be hurt in order to lean on me,” Ianto said. Jack looked utterly exhausted, the lines around his eyes exaggerated by the dirt and dust on his face. Ianto liked the lines around his eyes, feeling that they demonstrated a good sense of humor, whereas Jack hated the lines in his own forehead, as they just made him look like a worrier.
“You’re my knight in shining armor,” Jack said, but he hooked his arm around Ianto’s waist, thumb sliding below the waistband of his trousers and Jack’s fingers splayed on Ianto’s bare back. He gave a low whistle of admiration when they stumbled into the bathroom and he spotted the sunken bath. “That -”
“Yup. But you’re going to rinse off in the shower stall first. No dirt in the bath.”
“Methinks you are not fully versed in the purpose of baths, kind sir,” Jack protested, a twinkle in his eye.
“And I think you won’t discover the joys of shared baths if you come in smelling like that.”
Jack barked a laugh, but began to doff his clothes. Ianto watched him as he fumbled with his own belt and trousers. It was the least sexy strip-tease either had ever accomplished, but Ianto could still feel Jack’s eyes on him as he settled into the hot bath. It smelled like roses, not his first choice or his tenth, but the only option available. Jack was already in the shower. Ianto took a deep breath.
“Jack,” he said, loudly enough to be heard over the falling water. “Do you want to tell me what happened with Lucy Saxon?”
Jack didn’t say anything for a minute. Ianto craned his neck to look into the shower. The curtain was translucent, and he could make out Jack’s fuzzy outline, scrubbing shampoo into his hair. Ianto looked back down at the clear water covering him. He could let it go. They’d been through enough, and Donna was still a major worry, pressing in on them. He’d never been one to demand things. But . . . he glanced back up at the shower as the water stopped. Jack stepped out from behind the curtain, skin glistening, droplets of water chasing themselves down his broad chest, his muscled thighs. Ianto felt the familiar stirring in his heart and in his groin.
“Lucy Saxon was completely mad,” Jack said, his wet feet slapping on the tiles as he made his way to the bath. “I take it you saw her body?”
Ianto nodded. Waves rocked the water as Jack climbed into the bath with him.
“Harold Saxon said he tried to cure her of an addiction to opium, but he just made matters much worse, and in the end,” Jack settled against the back of the bath with a loud sigh. “In the end,” he repeated, “he killed her, but not before she could kill him.”
There was a lot he wasn’t saying. Ianto could taste ghosts in the air around them. But it had been a hellishly long couple of days and when he placed his hand on Jack’s bicep, he could feel the throbbing tension in the muscle. “Here,” he said. “Lean forward.”
It was awkward and uncomfortable, but just for a minute before he settled himself behind Jack and picked up the bottle of shampoo. “Yeeeeeeeeah,” Jack breathed out the moment Ianto began massaging his scalp.
Ianto could feel the tension leak out of the other man as he washed and rinsed Jack’s hair. Suds floated on the surface of the bath like little islands of worries, and Ianto ran his fingers through a few, breaking them up. Jack leaned back and rested his wet head on Ianto’s shoulder and pressed his lips briefly to Ianto’s neck.
“I was so worried about you,” he said suddenly, his voice sounding strangely high-pitched in the bathroom acoustics.
Ianto flexed his left leg. It was always going to hurt a bit. “I was worried about you,” he admitted. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to find you. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to help you. I was worried I’d never see you again, hold you like this, think ridiculous thoughts of forever when I look in your eyes. He concentrated on watching Jack’s chest rise and fall beneath his splayed fingers.
“So . . . we’ve discovered we’re a couple of worrywarts,” Jack snorted.
Ianto smiled briefly and pressed a kiss into his hair. “There are worse things we could be.”
A comfortable silence settled over the bathroom. Ianto watched Jack’s eyelids droop closed. “Jack,” he murmured. “The water’s going to get cold.”
“Mr. Practical,” Jack mumbled back. “I’m sleepy.”
“Then get up and I’ll take you to bed.” Ianto slid his arms beneath Jack’s shoulders and gave him a nudge. Jack grumbled and huffed and rose on wobbly legs. Ianto stood up slowly, ignoring the twinge in his leg.
“Hey,” Jack said, and Ianto met his eyes. Not for the first time, he marveled at how blue they were, and how they could look at him with such warmth. They were narrowed slightly now, though. “Hey,” he said again, “if your leg is hurting, you tell me. No secrets, remember?”
Ianto sighed. Bath water splashed as he took a step forward and kissed the other man. “Jack,” he whispered against his lips, “my leg is always going to hurt. You are always going to feel guilty about the people you know you just CANNOT save. These are the facts of us. So there, now they’re acknowledged. They don’t have to control everything.”
Jack was staring at him, and Ianto couldn’t blame him. He didn’t think he’d ever been so blunt about something like that. “Okay,” Jack said slowly. “I can get behind that.” His solemn expression vanished suddenly, replaced by a blinding Jack-grin. “Now take me to bed.”
They stumbled, sleek and wet, into the bedroom and fell ungracefully into the bed. Ianto reached for the covers, but Jack stopped him with a look and Ianto had to swallow hard. Jack might be dead tired, but he wasn’t dead. Ianto fumbled in the nightstand, looking for the tube he’d tossed into the drawer earlier. When he looked back at Jack, his eyes were already closed.
“Jack?” he asked. “We don’t -”
“No,” Jack yawned. “I know that. But I want to fall asleep with you inside me. I need to know -” He cracked open one eye. “Come on, Ianto.”
“Okay.” Ianto nodded. “Stretch out.”
Jack rolled onto his side, and Ianto lay down behind him. They’d done this so many times, he knew Jack’s body better than his own - where to touch him for maximum pleasure, when to fuck him hard, when to be tender, how to make him come so hard he blanked out, how to say a simple ‘I love you’ with just a touch. His fingers stretched him open, guided himself inside until he could look down and see one being where before there were two. Jack let out a breathy moan when he began to move, slowly rocking forward and back, but never moving too far away. Ianto snaked an arm beneath Jack’s body and gripped Jack’s cock. Jack might have been falling asleep, but his cock was awake and eager and already leaking pre-come. Ianto slid his fingers up and down along the velvety skin, hot to the touch and still damp from their bath. Ianto spread the fingers of his other hand across Jack’s hip, holding him while he thrust into him. He didn’t hold back his own moans. He had Jack back, when he could have lost him. Jack was whole, uninjured. He was so lucky, and he didn’t even believe in luck. He tugged at Jack’s cock, squeezing it just the way Jack liked, and nibbled on Jack’s earlobe. Jack came with a groan, hot and sticky over Ianto’s fingers.
Ianto let out a shaky breath. He was still rock hard, completely sheathed in Jack’s welcoming body. “Jack,” he grunted, “you asleep?”
“Nggh,” came the response.
Ianto shifted his arm, the one beneath Jack’s body, and moved his hand over Jack’s stomach. Jack had smooth, hairless skin, and Ianto liked to trace the outline of the muscles, gently tickling.
“Mrfggle,” Jack mumbled into his pillow, his mouth upturning slightly.
“Yeah, there’s that,” Ianto replied. He was starting to sweat with his exertions, even as slow as he was moving. It felt so good to go so slow, as if time had stopped and it was just him and Jack and this exquisite tightness and heat wrapped around them. As if he had all the time in the world to explore the sensations of friction, skin rubbing against skin, nerve endings on fire. Jack’s broad back and neck filled his view and he gave into the urge to lick that skin and nip at it with his teeth, just grazing across. His hands gripped Jack around the waist and chest, pulling Jack close to him as he thrust in, deeper, deeper, deeper until he couldn’t possibly move, there was no way they could ever be separated again. He couldn’t stop kissing Jack, wet, slippery kisses along his neck. His breath came in ragged gasps between kisses and he thought for sure he would explode when Jack mumbled a sleepy, “M’Ianto,” and pushed desultorily back against him. Ianto came so hard his vision blanked.
When he blinked his eyes open a few moments later, Jack was still there, still a solid weight in his arms, still a hot slick presence around him. They were still together. He laughed in sheer wonder, for just a second, and Jack made a little noise that Ianto interpreted to mean “I love you.”
He kissed Jack’s neck again, nuzzling the soft skin beneath his chin, and as sleep overtook him, he made a silent vow to the man in his arms. There was no way they would ever be separated again.