What happened to my life? (16/34ish)
Title: What Happened to My Life?
Author: Otrame
Summary: Ianto Jones is an ordinary bloke. Maybe a little on the geeky side. Works for a big insurance company. Married, first baby on the way. So, why won’t his kidnappers believe him when he tells them that he has never, ever heard the word Torchwood before?
Rating: PG 13 for mature themes.
Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Warnings:This story contains some descriptions of torture, most of which is psychological. Occasional highly charged sexual language, frequent cursing, etc. There will be some explicit violence and occasional brief sexual scenes, though these will be not be detailed or terribly explicit. It is an AU.
Spoilers: Potentially all of S1 and S2 until after Owen's first death.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction and is intended as a tribute to characters and stories developed and owned by Russell T. Davies and the BBC. No copyright infringement is intended.
The story begins here.
16. Choosing Life
In which Ianto makes a difficult decision.
“I’m not leaving here again. You can all go to hell. Leave. Me. Alone.” He stayed hunched into the corner, back to them, knees drawn up tightly, arms wrapped protectively around his head, refusing to respond even to Jack’s embrace, until they had all left. When he turned around even Maggie had gone. With a deep sigh of relief, he crawled into bed and set about the business of not thinking about anything at all.
***
“No.”
“But if we get us into the tank…”
“No, Jack.”
Jack stared at her, frustration evident.
“Listen. You’ve handled the tank well. You seem to have an intuitive grasp of how to work the effect of the drugs and the sensory deprivation to good effect. And encouraging him to bail out when things get to be too much for him is a good stopgap measure, given he tends to try to die when he gets too stressed, and I’m sure you do realize that it is only a… well, I guess you’d call it a kind of first aide. And as for turning that thing loose…”
She pointed to a catwalk below them, where Owen was holding an entire hind leg of something goat or sheep-sized up so that the massive soaring pterosaur could swoop past, delicately plucking it from Owen’s hands, then land gracefully on a stanchion high above their heads. Maggie watched as it grabbed the small end of the butchered leg and, turning the long pointed head up, swallowed the meat and bone whole in a series of gulping moves that looked incredibly bird-like. She shook her head.
Jack said, “It just occurred to me that Myfanwy was probably not something they would have blocked.”
She turned to lean back against the glass of the boardroom wall, looking sourly at him. “You were right. Was there any particular reason you didn’t tell me first? If it hadn’t worked, I might have been so distracted by the fact that you have a fucking pterodactyl in this place that I might have lost opportunities to help him.”
“It was an impulse. I should have warned you. I just…” His voice faded and he moved his hands in a sudden gesture of rejection, not, she was sure, of her, but of himself. “I should have warned you.”
“Yes.”
“I still think I should be with him now.”
“You’re wrong.”
“I’m not completely ignorant about dealing with this sort of trauma, doctor.” His anger, fueled, she thought, by his uncertainty, was a clear presence in his voice and expression.
Her lips tightened. “Obviously not. In fact, I wonder why you bothered to bring me in at all.”
He opened his mouth to snap something, but caught the words before they escaped. His expression changed. His eyes dropped to his desktop.
After a long moment of silence, she heard him murmur, “I thought I had lost him.” His voice was thick and though his eyes were dry his voice had tears in it. “When a month went by and we couldn’t find him and there were no threats and no demands…” He gulped and shuddered. “I thought I had lost him. I thought… I thought he was gone. And then we got him back, but it wasn't him.”
After another long pause he added diffidently, “I don’t really know more than… What you said. First aid. It was assumed that getting someone back to base in one piece was all a field agent had to do.” Jack ran fingers through the hair on the back of his head, a strangely helpless look on his face. “Maggie, he is more precious to me than I can tell you. I love him. Please help him.”
Very quietly, Maggie said, “What sort of field agent?”
But Jack seemed to come into focus again. “You’re saying that if I go to the trouble to bring in an expert I should have the sense to let her do her job, yes?” His smile was tentative but genuine.
She did not smile back. “No. It isn’t that easy. You can’t just hand the whole thing over to me. I need your thoughts, your opinion. I’m on new ground here. I know part of what they did to him, and can make some guesses about some more, but it’s still a mystery and this has an importance that goes way past you wanting your lover back and me wanting to get him back to his life. I know you understand that.”
He nodded, his face the image of misery. He closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, and she saw his face calm. He opened his eyes again, and took another deep breath, then straightened. “Okay.” His voice had become flat, business-like. “So what do we do now?”
“I think I can make some suggestions about that,” said a voice from the doorway.
Jack and Maggie both turned. Owen Harper leaned on the doorframe, his pale, thin face almost expressionless, but with a gleam in his eyes.
***
Ianto let the water, set as hot as he could stand it, hit him in the back of the neck, pounding almost painfully. He was not sure how long he had been hiding in the room that had once been his prison. On at least three occasions, he had slept for what felt like a long time. He found meals left on trays in the room, as they had been when he had first been brought here, though he ate very little. No one had bothered him.
After a long period of doing and thinking as little as possible, he had finally stopped running from the necessities and faced them.
He’d thought of suicide at first. A bullet through the roof of his mouth and he would no longer be a threat to Jack or to anyone else. He wouldn’t hurt any more. He wouldn’t be afraid anymore. Peace, finally and forever. But he’d learned not to trust thoughts like that. Maggie had helped him see that that was Them. That was the conditioning. He’d gotten to where he could tell the, well, sort of the taste of the implanted thoughts, and now he rejected them automatically.
When he could.
His thoughts circled the horrific moment when he’d realized that he had taken Jack’s gun and that those thoughts were telling him to shoot him, to kill Jack, and then himself. Simple, straightforward instructions. He’d not even let himself be aware of those instructions until Maggie, bless her, had forced him to see what he was doing. Even then, he had not at first been able put the gun down. That had been a shock, and that shock had fostered a sudden vision of what could have happened, as sharp as a memory: the feel of the gun slamming back into his hand three times, the smell of gunpowder, the sight of blood exploding from Jack’s chest. He even saw (and this made his soul cringe) the look of astonishment on Jack’s face. He’d been stunned by this-what ever it was, hallucination, visualization of his deepest fears. It was as if he could remember it. As if the calm way that he’d put the gun to his own head, and the way he’d been startled for a second because the barrel had burned his temple, as if that had actually happened. He’d blacked out under the blow of the intensity of this false memory.
Until that had all happened, until he’d found Jack’s gun in his hand and had that psychotically extreme pseudo-memory, until then, he’d thought that he could just fall back into his life, back into Jack’s arms and Jack’s bed and everything would be as it had been. Now he knew that was wrong. When they took him, they had destroyed that life as completely as if they had murdered him. He had to face that, because if he didn’t Jack would die.
He could not hide in here forever. It was important that he pull himself together and get back to the job of finding out who had done this to him, so they could be prevented from trying it again. That was clearly important. He would continue to work with Maggie, in order to regain as much of his memories as possible. He would go on with his life.
He flattened his body against the cold tiles, his heart pounding, as he added firmly to himself, And I have to end my affair with Jack. I must.
With the discipline he’d learned in all those months of trying to keep Lisa alive, he pushed a child-like wail of grief back down, controlled it. He’d cried enough when he’d made this decision. He could not keep doing that forever. One renegade part of his brain informed him If you do this, you’ll never stop crying as long as you live and you know it.
“I should probably leave,” he said to the tile wall, “but that would put too much of a burden on Jack… to retcon or not to retcon?” He sighed. Nothing about this would be easy for Jack. It would hurt him. Jack cared for him. But Jack had loved before, would love again. Ianto thought about that, deliberately forcing himself to think of Jack with someone else, loving someone else, touching them the way…
God. How can I never have him in my arms again? How can I never feel that quick little stutter in his breath when he takes me, that almost voiceless cry, not of pleasure, but of joy? How can I even consider never kissing him again?
For a moment, the pain nearly doubled him over. He forced himself erect, pushing himself away from the wall, standing on his feet. After a moment, he was able to think again, to remember why he had to do this.
As much easier as it would be to leave, retcon or no retcon, he could not shirk what he knew very well was his duty. At the very least, he had to stay long enough to train a replacement. In the face of everything that had happened in these last incredible months since Jack had left them, he could not just walk out. He had been part of the team that Gwen had held together when they’d had no one to guide them. He was proud of what they had accomplished, and he knew Jack was proud of them as well. Ianto was a part of Torchwood, an important part. He knew that.
No. He had to stay, as hard as that would be. But I will stay away from Jack. I will do my job, then I will go home. Alone. No matter how much either he or I want otherwise, I will not give in to the temptation. If I do, Jack will die. I know that as much as I know that this water is starting to cool. I will stay away from him. I have to.
In fact, he realized, he should stay away from all of them as much possible. He would have to end the camaraderie with the others, developed during the last few months, that had become so important to him. He found himself a little surprised at how much that thought hurt, but he had to face it. I have to go back to those days when they didn’t even notice I was there most of the time. I have to become invisible again. If duty wouldn’t let him run away or even kill himself to protect them, at least he could have a little satisfaction giving them that extra bit of protection.
The water was getting very cold. He got out, dried himself off, shaved carefully, making sure not to meet his own gaze in the mirror, and went to get dressed. At some point in the past few days, someone had brought in two of his suits, several shirts, and three or four ties. He’d hardly noticed before, but now he chose carefully and got dressed and the feel of the cloth settling over his shoulders as he put the jacket on and buttoned it, felt like coming home after a long and not very pleasant voyage. He straightened his tie by feel and then went to the door.
Maggie was standing against the wall of the corridor across from his door, staring intently down at her feet. When he opened the door and saw her, she looked up at him, but said nothing.
“I’m glad you are here, Maggie. I’ll make some coffee, and we can talk. I need your advice about how to deal with Jack.”
He went past her down the corridor with quick, completely silent steps, his back straight. She stared after him a moment and wondered why, after everything that had happened since she’d been here, it was only now that she found herself wanting to cry.
Part 17
Author: Otrame
Summary: Ianto Jones is an ordinary bloke. Maybe a little on the geeky side. Works for a big insurance company. Married, first baby on the way. So, why won’t his kidnappers believe him when he tells them that he has never, ever heard the word Torchwood before?
Rating: PG 13 for mature themes.
Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Warnings:This story contains some descriptions of torture, most of which is psychological. Occasional highly charged sexual language, frequent cursing, etc. There will be some explicit violence and occasional brief sexual scenes, though these will be not be detailed or terribly explicit. It is an AU.
Spoilers: Potentially all of S1 and S2 until after Owen's first death.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction and is intended as a tribute to characters and stories developed and owned by Russell T. Davies and the BBC. No copyright infringement is intended.
The story begins here.
16. Choosing Life
In which Ianto makes a difficult decision.
“I’m not leaving here again. You can all go to hell. Leave. Me. Alone.” He stayed hunched into the corner, back to them, knees drawn up tightly, arms wrapped protectively around his head, refusing to respond even to Jack’s embrace, until they had all left. When he turned around even Maggie had gone. With a deep sigh of relief, he crawled into bed and set about the business of not thinking about anything at all.
***
“No.”
“But if we get us into the tank…”
“No, Jack.”
Jack stared at her, frustration evident.
“Listen. You’ve handled the tank well. You seem to have an intuitive grasp of how to work the effect of the drugs and the sensory deprivation to good effect. And encouraging him to bail out when things get to be too much for him is a good stopgap measure, given he tends to try to die when he gets too stressed, and I’m sure you do realize that it is only a… well, I guess you’d call it a kind of first aide. And as for turning that thing loose…”
She pointed to a catwalk below them, where Owen was holding an entire hind leg of something goat or sheep-sized up so that the massive soaring pterosaur could swoop past, delicately plucking it from Owen’s hands, then land gracefully on a stanchion high above their heads. Maggie watched as it grabbed the small end of the butchered leg and, turning the long pointed head up, swallowed the meat and bone whole in a series of gulping moves that looked incredibly bird-like. She shook her head.
Jack said, “It just occurred to me that Myfanwy was probably not something they would have blocked.”
She turned to lean back against the glass of the boardroom wall, looking sourly at him. “You were right. Was there any particular reason you didn’t tell me first? If it hadn’t worked, I might have been so distracted by the fact that you have a fucking pterodactyl in this place that I might have lost opportunities to help him.”
“It was an impulse. I should have warned you. I just…” His voice faded and he moved his hands in a sudden gesture of rejection, not, she was sure, of her, but of himself. “I should have warned you.”
“Yes.”
“I still think I should be with him now.”
“You’re wrong.”
“I’m not completely ignorant about dealing with this sort of trauma, doctor.” His anger, fueled, she thought, by his uncertainty, was a clear presence in his voice and expression.
Her lips tightened. “Obviously not. In fact, I wonder why you bothered to bring me in at all.”
He opened his mouth to snap something, but caught the words before they escaped. His expression changed. His eyes dropped to his desktop.
After a long moment of silence, she heard him murmur, “I thought I had lost him.” His voice was thick and though his eyes were dry his voice had tears in it. “When a month went by and we couldn’t find him and there were no threats and no demands…” He gulped and shuddered. “I thought I had lost him. I thought… I thought he was gone. And then we got him back, but it wasn't him.”
After another long pause he added diffidently, “I don’t really know more than… What you said. First aid. It was assumed that getting someone back to base in one piece was all a field agent had to do.” Jack ran fingers through the hair on the back of his head, a strangely helpless look on his face. “Maggie, he is more precious to me than I can tell you. I love him. Please help him.”
Very quietly, Maggie said, “What sort of field agent?”
But Jack seemed to come into focus again. “You’re saying that if I go to the trouble to bring in an expert I should have the sense to let her do her job, yes?” His smile was tentative but genuine.
She did not smile back. “No. It isn’t that easy. You can’t just hand the whole thing over to me. I need your thoughts, your opinion. I’m on new ground here. I know part of what they did to him, and can make some guesses about some more, but it’s still a mystery and this has an importance that goes way past you wanting your lover back and me wanting to get him back to his life. I know you understand that.”
He nodded, his face the image of misery. He closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, and she saw his face calm. He opened his eyes again, and took another deep breath, then straightened. “Okay.” His voice had become flat, business-like. “So what do we do now?”
“I think I can make some suggestions about that,” said a voice from the doorway.
Jack and Maggie both turned. Owen Harper leaned on the doorframe, his pale, thin face almost expressionless, but with a gleam in his eyes.
***
Ianto let the water, set as hot as he could stand it, hit him in the back of the neck, pounding almost painfully. He was not sure how long he had been hiding in the room that had once been his prison. On at least three occasions, he had slept for what felt like a long time. He found meals left on trays in the room, as they had been when he had first been brought here, though he ate very little. No one had bothered him.
After a long period of doing and thinking as little as possible, he had finally stopped running from the necessities and faced them.
He’d thought of suicide at first. A bullet through the roof of his mouth and he would no longer be a threat to Jack or to anyone else. He wouldn’t hurt any more. He wouldn’t be afraid anymore. Peace, finally and forever. But he’d learned not to trust thoughts like that. Maggie had helped him see that that was Them. That was the conditioning. He’d gotten to where he could tell the, well, sort of the taste of the implanted thoughts, and now he rejected them automatically.
When he could.
His thoughts circled the horrific moment when he’d realized that he had taken Jack’s gun and that those thoughts were telling him to shoot him, to kill Jack, and then himself. Simple, straightforward instructions. He’d not even let himself be aware of those instructions until Maggie, bless her, had forced him to see what he was doing. Even then, he had not at first been able put the gun down. That had been a shock, and that shock had fostered a sudden vision of what could have happened, as sharp as a memory: the feel of the gun slamming back into his hand three times, the smell of gunpowder, the sight of blood exploding from Jack’s chest. He even saw (and this made his soul cringe) the look of astonishment on Jack’s face. He’d been stunned by this-what ever it was, hallucination, visualization of his deepest fears. It was as if he could remember it. As if the calm way that he’d put the gun to his own head, and the way he’d been startled for a second because the barrel had burned his temple, as if that had actually happened. He’d blacked out under the blow of the intensity of this false memory.
Until that had all happened, until he’d found Jack’s gun in his hand and had that psychotically extreme pseudo-memory, until then, he’d thought that he could just fall back into his life, back into Jack’s arms and Jack’s bed and everything would be as it had been. Now he knew that was wrong. When they took him, they had destroyed that life as completely as if they had murdered him. He had to face that, because if he didn’t Jack would die.
He could not hide in here forever. It was important that he pull himself together and get back to the job of finding out who had done this to him, so they could be prevented from trying it again. That was clearly important. He would continue to work with Maggie, in order to regain as much of his memories as possible. He would go on with his life.
He flattened his body against the cold tiles, his heart pounding, as he added firmly to himself, And I have to end my affair with Jack. I must.
With the discipline he’d learned in all those months of trying to keep Lisa alive, he pushed a child-like wail of grief back down, controlled it. He’d cried enough when he’d made this decision. He could not keep doing that forever. One renegade part of his brain informed him If you do this, you’ll never stop crying as long as you live and you know it.
“I should probably leave,” he said to the tile wall, “but that would put too much of a burden on Jack… to retcon or not to retcon?” He sighed. Nothing about this would be easy for Jack. It would hurt him. Jack cared for him. But Jack had loved before, would love again. Ianto thought about that, deliberately forcing himself to think of Jack with someone else, loving someone else, touching them the way…
God. How can I never have him in my arms again? How can I never feel that quick little stutter in his breath when he takes me, that almost voiceless cry, not of pleasure, but of joy? How can I even consider never kissing him again?
For a moment, the pain nearly doubled him over. He forced himself erect, pushing himself away from the wall, standing on his feet. After a moment, he was able to think again, to remember why he had to do this.
As much easier as it would be to leave, retcon or no retcon, he could not shirk what he knew very well was his duty. At the very least, he had to stay long enough to train a replacement. In the face of everything that had happened in these last incredible months since Jack had left them, he could not just walk out. He had been part of the team that Gwen had held together when they’d had no one to guide them. He was proud of what they had accomplished, and he knew Jack was proud of them as well. Ianto was a part of Torchwood, an important part. He knew that.
No. He had to stay, as hard as that would be. But I will stay away from Jack. I will do my job, then I will go home. Alone. No matter how much either he or I want otherwise, I will not give in to the temptation. If I do, Jack will die. I know that as much as I know that this water is starting to cool. I will stay away from him. I have to.
In fact, he realized, he should stay away from all of them as much possible. He would have to end the camaraderie with the others, developed during the last few months, that had become so important to him. He found himself a little surprised at how much that thought hurt, but he had to face it. I have to go back to those days when they didn’t even notice I was there most of the time. I have to become invisible again. If duty wouldn’t let him run away or even kill himself to protect them, at least he could have a little satisfaction giving them that extra bit of protection.
The water was getting very cold. He got out, dried himself off, shaved carefully, making sure not to meet his own gaze in the mirror, and went to get dressed. At some point in the past few days, someone had brought in two of his suits, several shirts, and three or four ties. He’d hardly noticed before, but now he chose carefully and got dressed and the feel of the cloth settling over his shoulders as he put the jacket on and buttoned it, felt like coming home after a long and not very pleasant voyage. He straightened his tie by feel and then went to the door.
Maggie was standing against the wall of the corridor across from his door, staring intently down at her feet. When he opened the door and saw her, she looked up at him, but said nothing.
“I’m glad you are here, Maggie. I’ll make some coffee, and we can talk. I need your advice about how to deal with Jack.”
He went past her down the corridor with quick, completely silent steps, his back straight. She stared after him a moment and wondered why, after everything that had happened since she’d been here, it was only now that she found herself wanting to cry.
Part 17