Behind Blue Eyes - chapter 2 / ? + epilogue
Title Behind Blue Eyes
Topic Torchwood
Characters Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness, Gwen Cooper, Rhys Williams, Owen Harper, Toshiko Sato, Suzie Costello, Tenth Doctor, John Hart, Andy Davidson, Mickey smith, mentions Rose Tyler, Martha Jones, other small-characters
Pairings Jack/Ianto, Jack/John, Doctor/Rose, Gwen/Rhys
Genre AU, thriller, horror, romance, angst
Rating T
Summary Ianto Jones lives a very meticulous life. He has a schedule for everything he does - breakfast, work, personal time, love life, and his murder of the month. But when something goes wrong and one of his victims becomes the Cardiff police's latest case, will he be able to keep his personal life a secret? Not if Jack Harkness, consultant to the police and boyfriend of Ianto Jones, has anything to say about it.
Spoilers None
Author's Note Chapter two ladies and gentlemen. This is the last of the "filler" chapters, as I like to call them. They are necessary for the plot and give a lot of information, but there isn't much action or twists in them. I promise, though, next week's chapter will have a hell of an ending, if I may say so myself. ^_^ Also, if you want to be alerted when I update, track the tag "behind blue eyes." Enjoy!
Master List
Previous Chapter
Toshiko Sato was, in her own right, a genius. Over the years, she had come to be known as the best forensic technician in the area. She had helped solve dozens, if not hundreds of cases, and had been a consultant for UNIT, dozens other police stations, and even the FBI and CIA over in the states. But for some strange reason, unbeknown to the rest of the worlds population, every time a case was solved, and her expertise no longer needed, she went right back to the Cardiff police station. They didn’t even understand why she kept renewing her contract year after year, and neither did they question it. She had saved their asses on multiple cases - too many to count. And soon enough they would find that she would rescue them once again.
She was sitting in her lab now, glasses on the edge of her nose as she squinted at the screen. Her white lab coat protected her from the constant chill that came with residing so close to the morgue. The Cardiff police were lucky, the town morgue being located right next to their building.
She shivered a bit, but not because of the cold. She had just gotten the results back from the DNA testing off of the bones and body found at the latest crime scene - Suzie Costello had examined the body, then was able to get DNA from the marrow of the unidentified bones. She was also able to confirm that the bones belonged to three separate people - in addition to the body. Tosh had received the DNA several hours ago, and was running it through the system. She had managed to procure the names of all four victims - the hits all coming from the missing persons database.
But even that wasn’t what sent a shiver down her spine. As she read more into their background information, the sinking feeling that had began as just a simple little knot in her stomach grew until it sucked all the air out of the room and caused the temperature to drop several more degrees. Even Toshiko’s coat couldn’t shield her from this kind of cold. With shaky fingers, she grabbed the lab’s phone and dialed a number that over the years she had learned by heart.
“Hello, Detective Cooper? Yes, It’s Toshiko. I found something. Big.”
It took all of ten minutes for the scientist to get company in her little corner of the universe. She heard them before she saw them - first, the tell-tale sound of high heeled boots resonating off the corridor; Toshiko still couldn’t figure out how the Detective was able to work in shoes like those. Next, the much slower, painstaking steps of Jack Harkness. The footstep of a left foot hitting the floor, following by the simultaneous thump of a cane and lighter right footsteps. Toshiko had a pretty good idea why it took so long for them to arrive.
“What have you got, Tosh?” Gwen asked as she came into view, followed by the psychologist, who - if Toshiko would be so bold - looked a bit worse for the wear. She hadn’t been out of her cupboard of space since early that morning, but if the coffee-bringers and others who had been traipsing through during work hours were anything to go by, the man hadn’t left the police station since the body had been brought in over twelve hours ago.
“Ah, my brilliant and beautiful Toshiko.” Jack said, giving a weary smile before leaning heavily on a table that was near her station. She almost managed to hide the blush that crept up onto her cheeks - Jack had always been nice to her, and over the years, had become used to using that pet name for her every time he visited. Many nights were spent sleeping on the floor of her lab together because Jack needed to talk through some information that he wasn’t allowed to share with Ianto, and Toshiko was in need of an all-nighter for a case.
She gave a weak smile back, and then became all business, glancing at her screen, wishing that it had changed since the last time she checked. It hadn’t. “The computer database found matches for all four sets of DNA.” She started.
“Well, that’s a good start.” Gwen said, her voice not sounding anywhere near relieved.
Toshiko continued. “The latest victim - the body - was a Mark Lyndon. The other three sets of DNA belong to a Lisa Hallett, John Ellis, and Jasmine Pierce.” She pulled up pictures of all the deceased she had just listed. “Charity man, Defense Lawyer, Store Owner, and Psychologist. That, however, is just about where the differences end.”
Jack moved from his position to a spot closer to the computer, where he could look at the faces. “Tosh, I want those photos printed out and given to me before I leave today.” Jack worked better when he could see the faces of the victims that he was working for. This case would differ no more from any other. His face was hard, the mask that he normally put in place for when he dealt with homicides. Toshiko didn’t know how he did it, venturing into the mind of the killer to figure out not only how he did it, but why as well. It was an unstable career at best. She shook the thoughts from her mind and moved on.
“Each of them were found in the missing persons database within the past six months, which was why they were flagged so quickly. It gets kinda creepy here, each of them was listed as missing almost exactly a month apart, save two or three days at the most.”
“Pattern.” Jack whispered mostly to himself, but the word did not escape the other two. Gwen swallowed heavily, thinking the same thing. She had been privy to a lot of Jack’s knowledge - what else were they supposed to talk about on those long stakeouts all those years ago?
Toshiko hesitated, waiting to see if Jack would say something else, but he didn’t. She swallowed, and then continued. “I also found a common link that connects them - Lyndon was a known abuser, illegibly killed his son, although it was never proven. Hallett was in town for a trial - defending a known pedophile. She had just closed the case a few days before she went missing - she got the man off with community service. Ellis’ wife had gone on the stand for child abuse several months ago, but with his refusal to testify against her, the court was unable to convict. And Pierce had been charged several times with manipulating young patients of hers into keeping quiet about their abusive parents - as well as any extra activities she partook with them. She was never convicted.”
Gwen closed her eyes and let out a long, slow breath. “All connected in some way with rape and child abuse - all let off the hook - all missing a month apart. It’s the beginning of an MO.”
“I’m not done.” Toshiko said quietly, earning sharp looks from both.
“How can it get worse than this?” Gwen asked, and flinched at her words moments later - you never asked a question like that, especially in her line of work.
“Since there is a reputable time of attack, I took the liberty of searching the database for similar cases - people involved in abuse of some sort that went missing about a month apart.” Tosh took a deep breath to steady her voice and her nerves before pressing a button on the computer, opening a new page. On it were names after names, stacked on top of each other. Last, First, date went missing.
“Dear god.” Gwen breathed.
“How many.” Jack finally spoke up, staring at the screen, a shaky quality in his voice that neither of the women in the room were privy to very often.
“Fifty.” Toshiko said.
“Four and a half years.” Jack commented, closing his eyes, as if the number was too much to handle. “This sonuvabitch has been killing for four and a half fucking years.”
“Cardiff has it’s own serial killer.” Gwen stated the obvious, at a loss for any other words. Toshiko was only able to nod wordlessly.
--xXx--
“You two do know that it’s past seven in the evening.” Chief of Police John Smith said as he sat behind his desk, arms folded across his chest in a manner that would have been frightening and stern if it wasn’t for the rest of his body. As Police Chiefs go, he was definitely not the stereotype. Most people, when they thought about men who ran police forces, they envision a tall, stocky fellow whose muscles filled out his t-shirt, with graying hair and a face that had seen too much action. What they didn’t expect to find was a forty-some-odd brown-haired man with a youthful face and tall, skinny physique. Of course, if those people had known what the Chief had been through, they wouldn’t have whispered about his big eyes or odd blue suit with the oversized tie, or those thick black glasses that always seemed to be falling off his nose, or the fact that a lot of times, he went off on tangents and seemed to forget about what it was he had been talking about in the first place.
No, if everyone knew that he had been at the head of the terrorist attack on Canary Warf, yelling out orders to soldiers and police alike, pausing only to tell a wounded and dying man that everything was going to be ok when it was completely obvious it was not. Or that he had been one of the only surviving aids that had arrived on scene, escaping with dirt and blood all over his clothes and body and carrying with him the thousands of souls that hadn’t of been so lucky, they wouldn’t have whispered behind his back. As it was, the uneducated of Cardiff who were lucky enough to meet this man and hold a conversation with him enjoyed passing there time with jibes of how such a young, inexperienced man such as John Smith who had never made the headlines once became the chief of police. Of course, being the uneducated, they didn’t know that the reason he had stayed out of the headlines was because he didn’t care about reputation - only the betterment of citizens and his people.
“Yes sir, but we wanted to hand this to you personally.” Detective Gwen Cooper stated from her standing position in the Chief’s modest office. It was crowded with files here and there of old and new cases alike, but it always seemed as if there was just enough room for whoever decided to stop by and have a chat. There was a joke around the water cooler that the Chief’s office was ‘bigger on the inside.’
“No, you wanted to make sure that you were on site to talk me into letting you keep the case now that vital information has been discovered.” The Chief said in a slightly teasing manner. Even in the most dire of situations, he always had a word to say - it was what, in some cases, kept this police station running and above all other law enforcement divisions in Wales.
“That too.” Jack said, a little distracted, his voice coming from the chair in the Chief’s office. He had decided to accept the man’s offer to sit down when they had entered the room. Gwen had noticed this, but didn’t say anything. Normally when Jack acted like this, it was because the pain in his leg and the rest of his right side was flaring up again - something that the criminal profiler did not like anyone knowing.
Chief John Smith frowned at Jack’s mood, and held out his hand for the file. Normally, Jack was one of the only ones in the entire station that would dare engage in a verbal match with the Chief, and the only one to have won an argument - other than his late wife, that it. She had been one of the thousands of casualties in the terrorist attack - just another name on the list.
Wordlessly, Gwen handed over the file, which contained the information that Suzie had found from the autopsy as well. John opened the file and swiftly began to read, his small frown growing deeper as he read. The almost always invisible lines of age showed on the man’s face, and the longer his eyes moved back and forth across the page, the more the things that he had seen became readable. There had only been a few times that the Chief had shown a face of concern and worry in front of his people.
He didn’t say anything for a while after he finished - he just sat there, his extremely strategic brain mulling over the information that he had just eaten. The report from Toshiko had been in there as well, and John didn’t like what he was reading. He had dealt with a serial killer once before, a long time ago, way before Canary Warf; long before he had even begun to become the man he was that day. He didn’t like recalling what had happened with that particular case.
“Cooper - you run point on this. Jack, consider yourself hired. Anyone inside and outside of the station you need, consider them yours. This case takes priority - I want the best task force Cardiff has ever seen working on this. I know a consultant who worked for London several years ago who helped close a somewhat similar case - I’ll take the liberty of calling him.” John leaned forward, all business. His voice was low, but carried more command than one would have thought possible. “According to the file, we have about a month until this man strikes again. I want him behind bars by then.”
John paused and looked at the two people in front of him, then amended his statement. “And I want for you to start working on it tomorrow. Get some sleep. Dismissed.”
Gwen and Jack both nodded, not even bothering to give the Chief a smile before leaving. Once they were safely out of earshot, Gwen turned to Jack and offered her arm for him to lean on, which he gratefully did. “Jack, are you ok?”
“I’m fine.” He muttered, “Just tired.”
“How about your leg?” She couldn’t keep the concern out of her voice, even though she knew that Jack hated it - said it sounded too much like pity.
“Acting up, like it does every damn day. Really Gwen, I’m fine.” He paused to give her a genuine - albeit tired - smile. “A bit thrown with the information. I mean, this morning it was a maybe. Now it’s real. Biggest case yet.”
“And we’re gonna take down the bastard. Tomorrow.” Gwen stressed the last word. “Get some rest. Let Ianto rub your foot or something - just no more than that, hear?”
That elicited a chuckle from Jack as they moved through the almost abandoned police station. Only the night shift was out and about, which wasn’t saying much.
“Need a ride home?” Gwen asked as they got outside, and Jack shook his head.
“I’ll make it.” He said. Gwen, in an impromptu moment, gave Jack a big hug before smiling and giving him a light peck on the cheek.
“See you tomorrow.” She said before walking off to her own car, and eventually to her boyfriend, Rhys. Jack went his own way, taking the long trek to his oversized SUV, which looked like a monster in the almost darkness. It was going to be a very long month.
--xXx--
Ianto Jones was a man of schedule. He liked to have everything planned. He woke up at a certain time every morning, spent only the minimum amount of time in the shower (unless Jack had decided to join him, in which Ianto had an alternative schedule made up to make up for lost time), and had his morning breakfast ritual down to a T. Everything from his closet to his work to his relationship to his extra curricular activities was planned ahead of time, jotted down in a notebook or written somewhere in his mind. He was a man of order and neatness, who despised impromptu-ness almost as much as surprise birthday parties.
Which was why he had been a little more than perturbed when he learned that his perfectly planned world had been knocked off kilter.
He spent a generous amount of time internally ranting, that day. His mind went over everything, from where things had been going so right until that exact moment that they turned wrong. He re-lived every second - of which he had perfectly documented - every move, every decision. Then he spent about half that long telling himself that maybe some other guy had decided to use an old abandoned hog farm as his dumping ground on the outskirts of Cardiff. But the timing had been too perfect for it to be a coincidence, and Ianto didn’t believe in that sort of thing, anyway.
He had been glad that Jack had to call and say that he wouldn’t be coming home until late, because Ianto didn’t think he could play house anymore at that particular moment. His façade had been stripped bare due to his being caught unawares, and he was a dangerous companion to have at the moment. His anger - his true self, the part of him that had been always kept hidden except for at those perfect moments - had barged through the carefully constructed layers of Ianto’s mind, and he had needed time to replace them. He hadn’t become violent or hazardous. Instead, he had spent the rest of the time that he had that day thinking. He had shut off everything in the house - air conditioning, washing machine, television, lights, everything. Then he had laid down in the middle of his bed with his stopwatch encased with his thin fingers, and thought.
He thought about the past no more though, for he had spent long enough there that morning. He thought about what would come next - what he needed to prepare himself for. He slowly began to rebuild those layers of his mind, went over the facts that he, as a devoted partner of three years, should know. He mentally restored himself to the man that he had been that morning before Jack had gotten that phone call. He thought about those two gorgeous blue eyes, and that beautiful laugh, and the fake pout and crude jokes and humility that was Jack Harkness. It calmed him down.
Whenever he felt that anger, that being inside of him that was his pure self, rise up, he would click the top button of his stopwatch without opening his eyes and listen to the little tick-tick-tick of the second hand. After twenty clicks, he would press the button again, and continue on his mental journey.
When Ianto had opened his eyes, the morning sun had been replaced with the gentle textures of sunset. His being had been calm and serene, the Ianto Jones that Jack knew and loved breathing and living instead of the livid, twisted creature that he really was. And when he had rolled off of the bed and glanced at the time on his stopwatch, he had smiled. It was one of those genuine unguarded smiles that Jack had never seen, and never would, because they were saved only for those whose death was near. Then he had stood up, and turned everything back on in the house, and re-inserted himself into the life that he had been living the past three years, ready and able to face the future.
Ianto Jones was ready. Ready for whatever the police were going to throw at him.
And when Jack had come home not even an hour later, Ianto had just finished up cooking dinner, greeting the man with a plate of ravioli and a frosted mug of beer.
“Another big case?” Ianto asked after giving Jack sufficient time to enter the apartment and shed his boots without feeling rushed. He finished setting the table, then walked over in time to help Jack out of his coat. He folded it, and then laid it softly over the edge of the couch.
Ianto was a bit surprised when Jack failed to initiate any kind of intimate contact, which caused the Welshman a small amount of concern. Something wasn’t right. He took it upon himself, and tugged on Jack’s hand, tangling their fingers together before pulling him in for a soft but sweet kiss. Jack sighed into the kiss, and when Ianto pulled away exactly two seconds later, the criminal profiler didn’t pull away, resting his forehead on Ianto’s and closed his eyes.
“Cariad?” Ianto whispered, resorting to his Welsh. He knew that would always open Jack up, but he also knew that there was no way of getting the man to open up unless he wanted to.
Ianto pulled away after waiting a predetermined twenty three seconds. He squeezed Jack’s hand reassuringly, and then retreated back into the kitchen. It was a trick that Jack had taught him after they had been together for a week and four days. Ianto had been quite agitated, needing a release but not having done enough research and preparation to be comfortable with it. Jack had noticed his agitated state, and hadn’t said anything. Instead, he had just taken Ianto’s hand and squeezed it before going on with his own business. The Welshman had found it oddly helpful, and had taken to copying it when he felt Jack was feeling the same way.
He watched out of the corner of his eyes as Jack wearily moved across the threshold of the living room to the large couch, where he sat down slowly. He was moving like a zombie, and none of his usual endless energy was in sight. Ianto, seeing this, turned from what he was doing and reached into the far cupboard all the way in the back until he found what he was looking for. He withdrew with several bottles of pills and a small container that held sleeping capsules that dissolved in water.
Ianto had been given that later medicine the first time he had visited Jack’s physical therapist. Jack had invited him to go along once Ianto had accepted the invitation to move in, and it became obvious that this was going to be a long-term relationship. The woman - Doctor Martha Jones - and Jack had seemed well at ease with each other, and Ianto had felt out of place in there, sitting on the couch next to Jack, there hands together as the man and the Doctor talked endlessly. It wasn’t until the end of the session that Martha had asked to talk to Ianto alone. As soon as Jack had gotten out of sight and ear reach Martha had started to talk to Ianto, telling him how Jack hadn’t only gotten hurt physically, but was emotionally scarred as well. She told him about these “funks” that he would get in, how he would seem drained of all energy and really depressed. She gave him sleeping tablets for those specific times - he apparently relived that fateful night in his dreams whenever he got into a mood, and the tablets helped to quell that - and told him all that could really be done was to give him a few pain pills and be supportive.
Ianto hadn’t been real sure how exactly to be “supportive” at the time, but he had quickly learned - he hadn’t become the man he was today because he couldn’t adapt.
He opened the box and took out two of the sleeping pills before popping the lid off of the other bottle and taking out two of those as well. The tablets he dissolved in a glass of water he had gotten. Jack had refused the first couple of times to take the pills out of some sort of pride. Ianto had taken to giving them to him without him knowing.
He brought out the water with the pain pills and wordlessly set both on the coffee table. Then he sat on the other end of the couch from Jack. The other man took this as a signal, and swung his legs up onto Ianto’s lap. He sat up just long enough to swallow the pills, then he laid back down on the couch.
Ianto started his ministrations quietly, slowly slipping off the socks from Jack’s feet before softly running his fingers over the toes. He worked his way upward, gently massaging his feet, then legs, taking care to be extra sensitive on the right leg.
Ianto watched Jack as he did this. He saw the way his eyelids moved under his eyes and how his lips pressed together tightly when Ianto just a point just right. He knew that there was something Jack wanted to talk about - needed to, even - but Ianto didn’t push it.
“It hurts.” Was all he said when he finally decided to talk three minutes and seventeen seconds later. His voice was soft, not loud enough to be called a whisper. There was pain in his voice, and Ianto had a small inkling of an idea how he felt. He closed his eyes for a moment and a flash of light shot through his eyes as the feeling of hands on his neck overcrowded his brain. But then his eyes opened again and the hands were gone, and he could breathe again. The whole little episode lasted point five seconds.
Ianto didn’t say anything in response, his hands just started to move further up Jack’s legs, his fingers leaving only feathery touches. He moved up Jack’s right leg, taking care to avoid the worst spots of Jack’s injury, but at the same time not coming near his unblemished skin. He skipped over his waist, and his finger jumped to the button on Jack’s shirt, where he slowly began to undo them.
Jack never opened his eyes.
Ianto finished opening the shirt, but even then he did nothing but continue his way up, his fingers gently wisping over the scars and twisted flesh on the right side of Jack’s abdomen. Ianto would have continued, but a strong hand encircled his wrist, and those beautiful blue eyes finally cracked open to meet another pair of the same colour and intensity. He pulled Ianto forward until he was forced to lie on top of Jack. The profiler kissed Ianto softly on the forehead, then wrapped his arms around him until the both of them were lying stretched out across the sofa, the Welshman having to lie slightly on top of Jack for them to fit.
“Love you.” Jack said breathily as the sleeping tablets took there toll and he drifted off to sleep. Ianto didn’t reply.
He lay there for five and a half more minutes, slowly counting the time in his head, keeping track from the tick-tock-tick of the clock on the wall. When he was sure Jack was asleep, he sat up and carefully got off of the couch. He stared at his lover, giving himself five minutes to just stand there, looking.
Jack was so peaceful as he slept, his face lax of any worry or laugh lines that he had during the day. His eyes were closed to hide the pain and the love that were always shining so brightly behind them. But it wasn’t the face of Jack Harkness that Ianto loved so much - it was the scars. Because it reminded Ianto how alike the two of them were. They both had pieces of them that they tried so hard - and succeeded in - to keep hidden. Ianto loved Jack’s scars, his mangled flesh, because it was like looking into the mirror, seeing himself in the reflection.
Ianto had never told Jack that he loved him. He would respond accordingly with roundabout phrases that meant the same thing but didn’t have that word in them. Ianto wanted to return the feeling, but he didn’t know what love was, or how it was supposed to feel in a person like him. He wanted to, one day, tell Jack that he loved him. But he couldn’t yet, because of all the lying and deceiving that Ianto did every day, that was one phrase that he couldn’t bring himself to fake.
Next Chapter
Topic Torchwood
Characters Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness, Gwen Cooper, Rhys Williams, Owen Harper, Toshiko Sato, Suzie Costello, Tenth Doctor, John Hart, Andy Davidson, Mickey smith, mentions Rose Tyler, Martha Jones, other small-characters
Pairings Jack/Ianto, Jack/John, Doctor/Rose, Gwen/Rhys
Genre AU, thriller, horror, romance, angst
Rating T
Summary Ianto Jones lives a very meticulous life. He has a schedule for everything he does - breakfast, work, personal time, love life, and his murder of the month. But when something goes wrong and one of his victims becomes the Cardiff police's latest case, will he be able to keep his personal life a secret? Not if Jack Harkness, consultant to the police and boyfriend of Ianto Jones, has anything to say about it.
Spoilers None
Author's Note Chapter two ladies and gentlemen. This is the last of the "filler" chapters, as I like to call them. They are necessary for the plot and give a lot of information, but there isn't much action or twists in them. I promise, though, next week's chapter will have a hell of an ending, if I may say so myself. ^_^ Also, if you want to be alerted when I update, track the tag "behind blue eyes." Enjoy!
Master List
Previous Chapter
Toshiko Sato was, in her own right, a genius. Over the years, she had come to be known as the best forensic technician in the area. She had helped solve dozens, if not hundreds of cases, and had been a consultant for UNIT, dozens other police stations, and even the FBI and CIA over in the states. But for some strange reason, unbeknown to the rest of the worlds population, every time a case was solved, and her expertise no longer needed, she went right back to the Cardiff police station. They didn’t even understand why she kept renewing her contract year after year, and neither did they question it. She had saved their asses on multiple cases - too many to count. And soon enough they would find that she would rescue them once again.
She was sitting in her lab now, glasses on the edge of her nose as she squinted at the screen. Her white lab coat protected her from the constant chill that came with residing so close to the morgue. The Cardiff police were lucky, the town morgue being located right next to their building.
She shivered a bit, but not because of the cold. She had just gotten the results back from the DNA testing off of the bones and body found at the latest crime scene - Suzie Costello had examined the body, then was able to get DNA from the marrow of the unidentified bones. She was also able to confirm that the bones belonged to three separate people - in addition to the body. Tosh had received the DNA several hours ago, and was running it through the system. She had managed to procure the names of all four victims - the hits all coming from the missing persons database.
But even that wasn’t what sent a shiver down her spine. As she read more into their background information, the sinking feeling that had began as just a simple little knot in her stomach grew until it sucked all the air out of the room and caused the temperature to drop several more degrees. Even Toshiko’s coat couldn’t shield her from this kind of cold. With shaky fingers, she grabbed the lab’s phone and dialed a number that over the years she had learned by heart.
“Hello, Detective Cooper? Yes, It’s Toshiko. I found something. Big.”
It took all of ten minutes for the scientist to get company in her little corner of the universe. She heard them before she saw them - first, the tell-tale sound of high heeled boots resonating off the corridor; Toshiko still couldn’t figure out how the Detective was able to work in shoes like those. Next, the much slower, painstaking steps of Jack Harkness. The footstep of a left foot hitting the floor, following by the simultaneous thump of a cane and lighter right footsteps. Toshiko had a pretty good idea why it took so long for them to arrive.
“What have you got, Tosh?” Gwen asked as she came into view, followed by the psychologist, who - if Toshiko would be so bold - looked a bit worse for the wear. She hadn’t been out of her cupboard of space since early that morning, but if the coffee-bringers and others who had been traipsing through during work hours were anything to go by, the man hadn’t left the police station since the body had been brought in over twelve hours ago.
“Ah, my brilliant and beautiful Toshiko.” Jack said, giving a weary smile before leaning heavily on a table that was near her station. She almost managed to hide the blush that crept up onto her cheeks - Jack had always been nice to her, and over the years, had become used to using that pet name for her every time he visited. Many nights were spent sleeping on the floor of her lab together because Jack needed to talk through some information that he wasn’t allowed to share with Ianto, and Toshiko was in need of an all-nighter for a case.
She gave a weak smile back, and then became all business, glancing at her screen, wishing that it had changed since the last time she checked. It hadn’t. “The computer database found matches for all four sets of DNA.” She started.
“Well, that’s a good start.” Gwen said, her voice not sounding anywhere near relieved.
Toshiko continued. “The latest victim - the body - was a Mark Lyndon. The other three sets of DNA belong to a Lisa Hallett, John Ellis, and Jasmine Pierce.” She pulled up pictures of all the deceased she had just listed. “Charity man, Defense Lawyer, Store Owner, and Psychologist. That, however, is just about where the differences end.”
Jack moved from his position to a spot closer to the computer, where he could look at the faces. “Tosh, I want those photos printed out and given to me before I leave today.” Jack worked better when he could see the faces of the victims that he was working for. This case would differ no more from any other. His face was hard, the mask that he normally put in place for when he dealt with homicides. Toshiko didn’t know how he did it, venturing into the mind of the killer to figure out not only how he did it, but why as well. It was an unstable career at best. She shook the thoughts from her mind and moved on.
“Each of them were found in the missing persons database within the past six months, which was why they were flagged so quickly. It gets kinda creepy here, each of them was listed as missing almost exactly a month apart, save two or three days at the most.”
“Pattern.” Jack whispered mostly to himself, but the word did not escape the other two. Gwen swallowed heavily, thinking the same thing. She had been privy to a lot of Jack’s knowledge - what else were they supposed to talk about on those long stakeouts all those years ago?
Toshiko hesitated, waiting to see if Jack would say something else, but he didn’t. She swallowed, and then continued. “I also found a common link that connects them - Lyndon was a known abuser, illegibly killed his son, although it was never proven. Hallett was in town for a trial - defending a known pedophile. She had just closed the case a few days before she went missing - she got the man off with community service. Ellis’ wife had gone on the stand for child abuse several months ago, but with his refusal to testify against her, the court was unable to convict. And Pierce had been charged several times with manipulating young patients of hers into keeping quiet about their abusive parents - as well as any extra activities she partook with them. She was never convicted.”
Gwen closed her eyes and let out a long, slow breath. “All connected in some way with rape and child abuse - all let off the hook - all missing a month apart. It’s the beginning of an MO.”
“I’m not done.” Toshiko said quietly, earning sharp looks from both.
“How can it get worse than this?” Gwen asked, and flinched at her words moments later - you never asked a question like that, especially in her line of work.
“Since there is a reputable time of attack, I took the liberty of searching the database for similar cases - people involved in abuse of some sort that went missing about a month apart.” Tosh took a deep breath to steady her voice and her nerves before pressing a button on the computer, opening a new page. On it were names after names, stacked on top of each other. Last, First, date went missing.
“Dear god.” Gwen breathed.
“How many.” Jack finally spoke up, staring at the screen, a shaky quality in his voice that neither of the women in the room were privy to very often.
“Fifty.” Toshiko said.
“Four and a half years.” Jack commented, closing his eyes, as if the number was too much to handle. “This sonuvabitch has been killing for four and a half fucking years.”
“Cardiff has it’s own serial killer.” Gwen stated the obvious, at a loss for any other words. Toshiko was only able to nod wordlessly.
--xXx--
“You two do know that it’s past seven in the evening.” Chief of Police John Smith said as he sat behind his desk, arms folded across his chest in a manner that would have been frightening and stern if it wasn’t for the rest of his body. As Police Chiefs go, he was definitely not the stereotype. Most people, when they thought about men who ran police forces, they envision a tall, stocky fellow whose muscles filled out his t-shirt, with graying hair and a face that had seen too much action. What they didn’t expect to find was a forty-some-odd brown-haired man with a youthful face and tall, skinny physique. Of course, if those people had known what the Chief had been through, they wouldn’t have whispered about his big eyes or odd blue suit with the oversized tie, or those thick black glasses that always seemed to be falling off his nose, or the fact that a lot of times, he went off on tangents and seemed to forget about what it was he had been talking about in the first place.
No, if everyone knew that he had been at the head of the terrorist attack on Canary Warf, yelling out orders to soldiers and police alike, pausing only to tell a wounded and dying man that everything was going to be ok when it was completely obvious it was not. Or that he had been one of the only surviving aids that had arrived on scene, escaping with dirt and blood all over his clothes and body and carrying with him the thousands of souls that hadn’t of been so lucky, they wouldn’t have whispered behind his back. As it was, the uneducated of Cardiff who were lucky enough to meet this man and hold a conversation with him enjoyed passing there time with jibes of how such a young, inexperienced man such as John Smith who had never made the headlines once became the chief of police. Of course, being the uneducated, they didn’t know that the reason he had stayed out of the headlines was because he didn’t care about reputation - only the betterment of citizens and his people.
“Yes sir, but we wanted to hand this to you personally.” Detective Gwen Cooper stated from her standing position in the Chief’s modest office. It was crowded with files here and there of old and new cases alike, but it always seemed as if there was just enough room for whoever decided to stop by and have a chat. There was a joke around the water cooler that the Chief’s office was ‘bigger on the inside.’
“No, you wanted to make sure that you were on site to talk me into letting you keep the case now that vital information has been discovered.” The Chief said in a slightly teasing manner. Even in the most dire of situations, he always had a word to say - it was what, in some cases, kept this police station running and above all other law enforcement divisions in Wales.
“That too.” Jack said, a little distracted, his voice coming from the chair in the Chief’s office. He had decided to accept the man’s offer to sit down when they had entered the room. Gwen had noticed this, but didn’t say anything. Normally when Jack acted like this, it was because the pain in his leg and the rest of his right side was flaring up again - something that the criminal profiler did not like anyone knowing.
Chief John Smith frowned at Jack’s mood, and held out his hand for the file. Normally, Jack was one of the only ones in the entire station that would dare engage in a verbal match with the Chief, and the only one to have won an argument - other than his late wife, that it. She had been one of the thousands of casualties in the terrorist attack - just another name on the list.
Wordlessly, Gwen handed over the file, which contained the information that Suzie had found from the autopsy as well. John opened the file and swiftly began to read, his small frown growing deeper as he read. The almost always invisible lines of age showed on the man’s face, and the longer his eyes moved back and forth across the page, the more the things that he had seen became readable. There had only been a few times that the Chief had shown a face of concern and worry in front of his people.
He didn’t say anything for a while after he finished - he just sat there, his extremely strategic brain mulling over the information that he had just eaten. The report from Toshiko had been in there as well, and John didn’t like what he was reading. He had dealt with a serial killer once before, a long time ago, way before Canary Warf; long before he had even begun to become the man he was that day. He didn’t like recalling what had happened with that particular case.
“Cooper - you run point on this. Jack, consider yourself hired. Anyone inside and outside of the station you need, consider them yours. This case takes priority - I want the best task force Cardiff has ever seen working on this. I know a consultant who worked for London several years ago who helped close a somewhat similar case - I’ll take the liberty of calling him.” John leaned forward, all business. His voice was low, but carried more command than one would have thought possible. “According to the file, we have about a month until this man strikes again. I want him behind bars by then.”
John paused and looked at the two people in front of him, then amended his statement. “And I want for you to start working on it tomorrow. Get some sleep. Dismissed.”
Gwen and Jack both nodded, not even bothering to give the Chief a smile before leaving. Once they were safely out of earshot, Gwen turned to Jack and offered her arm for him to lean on, which he gratefully did. “Jack, are you ok?”
“I’m fine.” He muttered, “Just tired.”
“How about your leg?” She couldn’t keep the concern out of her voice, even though she knew that Jack hated it - said it sounded too much like pity.
“Acting up, like it does every damn day. Really Gwen, I’m fine.” He paused to give her a genuine - albeit tired - smile. “A bit thrown with the information. I mean, this morning it was a maybe. Now it’s real. Biggest case yet.”
“And we’re gonna take down the bastard. Tomorrow.” Gwen stressed the last word. “Get some rest. Let Ianto rub your foot or something - just no more than that, hear?”
That elicited a chuckle from Jack as they moved through the almost abandoned police station. Only the night shift was out and about, which wasn’t saying much.
“Need a ride home?” Gwen asked as they got outside, and Jack shook his head.
“I’ll make it.” He said. Gwen, in an impromptu moment, gave Jack a big hug before smiling and giving him a light peck on the cheek.
“See you tomorrow.” She said before walking off to her own car, and eventually to her boyfriend, Rhys. Jack went his own way, taking the long trek to his oversized SUV, which looked like a monster in the almost darkness. It was going to be a very long month.
--xXx--
Ianto Jones was a man of schedule. He liked to have everything planned. He woke up at a certain time every morning, spent only the minimum amount of time in the shower (unless Jack had decided to join him, in which Ianto had an alternative schedule made up to make up for lost time), and had his morning breakfast ritual down to a T. Everything from his closet to his work to his relationship to his extra curricular activities was planned ahead of time, jotted down in a notebook or written somewhere in his mind. He was a man of order and neatness, who despised impromptu-ness almost as much as surprise birthday parties.
Which was why he had been a little more than perturbed when he learned that his perfectly planned world had been knocked off kilter.
He spent a generous amount of time internally ranting, that day. His mind went over everything, from where things had been going so right until that exact moment that they turned wrong. He re-lived every second - of which he had perfectly documented - every move, every decision. Then he spent about half that long telling himself that maybe some other guy had decided to use an old abandoned hog farm as his dumping ground on the outskirts of Cardiff. But the timing had been too perfect for it to be a coincidence, and Ianto didn’t believe in that sort of thing, anyway.
He had been glad that Jack had to call and say that he wouldn’t be coming home until late, because Ianto didn’t think he could play house anymore at that particular moment. His façade had been stripped bare due to his being caught unawares, and he was a dangerous companion to have at the moment. His anger - his true self, the part of him that had been always kept hidden except for at those perfect moments - had barged through the carefully constructed layers of Ianto’s mind, and he had needed time to replace them. He hadn’t become violent or hazardous. Instead, he had spent the rest of the time that he had that day thinking. He had shut off everything in the house - air conditioning, washing machine, television, lights, everything. Then he had laid down in the middle of his bed with his stopwatch encased with his thin fingers, and thought.
He thought about the past no more though, for he had spent long enough there that morning. He thought about what would come next - what he needed to prepare himself for. He slowly began to rebuild those layers of his mind, went over the facts that he, as a devoted partner of three years, should know. He mentally restored himself to the man that he had been that morning before Jack had gotten that phone call. He thought about those two gorgeous blue eyes, and that beautiful laugh, and the fake pout and crude jokes and humility that was Jack Harkness. It calmed him down.
Whenever he felt that anger, that being inside of him that was his pure self, rise up, he would click the top button of his stopwatch without opening his eyes and listen to the little tick-tick-tick of the second hand. After twenty clicks, he would press the button again, and continue on his mental journey.
When Ianto had opened his eyes, the morning sun had been replaced with the gentle textures of sunset. His being had been calm and serene, the Ianto Jones that Jack knew and loved breathing and living instead of the livid, twisted creature that he really was. And when he had rolled off of the bed and glanced at the time on his stopwatch, he had smiled. It was one of those genuine unguarded smiles that Jack had never seen, and never would, because they were saved only for those whose death was near. Then he had stood up, and turned everything back on in the house, and re-inserted himself into the life that he had been living the past three years, ready and able to face the future.
Ianto Jones was ready. Ready for whatever the police were going to throw at him.
And when Jack had come home not even an hour later, Ianto had just finished up cooking dinner, greeting the man with a plate of ravioli and a frosted mug of beer.
“Another big case?” Ianto asked after giving Jack sufficient time to enter the apartment and shed his boots without feeling rushed. He finished setting the table, then walked over in time to help Jack out of his coat. He folded it, and then laid it softly over the edge of the couch.
Ianto was a bit surprised when Jack failed to initiate any kind of intimate contact, which caused the Welshman a small amount of concern. Something wasn’t right. He took it upon himself, and tugged on Jack’s hand, tangling their fingers together before pulling him in for a soft but sweet kiss. Jack sighed into the kiss, and when Ianto pulled away exactly two seconds later, the criminal profiler didn’t pull away, resting his forehead on Ianto’s and closed his eyes.
“Cariad?” Ianto whispered, resorting to his Welsh. He knew that would always open Jack up, but he also knew that there was no way of getting the man to open up unless he wanted to.
Ianto pulled away after waiting a predetermined twenty three seconds. He squeezed Jack’s hand reassuringly, and then retreated back into the kitchen. It was a trick that Jack had taught him after they had been together for a week and four days. Ianto had been quite agitated, needing a release but not having done enough research and preparation to be comfortable with it. Jack had noticed his agitated state, and hadn’t said anything. Instead, he had just taken Ianto’s hand and squeezed it before going on with his own business. The Welshman had found it oddly helpful, and had taken to copying it when he felt Jack was feeling the same way.
He watched out of the corner of his eyes as Jack wearily moved across the threshold of the living room to the large couch, where he sat down slowly. He was moving like a zombie, and none of his usual endless energy was in sight. Ianto, seeing this, turned from what he was doing and reached into the far cupboard all the way in the back until he found what he was looking for. He withdrew with several bottles of pills and a small container that held sleeping capsules that dissolved in water.
Ianto had been given that later medicine the first time he had visited Jack’s physical therapist. Jack had invited him to go along once Ianto had accepted the invitation to move in, and it became obvious that this was going to be a long-term relationship. The woman - Doctor Martha Jones - and Jack had seemed well at ease with each other, and Ianto had felt out of place in there, sitting on the couch next to Jack, there hands together as the man and the Doctor talked endlessly. It wasn’t until the end of the session that Martha had asked to talk to Ianto alone. As soon as Jack had gotten out of sight and ear reach Martha had started to talk to Ianto, telling him how Jack hadn’t only gotten hurt physically, but was emotionally scarred as well. She told him about these “funks” that he would get in, how he would seem drained of all energy and really depressed. She gave him sleeping tablets for those specific times - he apparently relived that fateful night in his dreams whenever he got into a mood, and the tablets helped to quell that - and told him all that could really be done was to give him a few pain pills and be supportive.
Ianto hadn’t been real sure how exactly to be “supportive” at the time, but he had quickly learned - he hadn’t become the man he was today because he couldn’t adapt.
He opened the box and took out two of the sleeping pills before popping the lid off of the other bottle and taking out two of those as well. The tablets he dissolved in a glass of water he had gotten. Jack had refused the first couple of times to take the pills out of some sort of pride. Ianto had taken to giving them to him without him knowing.
He brought out the water with the pain pills and wordlessly set both on the coffee table. Then he sat on the other end of the couch from Jack. The other man took this as a signal, and swung his legs up onto Ianto’s lap. He sat up just long enough to swallow the pills, then he laid back down on the couch.
Ianto started his ministrations quietly, slowly slipping off the socks from Jack’s feet before softly running his fingers over the toes. He worked his way upward, gently massaging his feet, then legs, taking care to be extra sensitive on the right leg.
Ianto watched Jack as he did this. He saw the way his eyelids moved under his eyes and how his lips pressed together tightly when Ianto just a point just right. He knew that there was something Jack wanted to talk about - needed to, even - but Ianto didn’t push it.
“It hurts.” Was all he said when he finally decided to talk three minutes and seventeen seconds later. His voice was soft, not loud enough to be called a whisper. There was pain in his voice, and Ianto had a small inkling of an idea how he felt. He closed his eyes for a moment and a flash of light shot through his eyes as the feeling of hands on his neck overcrowded his brain. But then his eyes opened again and the hands were gone, and he could breathe again. The whole little episode lasted point five seconds.
Ianto didn’t say anything in response, his hands just started to move further up Jack’s legs, his fingers leaving only feathery touches. He moved up Jack’s right leg, taking care to avoid the worst spots of Jack’s injury, but at the same time not coming near his unblemished skin. He skipped over his waist, and his finger jumped to the button on Jack’s shirt, where he slowly began to undo them.
Jack never opened his eyes.
Ianto finished opening the shirt, but even then he did nothing but continue his way up, his fingers gently wisping over the scars and twisted flesh on the right side of Jack’s abdomen. Ianto would have continued, but a strong hand encircled his wrist, and those beautiful blue eyes finally cracked open to meet another pair of the same colour and intensity. He pulled Ianto forward until he was forced to lie on top of Jack. The profiler kissed Ianto softly on the forehead, then wrapped his arms around him until the both of them were lying stretched out across the sofa, the Welshman having to lie slightly on top of Jack for them to fit.
“Love you.” Jack said breathily as the sleeping tablets took there toll and he drifted off to sleep. Ianto didn’t reply.
He lay there for five and a half more minutes, slowly counting the time in his head, keeping track from the tick-tock-tick of the clock on the wall. When he was sure Jack was asleep, he sat up and carefully got off of the couch. He stared at his lover, giving himself five minutes to just stand there, looking.
Jack was so peaceful as he slept, his face lax of any worry or laugh lines that he had during the day. His eyes were closed to hide the pain and the love that were always shining so brightly behind them. But it wasn’t the face of Jack Harkness that Ianto loved so much - it was the scars. Because it reminded Ianto how alike the two of them were. They both had pieces of them that they tried so hard - and succeeded in - to keep hidden. Ianto loved Jack’s scars, his mangled flesh, because it was like looking into the mirror, seeing himself in the reflection.
Ianto had never told Jack that he loved him. He would respond accordingly with roundabout phrases that meant the same thing but didn’t have that word in them. Ianto wanted to return the feeling, but he didn’t know what love was, or how it was supposed to feel in a person like him. He wanted to, one day, tell Jack that he loved him. But he couldn’t yet, because of all the lying and deceiving that Ianto did every day, that was one phrase that he couldn’t bring himself to fake.
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