Fic: In Bits and Pieces 6b
main index
part 6a
- But there is suffering in life, and there are defeats. No one can avoid them. But it's better to lose some of the battles in the struggles for your dreams than to be defeated without ever knowing what you're fighting for.
- Paulo Coelho
Ianto closes the door to Jack’s office behind him after he enters. The tricky part must have been getting it open with his hands full. Shoving his desk drawer closed, Jack wonders how he managed that.
Carrying two plates, each with a slice of cake, Ianto frowns at Jack’s gun laying abandoned on the desk, sets one of the plates down and says, “Rhys bakes. Who knew?” He doesn’t ask if Jack is hungry and doesn’t tell him that he should eat something, either. Instead, he comes around the desk, parks himself on top of it, right in front of Jack, and swings his legs up, one at a time, settling his feet on either arm of Jack’s chair, essentially boxing him in.
Jack eyes him up and down, pen poised in the air. “You’re sitting on my paperwork.”
“Very astute observation.”
Tilting his head toward the door, Jack wonders who would throw the first punch at John: Gwen or Rhys? “Anyone get killed out there?”
“Surprisingly, no.”
“And… you’re bored?”
“I’m distracting you.” Ianto takes a forkful of cake, letting his tongue snake out to catch all the crumbs. A dab of vanilla icing lingers at the corner of his mouth.
“You’re very good at that.” Jack grins up at him, bringing his hand to rest on Ianto’s thigh.
“I’m very good at a lot of things.” Ianto’s tongue darts out to lick at the icing, missing a little.
“Oh, I know.” Jack surges forward to catch Ianto’s mouth with his own, to lick the last traces of icing away himself. They over balance and Ianto jerks away.
“Look what you made me do.” But he’s smiling and his voice is light. He holds his right hand up, the one he’d leaned back on to keep himself from falling over. The hand that he’d put down right into the slice of cake he’d brought for Jack.
With his clean hand, he pushes gently at Jack’s shoulder to give himself room and Jack flops back into his chair. He watches Ianto search around the piles of papers for something to wipe his hand off, and is about to offer when Ianto decides to lick it clean himself, raising his eyebrows at Jack suggestively. Shaking his head, Jack tries to remember if Ianto was always like this with him or if it’s only been the past few months.
“You’ve rejected the ATMOS upgrade?” Ianto pulls up a sheet of paper off the desk. “And recommended that all police, military and security services to do the same?”
“I’ve told you, there’s something… off about it. I just can’t remember what it is.” Jack grins as Ianto rolls his eyes at him. “It’ll come to me. But UNIT is being stubborn, as usual. Maybe I can get Martha to kick them in gear.”
“So, what pearls of wisdom would you have for her?”
“I dunno about wisdom, but if you want something pearly-”
“Please. That is beneath you, Jack.” He clamps his hand over Jack’s smirk. “And that. I’m just going to stop talking.” Jack pushes his tongue out through his lips to lick Ianto’s palm. It is sticky sweet from the cake icing and Ianto pulls it away, trying to glower but he’s laughing behind it.
“C’mere.” Jack pushes his chair closer to the desk and wraps his arms around Ianto’s waist, resting his head against Ianto’s stomach. “Don’t stop talking to me.”
“I wouldn’t.” Ianto combs his fingers - of his clean hand, Jack hopes - through Jack’s hair, brushing his fringe aside and away from his eyes. Moving his head, the fabric of Ianto’s waistcoat warm next to his skin, Jack looks up and beckons him closer.
The door clatters open as John stumbles backward inside, calling out into the hub, “So, just to be clear, that was a ‘no’ on the threesome?” He ducks as an empty plastic container sails through the air over his head and lands in the middle of the office floor. Gwen growls something - well, it sounds like Gwen, and wouldn’t Jack love to hear her make that sound again under other circumstances - as John hurriedly closes the door and leans back against it.
Ianto is half-turned, aiming Jack’s gun at John’s head. “Out. Get out now, or I’ll shoot you.”
John stands a little straighter, crossing his arms over his chest, leering. Ianto cocks the gun.
Grinning, Jack says, “I think he means it.” John glances between Jack, Ianto, and the Webley. With a “Pfft!” he opens the door and stomps back out. But not before checking that the coast is clear.
Licking his lips, Jack slides his hand back up Ianto’s inner thigh, then over his hip and onto his chest. “Have I told you recently how much I love it when you take charge like that?”
“Told? No.” Ianto engages the safety on the revolver and slips it back into its holster where it belongs. He threads his fingers through Jack’s hair, tugging him forward. “But I like it better when you show me.” Ianto leans down until their lips meet and it is slow and it is warm and Jack’s blood rushes and his heart pounds and he breathes in Ianto’s strong, comforting scent through his nose and tastes coffee and cake on his tongue and-
An ear-piercing shriek shatters the moment. Both Jack and Ianto scramble for the door and out into the hub. The sound gets louder and Ianto covers his ears.
Gwen is at the computer with her hands clamped to the sides of her head. “Is that the rift alert?” she shouts over the sound, jerking her head at the monitor. Rhys stands just behind her, covering his own ears, and John just beyond, grimacing.
Jack marches over to peer at the screen. “That’s not the rift alert, it’s the prediction program.” He turns sharply, glaring at John and demands, “What did you do to it?”
“Just tweaked it a bit,” John replies, his voice mostly drowned out by the sound. “Should give you more advance warning now.”
“Jack, look at this.” Ianto has edged up next to him and is pointing to the readings on the screen. “It’ll be huge. Whatever comes through… it could be…” Ianto hunches up his right shoulder to protect his ear and begins typing frantically. “I think I can pinpoint it to a single location,” he yells and, even though Jack is right next to him, he can barely hear him.
“Can you shut the alarm-”
The sound stops.
“-off?!” Jack squares his shoulders. “Good, thanks.”
Ianto offers him a thin, tight smile. But his eyes are drawn back to the monitor. “Jack. If this is accurate…” he begins, cutting his eyes quickly over to John, and Jack nods.
It wouldn’t be completely impossible for John to have somehow set this up, except he truly looks as confused as the rest of them. Not quite as worried, but that’s John. Decisively, Jack commands, “Tell me, how big are we talking.”
Ianto indicates the screen with a sweep of his hand. “It’s looking like it could encompass this whole area, centered above a car park just off the city centre. We’ll need more than just you and Gwen out there to cover this and someone has to coordinate from the hub…” Ianto trails off, his words hanging in the air.
Slowly, Jack stands up straighter, looking from Ianto to John to Gwen to Rhys, and back to Ianto. Shaking his head, Jack says, “We can’t leave him alone in the hub.”
“We can’t leave him alone in the hub,” Ianto counters, pointing at John.
“No, no, no.” Gwen shakes her head, stepping in front of Rhys, as if to shield him with her body. “There’s no way. Rhys is not getting involved. No.”
Stepping next to Jack, Ianto says softly, “Someone needs to coordinate us.”
John says, “Uh, I could do that-” and Rhys asks, “Wait, what’s going on-” but they are both ignored.
“No way, just no,” Gwen is still insisting, waving her hands about, and Jack feels himself wavering, glancing between her, and her vehement refusal, and Ianto’s forced calm.
“Rhys did help me get the Hoix out of the hospital and back to the hub.”
Both Jack and Gwen turn to Ianto in surprise. “He did?”
Ianto rolls his eyes. “Yes, he did. And a fine job, too.” He nods at the other man standing on the outside of the group and Rhys beams.
Softly to Ianto, Jack asks, “Where was I? I should have done that.”
“You were… busy.” Ianto surreptitiously squeezes his hand. “Gwen,” he says, louder, “it’s our only option. And we haven’t got much time. Rhys, you do this sort of thing all the time for work, yes?” Ianto beckons him to the computer and pulls up the route maps on the monitor. “This shows the location, this here is the SUV, and these dots represent us. Jack is blue, Gwen is green, I’m red, and…” Ianto glances over his shoulder at Jack. “And I suppose John will be yellow?”
“He’ll be no more than ten feet from me,” Jack informs them and runs over to his office. He finds what he’s looking for, quickly, and jogs back out, holding up the alien ankle cuff. He waggles it in John’s direction. “Isn’t that right?” John sneers in Jack’s direction, but he takes the cuff and snaps it around his ankle. Jack grins. “Good man.”
Ianto hurries to gather equipment. He fits Toshiko’s comm device into the shell of Rhys’s ear for him and offers the other, Owen’s, to John. John scoffs at it, and Ianto glowers at him. “Toshiko designed and constructed these using plans from the archives labeled 33rd century. They’re top of the line here and now.” He shoves the device, minuscule and nearly invisible, into John’s hand and turns back to Rhys.
At a glare from Jack, John quickly fits it into his ear, petulantly asking, “I get a gun, don’t I? You’re not sending me out unarmed. That would be just irresponsible of you.”
“We’re not letting you loose with one of our firearms.” Jack leans past Gwen, still looking worried and hovering nearby, and Ianto, explaining the navigational system to Rhys, to say, “And don’t touch anything else.” Rhys scowls at him.
“Well, where are my weapons? I want them back. I worked very hard to acquire some of those.”
“Jack removed your weapons,” Ianto states, calmly. He pulls a face. “Yes, all of them.” At Rhys’s questioning look, Ianto tells him, “You don’t want to know.”
“Can’t keep his hands off me, is what you’re saying.” John wiggles his backside, smiling smugly.
Jack places a gentle hand on Gwen’s shoulder, to reassure her or himself, he isn’t sure. “Ianto, just give him a weapon or he’ll never shut up. Nothing high-powered. He can have a big stick, for all I care.”
Ianto hands John the smaller of two tasers. John examines the clunky design, missing the air cartridge, with an expression of extreme distaste. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
Slipping the other into his inside coat pocket, Ianto smiles, placidly. “If you have to ask, I’d be happy to give you a demonstration.”
“Oi,” Rhys calls their attention back, “this is a pretty public area. I can direct you there fine, but what’re you going to do about people?”
Gwen looks queasy at the mere idea of leaving Rhys alone in the hub and, as her gaze strays over toward the autopsy bay, Ianto gently touches her arm.
“Gwen?”
Her eyes snap back to Jack. “I’ve got an idea.” She pulls out her mobile and dials quickly. “Andy? We’ve got a situation. We need you,” she says into the phone, hurrying off to her work station to gather her things. A moment later she calls out, “It’s all set, Jack. I’ve got the police cordoning off the area.”
Jack straps his holster in place and claps his hands together. “Alright, people, let’s move.”
As Ianto comes up behind him and settles Jack’s coat on his shoulders, something fundamental, something that had been missing, something Jack hadn’t even noticed until now, slots back into place. And they are ready to go again.
---
According to Ianto’s rift-activity monitor, the ‘event’ hasn’t happened yet. However, one should only trust technology so far. Gwen is at his side as he holds it up and shakes his head to indicate ‘nothing.’ It’s late afternoon and the last light of the day is slowly bleeding to dark, taking with it the lingering vestiges of warmth. There’s a tall, chain-link fence at one side of the multi-storey car park surrounding a pit of rubble and construction work. This is Cardiff, rebuilding. Hopefully that, plus the police cordon, will be enough to keep any passers-by from wandering in.
“If I’m reading this thing right, it’ll be straight ahead of you and up one level,” Rhys directs them from the hub.
Jack comes in surround sound, at Ianto’s left shoulder and over his comm-link, “One level? Not on the roof?”
Ianto turns slightly, eyes trained ahead, but speaking to Jack. “We’ll have to go through the construction site to get in there. It’s all blocked off.”
“No problem,” John announces, and hurtles himself at the fence, shimmying his wiry frame up and over. The bandage on his arm gets caught on the top, sharp metal tearing it away and slicing the flesh. For all his agility, he lands gracelessly on the flat of his back.
“Idiot,” Jack mutters, then, aloud, says, “What did I say about ten feet?” He holds up the little black box that controls the cuff. “Do you want me to barbecue your head?”
Nimbly somersaulting to his feet, John dusts his jeans off and plants his hands on his hips. “It doesn’t have that much power.”
Jack waves the box in his hand and, with a lopsided grin, says, “Maybe I tweaked it a bit.”
Ianto rolls his eyes at the banter that’s beginning to sound a bit too much like foreplay and clears his throat to get their attention. He points to a gate, unlatched, just a few meters away. He lets Gwen go through before him, but slips in front of Jack with a flick of an eyebrow in his direction. Jack chuckles softly in his ear, sending a shiver down his spine.
The place is eerily quiet with the distant sound of voices echoing off the buildings around them. Jack takes the lead, keeping John to his right, but slightly in front. He motions for Ianto and Gwen to go round the other side and take the long way, while he and John take the stairwell. Ianto’s shoes tap, tap, tap on the cement and Gwen’s trainers make hushed, scuffing sounds. They pass by darkened, empty vehicles consumed by the gloom, half the overhead lights flickering or out entirely. The shadows jump and sputter, creating movement out of the corners of Ianto’s eyes.
Gwen raises her chin at him in silent question and Ianto looks down at his monitor, frowning. It should be-
Leaves rustle, trickling down the slope of the car park, flying by on an arctic wind. The sound fills the silence, howling in the void. Catching Gwen’s eye, Ianto nods and off they go, racing up the slope to the turn and onto the next level.
“Well that’s… different.” Ianto stops dead and Gwen pulls up beside him.
It’s snowing. It’s snowing in the middle of a car park. On the middle level. There’s literally snow falling out of the concrete ceiling above them, just in that one spot about fifteen meters in diameter, blanketing the grey floor and nearby cars.
It’s snowing. In early October. It hardly even snows in Cardiff in the dead of winter.
“That’s beautiful.” Gwen exhales, her breath misting in front of her face. The diffused glow of pinkish light coming from the… the great bloody rip in space and time! Ianto runs his hand over his hair and nearly staggers back. It lights Gwen’s features, softer, rounder, her mouth open in awe.
“You dragged me out here for this?” Ianto tries to ignore John’s voice grating in his ear.
He looks across to the other side of the car park where Jack has appeared, John next to him. “Scanning now, Jack,” Ianto says, walking slowly with Toshiko’s handheld out in front of him. “It’s spatial, temporal, all kinds of strange readings, but it seems benign for the most par-”
His last word gets swallowed up in a great gust of wind, a loud boom and a flash of bright, white-hot light that sends him flying backwards. He manages to keep his head from slamming into a blue Vauxhall Insignia. Next to him, Gwen rolls onto her side. Offering her a weak half-smile, he says, “Nope. Same old, same old. You alright?” She nods and Ianto taps his earpiece, “Jack?”
“I’m OK, Ianto.”
“Gwen! Gwen, are you alright?”
“I’m fine. Fine, Rhys.” She sounds the slightest bit annoyed and trying to hide it.
“Now is not the time, people.” Jack, of course, doesn’t bother covering it up.
“I bloody hate this job and I don’t even work here!”
“I’m fine, too, by the way.” Nobody pays attention to John.
As Ianto struggles to his feet, shoes slipping in the puddles melting out of the snow-covered ground, there’s another great blast of wind and a smaller flash.
It is, Ianto can honestly say, the first time he’s ever seen something actually fall through the rift. Usually things just show up. Or disappear.
The snow stops falling and Ianto realizes that the hole has closed up, leaving behind pure white snow and a large, fur-covered lump in the middle of the car park. It moves, rolling slightly to the side, and a muffled groan - almost a growl, something terribly off about it, a grinding, almost mechanical noise - fills the silence. The thing lurches to its feet and it’s over nine feet tall. Ianto stumbles back, involuntarily. Gwen is next to him with her gun raised high, staring wide-eyed at the creature.
In Ianto’s ear, Jack says, “Stay back. Do not approach,” and out loud says, “Stay where you are! We can help you if you cooperate.”
The thing jerks and stumbles in Jack’s direction, its fur rippling in a not-quite-natural way. Jack raises his gun, calling out again, but Ianto can’t make out the words. The creature turns from Jack and starts toward Ianto. Gwen moves up beside him, trying to block him with her body. Her hands are steady, gun never wavering, when she calls out, “Jack!” But the thing keeps coming, its steps unmeasured, staggering and swaying, lumbering forward. Before anyone has time to react, it lunges at Gwen and Ianto moves quick, taser out and ready, connecting with one of its large limbs.
It only takes one jolt to drop the enormous thing to the ground. Its fur moves like a solid mass up and over and comes away, falling to the ground revealing…
It looks almost human. Small, round eyes looking up out of pale pink skin. The fur, a coat Ianto now realizes, pools around the… person’s body as it - he? she? - shivers in the snow. It has no mouth, but there’s an odd metal contraption protruding from the side of its head. Emitting a voice, “Help. Help me.”
Gwen gasps, dropping her arms to her sides. “It sounds just like Jack.”
Yeah, if Jack had his personality removed, Ianto thinks and winces, because that voice in his head had sounded just like Owen.
“Help - ppleurghghs - please, help.” But that voice, no, it’s high and… mechanical. It sounds too much like… And this thing is lying here - in agony, if the distorted face is anything to go by - and he’d just almost killed it and all it wants is help.
“Wait! Wait, don’t shoot it!” John is running out, stepping in front of the creature - it still doesn’t look human enough to call it anything else - with his arms out. He’s looking at Jack, saying, “Don’t. It’s harmless. Come on, Jack, you should know this one.”
But Jack looks just as confused as Ianto feels. He’d thought it, too. He’d reacted the same way. He’d have done the same thing.
- The quality of mercy is not strain'd. It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath. It is twice blest. It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes…
-William Shakespeare
It’s only nine days into his suspension. That first night Jack had escorted him home, but hadn’t come inside or stayed any longer than necessary and left with the explicit statement that he’d be back the next day. Ianto had stumbled into his flat, stripped all of his clothes off, showered for an unimaginable amount of time, then passed out on his bed. He’d slept for over thirty hours straight and missed Jack’s first visit. He’d barely woken for Jack’s second and mostly ignored him every day after.
At some point, maybe coming back from the toilet or on his way in search of food, he drifts from the bed to the floor and just stays there. And Jack comes and goes, bringing with him food or coffee, making no comments about the boxes stacked up against the walls, or the lack of kitchen amenities, or the general state of the tiny, sparse room.
Ianto remains lying on the hard, cold floor covered with the blue and green quilt, the one he’d bought when he’d first moved to London. Lisa had hated it and called it the ugliest thing she’d ever seen. But she’d let him keep it over the armchair in their lounge next to the bookcase and he’d find her curled up in it late at night. He dozes lightly for hours or days on end, jerking awake every now and then, because he should be doing something, he needs to check on Lisa, she’s…
…waiting, waiting for him to fix her. She asks, and each day her voice sounds less and less like her, but today, she smiles at him and the pain is less and he’ll make it work, he’ll find a way because she’s the only person in the entire world and she’s…
…gone now. She’s gone and the sound of heavy, metal feet pound through his head and they’ll never go away even though it’s over now. It’s over.
Waking up when it’s dark out leaves Ianto with a strange feeling of being displaced, like he’s not where he’s supposed to be. Which is ridiculous, because he has nowhere to be. Not anymore.
He rubs the crusty sleep from his eyes and crawls over to the table to retrieve the waiting cup of coffee. It’s from that place just round the corner - the only evidence of Jack’s visit - and it’s cold. With a grimace, he drinks it anyway and begins to pull some clothes on. Some of his boxes have been moved, rifled through, because of course, of course Jack has gone through his things. Ianto would be angry, he should be angry, but it’s all just too far away. Jack has every right to be suspicious. Fool me once, and all that. Oh, how he’d fooled Jack. Right under his very nose, and Jack is completely nuts if he thinks that was easy. Or fun.
Ianto’s hands had shaken from the constant fear. He’s shaking now. No plan. He has no plan. Groping for his keys on the little table by his bed, his clumsy, trembling hands knock them off and into an open box on the floor. Reaching in, his fingers meet cool, dusty leather. His diary, untouched since Canary Wharf. Drawing it out of the box, Ianto stares at it. He couldn’t bring himself to write down things about Lisa, about the bat- the massacre. To lie in writing, in black and white. Because he’d known, even then some part of him must have known.
He could pretend like none of it ever happened.
Ianto leaves his flat just shy of midnight. He isn’t heading anywhere in particular, just picks a direction and starts walking. The air is warm and damp, as it is just after a storm, but there’s no evidence of recent rainfall. It’s at times like this he wishes he were a smoker; it would give him something to do with his hands.
There’s a section of the morgue that no one is permitted to enter. For as long as Ianto has been at Torchwood Three it has always been strictly forbidden. Not even Jack goes there. Ianto hadn’t cared before; for whatever reasons it was off-limits - housing the alien plague, perhaps - it was no concern of his. He wonders, now, if that is where Lisa is being kept. What did they do with her?
A flash of dark grey catches his attention, flapping against long legs running through the park. A sight as familiar to him as anything. And something else, larger, hairy, tearing through the trees. The two shapes meld and then break apart in the pale light from the moon hanging low in the sky. Jack gets knocked off his feet and lands in the damp grass and the larger form bolts through the trees.
Sharp, burning flickers of pain and resentment blaze through Ianto, tinged with an overwhelming sense of relief and… He doesn’t need to put a name to all of it. Not now. His legs are moving almost of their own accord and he catches up to Jack quickly.
Jack accepts the hand up he offers, but doesn’t let his grip linger as he once would have. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“I was just out for a walk. You looked like you needed help.” Ianto won’t be intimidated, won’t be cowed by Jack Harkness. Not today. “But I could always go and let that thing tear you to shreds. Since I’m on suspension, I won’t have to take care of your bloody coat, either, will I?”
Then Jack grins that patented Harkness grin, a challenge, a warning and a come on all at once. “You did say you’d watch me suffer and die. Here’s your big chance.”
And Ianto freezes, looks down at his…
…hands, raw and bloodied, the metal of the conversion unit scraping his skin off, but he has to finish quickly, she can’t last long out of it, he has to hurry. A thin trickle of…
… blood remains, staining the concrete by the water tower where not an hour ago Jack had been lying dead and the others can’t know, they can’t see, so Ianto scrubs, he scrubs for all he’s worth, down on his…
… knees soaked in her blood and he almost misses that high, mechanical voice that wasn’t really hers, if he could just hear it once more, if she would only come back, lifeless eyes staring…
… up at Jack looking down at him, beckoning him to be silent, tingling spark running down his spine and he…
… shivers, avoiding Jack’s eyes. “I’ve seen that plenty, actually. I think I’m good.” They stand in silence, but eventually Jack starts walking and Ianto gives himself no choice but to follow. “So, what are we dealing with here?”
“Werewolf. Sort of,” Jack says over his shoulder, without looking back.
“Sort of? Never mind.” Tree branches whip past his face, catching at the thin material of his t-shirt and leaving scratches on his arms as he tries to keep pace with Jack. “Mistletoe. Isn’t that supposed to stop it?”
Jack stops and whirls around. “How do you know that?”
“It was in the London file. In eighteen-seventy-nine, Queen Victoria was attacked by a creature like a werewolf and that’s when she set up the Tor-”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jack dismisses, waving his hand at Ianto. “Thing is, that doesn’t actually do anything. And this one is different, so it doesn’t matter. You’ve really got to get London out of your head.”
“Believe me, I’d like to,” he mutters under his breath as he follows Jack through the trees, going quiet. “So, what do we do?” he whispers. “It’s not like we have a light cannon handy. Silver bullets?”
“No. We’re not going to kill it.”
“Then what-”
It flies out of the trees and Ianto barely has time to react before Jack is on top of him. They land, hard, on the ground and it knocks the wind out of him. He stares up into Jack’s face and this is all too familiar. He’d laugh if he could get the air into his lungs. Jack leans up off of him, fingers gently touching the side of Ianto’s face and then Ianto does laugh, a small puff of breath. “Nice save.”
Jack grins down at him. “Any time. When I say, you run. Go!” And Jack is up and hauling Ianto with him then pushing him in the other direction, but it’s too late.
The creature barrels into Jack, knocking him flat. It turns its massive head and stares right at Ianto. “Shit.”
He’s running, feet pounding the dirt, sliding in the dewy grass. It’s just behind him, its hot, stinking breath puffing out and there’s nowhere to go. Nothing but trees and Ianto hasn’t climbed a tree in over ten years, but he’s leaping up, grasping a long, low branch. The bark scrapes the skin off his palms and the branch wobbles. It’s going to snap, it’s going to snap and he’s going to die and maybe it’s just the adrenaline rush, but he cares. He cares and he doesn’t want to die like this as the branch snaps and he’s falling to the ground and it’s almost on top of him and he’s-
“Ianto!” Jack yells as the massive creature crumples to the ground between them. Jack stands, gun raised, and Ianto just stares at him from his place on the ground, trying to catch his breath. The spell breaks and Jack rushes over, his hands are everywhere and it feels… he can feel. “Ianto? Are you OK? Are you hurt?”
“I can’t move.”
“What? Why not?”
“You’re sitting on me.” *
Jack hauls him to his feet, patting down his sides. “Did it get you? A bite? Or even a tiny scratch? Anything?”
“No, it didn’t touch me.”
“Did any of its saliva get on you or in your mouth?”
“What?” Ianto makes an ‘Ew!’ face, but Jack looks serious. Ianto shakes his head, “No.”
A worried expression still on his face, Jack’s hands continue to rove over Ianto’s body, checking for injury. And he’s practically babbling. On another day, a day a few weeks ago even, Ianto might have made a quip about copping a feel.
“Jack,” Ianto exhales, in a quiet voice. He steps forward, brushing past Jack’s shoulder, and takes two tentative steps. “He’s just a kid.” The body of a pale, naked young man lays face down, arms flung out over his head with his legs curled up.
Jack steps up beside him. “Dammit. I was hoping to take this one alive.” At Ianto’s questioning look, he explains, “It’s not the same as before. UNIT has a whole division working on this. It’s like a virus and they might come up with a cure. We could have saved others.” Jack wipes his arm across his brow, revealing angry red marks on his hand.
Ianto grabs his hand to look more closely. “Did it get you?”
Jack’s eyes drift from Ianto’s face to their joined hands and back. “No, that’s from earlier. Damn dinosaur bit me while I was trying to look at her broken wing.”
Dropping Jack’s hand, Ianto takes a single step away, rage flaring again. “Can you blame her?”
“No.” Jack almost sounds… defeated. But that’s not Jack. “Her wing is healing, though.”
Ianto stares at the boy’s body. “There was nothing I could do.”
“No. I really don’t think so.”
“You held a gun to my head.”
Beside him, Jack stiffens. “Yes, I did.” The heat from Jack’s body radiates in the rapidly cooling night air. “I was angry and… and scared and people were dying and it was a gut reaction.”
“You would have done it, too.”
“Yes.” His voice is hard, but calm. “I would have. If. If I thought you were a threat.”
Ianto nods, absently, as his eyes fill and the world blurs. “Why do you keep saving me?” Jack hovers beside him, his hand up, as if to pat Ianto’s shoulder, but he never touches. Nor does he give any answer. Ianto doesn’t want the tears to spill, doesn’t want Jack to see. “What are you going to-”
“Let me worry about it. You should go on home.”
But Ianto stubbornly gestures to the body. “I could help you-”
“No. I’ve got it. Just go, Ianto. Just go.” And then Jack’s warm hand lands heavily on the back of his neck and Jack whispers, “We’re not ready for you to come back yet.”
When Ianto reaches his flat, closing and locking the door solidly behind him, he strips down to his boxers and crawls into bed, beneath the green and blue quilt. He picks up his diary, finds a pen in the box, and he begins writing. He writes down everything he can remember from that time. It’s jumbled and parts of it are completely out of order. It won’t be the truth of how he’d felt then, but it’s the truth of what he knows now. And maybe that’s better.
part 7
originally posted: 11/03/08
*Having just rewatched Buffy the Vampire Slayer (the movie) for the 1st time in possibly ten years, I had to smack myself in the forehead, because I knew that I was not that clever. I don't want to change the line now, but proper credit goes to Joss Whedon. The line, slightly different, is near the very, very end of the movie, for reference.
part 6a
- But there is suffering in life, and there are defeats. No one can avoid them. But it's better to lose some of the battles in the struggles for your dreams than to be defeated without ever knowing what you're fighting for.
- Paulo Coelho
Ianto closes the door to Jack’s office behind him after he enters. The tricky part must have been getting it open with his hands full. Shoving his desk drawer closed, Jack wonders how he managed that.
Carrying two plates, each with a slice of cake, Ianto frowns at Jack’s gun laying abandoned on the desk, sets one of the plates down and says, “Rhys bakes. Who knew?” He doesn’t ask if Jack is hungry and doesn’t tell him that he should eat something, either. Instead, he comes around the desk, parks himself on top of it, right in front of Jack, and swings his legs up, one at a time, settling his feet on either arm of Jack’s chair, essentially boxing him in.
Jack eyes him up and down, pen poised in the air. “You’re sitting on my paperwork.”
“Very astute observation.”
Tilting his head toward the door, Jack wonders who would throw the first punch at John: Gwen or Rhys? “Anyone get killed out there?”
“Surprisingly, no.”
“And… you’re bored?”
“I’m distracting you.” Ianto takes a forkful of cake, letting his tongue snake out to catch all the crumbs. A dab of vanilla icing lingers at the corner of his mouth.
“You’re very good at that.” Jack grins up at him, bringing his hand to rest on Ianto’s thigh.
“I’m very good at a lot of things.” Ianto’s tongue darts out to lick at the icing, missing a little.
“Oh, I know.” Jack surges forward to catch Ianto’s mouth with his own, to lick the last traces of icing away himself. They over balance and Ianto jerks away.
“Look what you made me do.” But he’s smiling and his voice is light. He holds his right hand up, the one he’d leaned back on to keep himself from falling over. The hand that he’d put down right into the slice of cake he’d brought for Jack.
With his clean hand, he pushes gently at Jack’s shoulder to give himself room and Jack flops back into his chair. He watches Ianto search around the piles of papers for something to wipe his hand off, and is about to offer when Ianto decides to lick it clean himself, raising his eyebrows at Jack suggestively. Shaking his head, Jack tries to remember if Ianto was always like this with him or if it’s only been the past few months.
“You’ve rejected the ATMOS upgrade?” Ianto pulls up a sheet of paper off the desk. “And recommended that all police, military and security services to do the same?”
“I’ve told you, there’s something… off about it. I just can’t remember what it is.” Jack grins as Ianto rolls his eyes at him. “It’ll come to me. But UNIT is being stubborn, as usual. Maybe I can get Martha to kick them in gear.”
“So, what pearls of wisdom would you have for her?”
“I dunno about wisdom, but if you want something pearly-”
“Please. That is beneath you, Jack.” He clamps his hand over Jack’s smirk. “And that. I’m just going to stop talking.” Jack pushes his tongue out through his lips to lick Ianto’s palm. It is sticky sweet from the cake icing and Ianto pulls it away, trying to glower but he’s laughing behind it.
“C’mere.” Jack pushes his chair closer to the desk and wraps his arms around Ianto’s waist, resting his head against Ianto’s stomach. “Don’t stop talking to me.”
“I wouldn’t.” Ianto combs his fingers - of his clean hand, Jack hopes - through Jack’s hair, brushing his fringe aside and away from his eyes. Moving his head, the fabric of Ianto’s waistcoat warm next to his skin, Jack looks up and beckons him closer.
The door clatters open as John stumbles backward inside, calling out into the hub, “So, just to be clear, that was a ‘no’ on the threesome?” He ducks as an empty plastic container sails through the air over his head and lands in the middle of the office floor. Gwen growls something - well, it sounds like Gwen, and wouldn’t Jack love to hear her make that sound again under other circumstances - as John hurriedly closes the door and leans back against it.
Ianto is half-turned, aiming Jack’s gun at John’s head. “Out. Get out now, or I’ll shoot you.”
John stands a little straighter, crossing his arms over his chest, leering. Ianto cocks the gun.
Grinning, Jack says, “I think he means it.” John glances between Jack, Ianto, and the Webley. With a “Pfft!” he opens the door and stomps back out. But not before checking that the coast is clear.
Licking his lips, Jack slides his hand back up Ianto’s inner thigh, then over his hip and onto his chest. “Have I told you recently how much I love it when you take charge like that?”
“Told? No.” Ianto engages the safety on the revolver and slips it back into its holster where it belongs. He threads his fingers through Jack’s hair, tugging him forward. “But I like it better when you show me.” Ianto leans down until their lips meet and it is slow and it is warm and Jack’s blood rushes and his heart pounds and he breathes in Ianto’s strong, comforting scent through his nose and tastes coffee and cake on his tongue and-
An ear-piercing shriek shatters the moment. Both Jack and Ianto scramble for the door and out into the hub. The sound gets louder and Ianto covers his ears.
Gwen is at the computer with her hands clamped to the sides of her head. “Is that the rift alert?” she shouts over the sound, jerking her head at the monitor. Rhys stands just behind her, covering his own ears, and John just beyond, grimacing.
Jack marches over to peer at the screen. “That’s not the rift alert, it’s the prediction program.” He turns sharply, glaring at John and demands, “What did you do to it?”
“Just tweaked it a bit,” John replies, his voice mostly drowned out by the sound. “Should give you more advance warning now.”
“Jack, look at this.” Ianto has edged up next to him and is pointing to the readings on the screen. “It’ll be huge. Whatever comes through… it could be…” Ianto hunches up his right shoulder to protect his ear and begins typing frantically. “I think I can pinpoint it to a single location,” he yells and, even though Jack is right next to him, he can barely hear him.
“Can you shut the alarm-”
The sound stops.
“-off?!” Jack squares his shoulders. “Good, thanks.”
Ianto offers him a thin, tight smile. But his eyes are drawn back to the monitor. “Jack. If this is accurate…” he begins, cutting his eyes quickly over to John, and Jack nods.
It wouldn’t be completely impossible for John to have somehow set this up, except he truly looks as confused as the rest of them. Not quite as worried, but that’s John. Decisively, Jack commands, “Tell me, how big are we talking.”
Ianto indicates the screen with a sweep of his hand. “It’s looking like it could encompass this whole area, centered above a car park just off the city centre. We’ll need more than just you and Gwen out there to cover this and someone has to coordinate from the hub…” Ianto trails off, his words hanging in the air.
Slowly, Jack stands up straighter, looking from Ianto to John to Gwen to Rhys, and back to Ianto. Shaking his head, Jack says, “We can’t leave him alone in the hub.”
“We can’t leave him alone in the hub,” Ianto counters, pointing at John.
“No, no, no.” Gwen shakes her head, stepping in front of Rhys, as if to shield him with her body. “There’s no way. Rhys is not getting involved. No.”
Stepping next to Jack, Ianto says softly, “Someone needs to coordinate us.”
John says, “Uh, I could do that-” and Rhys asks, “Wait, what’s going on-” but they are both ignored.
“No way, just no,” Gwen is still insisting, waving her hands about, and Jack feels himself wavering, glancing between her, and her vehement refusal, and Ianto’s forced calm.
“Rhys did help me get the Hoix out of the hospital and back to the hub.”
Both Jack and Gwen turn to Ianto in surprise. “He did?”
Ianto rolls his eyes. “Yes, he did. And a fine job, too.” He nods at the other man standing on the outside of the group and Rhys beams.
Softly to Ianto, Jack asks, “Where was I? I should have done that.”
“You were… busy.” Ianto surreptitiously squeezes his hand. “Gwen,” he says, louder, “it’s our only option. And we haven’t got much time. Rhys, you do this sort of thing all the time for work, yes?” Ianto beckons him to the computer and pulls up the route maps on the monitor. “This shows the location, this here is the SUV, and these dots represent us. Jack is blue, Gwen is green, I’m red, and…” Ianto glances over his shoulder at Jack. “And I suppose John will be yellow?”
“He’ll be no more than ten feet from me,” Jack informs them and runs over to his office. He finds what he’s looking for, quickly, and jogs back out, holding up the alien ankle cuff. He waggles it in John’s direction. “Isn’t that right?” John sneers in Jack’s direction, but he takes the cuff and snaps it around his ankle. Jack grins. “Good man.”
Ianto hurries to gather equipment. He fits Toshiko’s comm device into the shell of Rhys’s ear for him and offers the other, Owen’s, to John. John scoffs at it, and Ianto glowers at him. “Toshiko designed and constructed these using plans from the archives labeled 33rd century. They’re top of the line here and now.” He shoves the device, minuscule and nearly invisible, into John’s hand and turns back to Rhys.
At a glare from Jack, John quickly fits it into his ear, petulantly asking, “I get a gun, don’t I? You’re not sending me out unarmed. That would be just irresponsible of you.”
“We’re not letting you loose with one of our firearms.” Jack leans past Gwen, still looking worried and hovering nearby, and Ianto, explaining the navigational system to Rhys, to say, “And don’t touch anything else.” Rhys scowls at him.
“Well, where are my weapons? I want them back. I worked very hard to acquire some of those.”
“Jack removed your weapons,” Ianto states, calmly. He pulls a face. “Yes, all of them.” At Rhys’s questioning look, Ianto tells him, “You don’t want to know.”
“Can’t keep his hands off me, is what you’re saying.” John wiggles his backside, smiling smugly.
Jack places a gentle hand on Gwen’s shoulder, to reassure her or himself, he isn’t sure. “Ianto, just give him a weapon or he’ll never shut up. Nothing high-powered. He can have a big stick, for all I care.”
Ianto hands John the smaller of two tasers. John examines the clunky design, missing the air cartridge, with an expression of extreme distaste. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
Slipping the other into his inside coat pocket, Ianto smiles, placidly. “If you have to ask, I’d be happy to give you a demonstration.”
“Oi,” Rhys calls their attention back, “this is a pretty public area. I can direct you there fine, but what’re you going to do about people?”
Gwen looks queasy at the mere idea of leaving Rhys alone in the hub and, as her gaze strays over toward the autopsy bay, Ianto gently touches her arm.
“Gwen?”
Her eyes snap back to Jack. “I’ve got an idea.” She pulls out her mobile and dials quickly. “Andy? We’ve got a situation. We need you,” she says into the phone, hurrying off to her work station to gather her things. A moment later she calls out, “It’s all set, Jack. I’ve got the police cordoning off the area.”
Jack straps his holster in place and claps his hands together. “Alright, people, let’s move.”
As Ianto comes up behind him and settles Jack’s coat on his shoulders, something fundamental, something that had been missing, something Jack hadn’t even noticed until now, slots back into place. And they are ready to go again.
---
According to Ianto’s rift-activity monitor, the ‘event’ hasn’t happened yet. However, one should only trust technology so far. Gwen is at his side as he holds it up and shakes his head to indicate ‘nothing.’ It’s late afternoon and the last light of the day is slowly bleeding to dark, taking with it the lingering vestiges of warmth. There’s a tall, chain-link fence at one side of the multi-storey car park surrounding a pit of rubble and construction work. This is Cardiff, rebuilding. Hopefully that, plus the police cordon, will be enough to keep any passers-by from wandering in.
“If I’m reading this thing right, it’ll be straight ahead of you and up one level,” Rhys directs them from the hub.
Jack comes in surround sound, at Ianto’s left shoulder and over his comm-link, “One level? Not on the roof?”
Ianto turns slightly, eyes trained ahead, but speaking to Jack. “We’ll have to go through the construction site to get in there. It’s all blocked off.”
“No problem,” John announces, and hurtles himself at the fence, shimmying his wiry frame up and over. The bandage on his arm gets caught on the top, sharp metal tearing it away and slicing the flesh. For all his agility, he lands gracelessly on the flat of his back.
“Idiot,” Jack mutters, then, aloud, says, “What did I say about ten feet?” He holds up the little black box that controls the cuff. “Do you want me to barbecue your head?”
Nimbly somersaulting to his feet, John dusts his jeans off and plants his hands on his hips. “It doesn’t have that much power.”
Jack waves the box in his hand and, with a lopsided grin, says, “Maybe I tweaked it a bit.”
Ianto rolls his eyes at the banter that’s beginning to sound a bit too much like foreplay and clears his throat to get their attention. He points to a gate, unlatched, just a few meters away. He lets Gwen go through before him, but slips in front of Jack with a flick of an eyebrow in his direction. Jack chuckles softly in his ear, sending a shiver down his spine.
The place is eerily quiet with the distant sound of voices echoing off the buildings around them. Jack takes the lead, keeping John to his right, but slightly in front. He motions for Ianto and Gwen to go round the other side and take the long way, while he and John take the stairwell. Ianto’s shoes tap, tap, tap on the cement and Gwen’s trainers make hushed, scuffing sounds. They pass by darkened, empty vehicles consumed by the gloom, half the overhead lights flickering or out entirely. The shadows jump and sputter, creating movement out of the corners of Ianto’s eyes.
Gwen raises her chin at him in silent question and Ianto looks down at his monitor, frowning. It should be-
Leaves rustle, trickling down the slope of the car park, flying by on an arctic wind. The sound fills the silence, howling in the void. Catching Gwen’s eye, Ianto nods and off they go, racing up the slope to the turn and onto the next level.
“Well that’s… different.” Ianto stops dead and Gwen pulls up beside him.
It’s snowing. It’s snowing in the middle of a car park. On the middle level. There’s literally snow falling out of the concrete ceiling above them, just in that one spot about fifteen meters in diameter, blanketing the grey floor and nearby cars.
It’s snowing. In early October. It hardly even snows in Cardiff in the dead of winter.
“That’s beautiful.” Gwen exhales, her breath misting in front of her face. The diffused glow of pinkish light coming from the… the great bloody rip in space and time! Ianto runs his hand over his hair and nearly staggers back. It lights Gwen’s features, softer, rounder, her mouth open in awe.
“You dragged me out here for this?” Ianto tries to ignore John’s voice grating in his ear.
He looks across to the other side of the car park where Jack has appeared, John next to him. “Scanning now, Jack,” Ianto says, walking slowly with Toshiko’s handheld out in front of him. “It’s spatial, temporal, all kinds of strange readings, but it seems benign for the most par-”
His last word gets swallowed up in a great gust of wind, a loud boom and a flash of bright, white-hot light that sends him flying backwards. He manages to keep his head from slamming into a blue Vauxhall Insignia. Next to him, Gwen rolls onto her side. Offering her a weak half-smile, he says, “Nope. Same old, same old. You alright?” She nods and Ianto taps his earpiece, “Jack?”
“I’m OK, Ianto.”
“Gwen! Gwen, are you alright?”
“I’m fine. Fine, Rhys.” She sounds the slightest bit annoyed and trying to hide it.
“Now is not the time, people.” Jack, of course, doesn’t bother covering it up.
“I bloody hate this job and I don’t even work here!”
“I’m fine, too, by the way.” Nobody pays attention to John.
As Ianto struggles to his feet, shoes slipping in the puddles melting out of the snow-covered ground, there’s another great blast of wind and a smaller flash.
It is, Ianto can honestly say, the first time he’s ever seen something actually fall through the rift. Usually things just show up. Or disappear.
The snow stops falling and Ianto realizes that the hole has closed up, leaving behind pure white snow and a large, fur-covered lump in the middle of the car park. It moves, rolling slightly to the side, and a muffled groan - almost a growl, something terribly off about it, a grinding, almost mechanical noise - fills the silence. The thing lurches to its feet and it’s over nine feet tall. Ianto stumbles back, involuntarily. Gwen is next to him with her gun raised high, staring wide-eyed at the creature.
In Ianto’s ear, Jack says, “Stay back. Do not approach,” and out loud says, “Stay where you are! We can help you if you cooperate.”
The thing jerks and stumbles in Jack’s direction, its fur rippling in a not-quite-natural way. Jack raises his gun, calling out again, but Ianto can’t make out the words. The creature turns from Jack and starts toward Ianto. Gwen moves up beside him, trying to block him with her body. Her hands are steady, gun never wavering, when she calls out, “Jack!” But the thing keeps coming, its steps unmeasured, staggering and swaying, lumbering forward. Before anyone has time to react, it lunges at Gwen and Ianto moves quick, taser out and ready, connecting with one of its large limbs.
It only takes one jolt to drop the enormous thing to the ground. Its fur moves like a solid mass up and over and comes away, falling to the ground revealing…
It looks almost human. Small, round eyes looking up out of pale pink skin. The fur, a coat Ianto now realizes, pools around the… person’s body as it - he? she? - shivers in the snow. It has no mouth, but there’s an odd metal contraption protruding from the side of its head. Emitting a voice, “Help. Help me.”
Gwen gasps, dropping her arms to her sides. “It sounds just like Jack.”
Yeah, if Jack had his personality removed, Ianto thinks and winces, because that voice in his head had sounded just like Owen.
“Help - ppleurghghs - please, help.” But that voice, no, it’s high and… mechanical. It sounds too much like… And this thing is lying here - in agony, if the distorted face is anything to go by - and he’d just almost killed it and all it wants is help.
“Wait! Wait, don’t shoot it!” John is running out, stepping in front of the creature - it still doesn’t look human enough to call it anything else - with his arms out. He’s looking at Jack, saying, “Don’t. It’s harmless. Come on, Jack, you should know this one.”
But Jack looks just as confused as Ianto feels. He’d thought it, too. He’d reacted the same way. He’d have done the same thing.
- The quality of mercy is not strain'd. It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath. It is twice blest. It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes…
-William Shakespeare
It’s only nine days into his suspension. That first night Jack had escorted him home, but hadn’t come inside or stayed any longer than necessary and left with the explicit statement that he’d be back the next day. Ianto had stumbled into his flat, stripped all of his clothes off, showered for an unimaginable amount of time, then passed out on his bed. He’d slept for over thirty hours straight and missed Jack’s first visit. He’d barely woken for Jack’s second and mostly ignored him every day after.
At some point, maybe coming back from the toilet or on his way in search of food, he drifts from the bed to the floor and just stays there. And Jack comes and goes, bringing with him food or coffee, making no comments about the boxes stacked up against the walls, or the lack of kitchen amenities, or the general state of the tiny, sparse room.
Ianto remains lying on the hard, cold floor covered with the blue and green quilt, the one he’d bought when he’d first moved to London. Lisa had hated it and called it the ugliest thing she’d ever seen. But she’d let him keep it over the armchair in their lounge next to the bookcase and he’d find her curled up in it late at night. He dozes lightly for hours or days on end, jerking awake every now and then, because he should be doing something, he needs to check on Lisa, she’s…
…waiting, waiting for him to fix her. She asks, and each day her voice sounds less and less like her, but today, she smiles at him and the pain is less and he’ll make it work, he’ll find a way because she’s the only person in the entire world and she’s…
…gone now. She’s gone and the sound of heavy, metal feet pound through his head and they’ll never go away even though it’s over now. It’s over.
Waking up when it’s dark out leaves Ianto with a strange feeling of being displaced, like he’s not where he’s supposed to be. Which is ridiculous, because he has nowhere to be. Not anymore.
He rubs the crusty sleep from his eyes and crawls over to the table to retrieve the waiting cup of coffee. It’s from that place just round the corner - the only evidence of Jack’s visit - and it’s cold. With a grimace, he drinks it anyway and begins to pull some clothes on. Some of his boxes have been moved, rifled through, because of course, of course Jack has gone through his things. Ianto would be angry, he should be angry, but it’s all just too far away. Jack has every right to be suspicious. Fool me once, and all that. Oh, how he’d fooled Jack. Right under his very nose, and Jack is completely nuts if he thinks that was easy. Or fun.
Ianto’s hands had shaken from the constant fear. He’s shaking now. No plan. He has no plan. Groping for his keys on the little table by his bed, his clumsy, trembling hands knock them off and into an open box on the floor. Reaching in, his fingers meet cool, dusty leather. His diary, untouched since Canary Wharf. Drawing it out of the box, Ianto stares at it. He couldn’t bring himself to write down things about Lisa, about the bat- the massacre. To lie in writing, in black and white. Because he’d known, even then some part of him must have known.
He could pretend like none of it ever happened.
Ianto leaves his flat just shy of midnight. He isn’t heading anywhere in particular, just picks a direction and starts walking. The air is warm and damp, as it is just after a storm, but there’s no evidence of recent rainfall. It’s at times like this he wishes he were a smoker; it would give him something to do with his hands.
There’s a section of the morgue that no one is permitted to enter. For as long as Ianto has been at Torchwood Three it has always been strictly forbidden. Not even Jack goes there. Ianto hadn’t cared before; for whatever reasons it was off-limits - housing the alien plague, perhaps - it was no concern of his. He wonders, now, if that is where Lisa is being kept. What did they do with her?
A flash of dark grey catches his attention, flapping against long legs running through the park. A sight as familiar to him as anything. And something else, larger, hairy, tearing through the trees. The two shapes meld and then break apart in the pale light from the moon hanging low in the sky. Jack gets knocked off his feet and lands in the damp grass and the larger form bolts through the trees.
Sharp, burning flickers of pain and resentment blaze through Ianto, tinged with an overwhelming sense of relief and… He doesn’t need to put a name to all of it. Not now. His legs are moving almost of their own accord and he catches up to Jack quickly.
Jack accepts the hand up he offers, but doesn’t let his grip linger as he once would have. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“I was just out for a walk. You looked like you needed help.” Ianto won’t be intimidated, won’t be cowed by Jack Harkness. Not today. “But I could always go and let that thing tear you to shreds. Since I’m on suspension, I won’t have to take care of your bloody coat, either, will I?”
Then Jack grins that patented Harkness grin, a challenge, a warning and a come on all at once. “You did say you’d watch me suffer and die. Here’s your big chance.”
And Ianto freezes, looks down at his…
…hands, raw and bloodied, the metal of the conversion unit scraping his skin off, but he has to finish quickly, she can’t last long out of it, he has to hurry. A thin trickle of…
… blood remains, staining the concrete by the water tower where not an hour ago Jack had been lying dead and the others can’t know, they can’t see, so Ianto scrubs, he scrubs for all he’s worth, down on his…
… knees soaked in her blood and he almost misses that high, mechanical voice that wasn’t really hers, if he could just hear it once more, if she would only come back, lifeless eyes staring…
… up at Jack looking down at him, beckoning him to be silent, tingling spark running down his spine and he…
… shivers, avoiding Jack’s eyes. “I’ve seen that plenty, actually. I think I’m good.” They stand in silence, but eventually Jack starts walking and Ianto gives himself no choice but to follow. “So, what are we dealing with here?”
“Werewolf. Sort of,” Jack says over his shoulder, without looking back.
“Sort of? Never mind.” Tree branches whip past his face, catching at the thin material of his t-shirt and leaving scratches on his arms as he tries to keep pace with Jack. “Mistletoe. Isn’t that supposed to stop it?”
Jack stops and whirls around. “How do you know that?”
“It was in the London file. In eighteen-seventy-nine, Queen Victoria was attacked by a creature like a werewolf and that’s when she set up the Tor-”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jack dismisses, waving his hand at Ianto. “Thing is, that doesn’t actually do anything. And this one is different, so it doesn’t matter. You’ve really got to get London out of your head.”
“Believe me, I’d like to,” he mutters under his breath as he follows Jack through the trees, going quiet. “So, what do we do?” he whispers. “It’s not like we have a light cannon handy. Silver bullets?”
“No. We’re not going to kill it.”
“Then what-”
It flies out of the trees and Ianto barely has time to react before Jack is on top of him. They land, hard, on the ground and it knocks the wind out of him. He stares up into Jack’s face and this is all too familiar. He’d laugh if he could get the air into his lungs. Jack leans up off of him, fingers gently touching the side of Ianto’s face and then Ianto does laugh, a small puff of breath. “Nice save.”
Jack grins down at him. “Any time. When I say, you run. Go!” And Jack is up and hauling Ianto with him then pushing him in the other direction, but it’s too late.
The creature barrels into Jack, knocking him flat. It turns its massive head and stares right at Ianto. “Shit.”
He’s running, feet pounding the dirt, sliding in the dewy grass. It’s just behind him, its hot, stinking breath puffing out and there’s nowhere to go. Nothing but trees and Ianto hasn’t climbed a tree in over ten years, but he’s leaping up, grasping a long, low branch. The bark scrapes the skin off his palms and the branch wobbles. It’s going to snap, it’s going to snap and he’s going to die and maybe it’s just the adrenaline rush, but he cares. He cares and he doesn’t want to die like this as the branch snaps and he’s falling to the ground and it’s almost on top of him and he’s-
“Ianto!” Jack yells as the massive creature crumples to the ground between them. Jack stands, gun raised, and Ianto just stares at him from his place on the ground, trying to catch his breath. The spell breaks and Jack rushes over, his hands are everywhere and it feels… he can feel. “Ianto? Are you OK? Are you hurt?”
“I can’t move.”
“What? Why not?”
“You’re sitting on me.” *
Jack hauls him to his feet, patting down his sides. “Did it get you? A bite? Or even a tiny scratch? Anything?”
“No, it didn’t touch me.”
“Did any of its saliva get on you or in your mouth?”
“What?” Ianto makes an ‘Ew!’ face, but Jack looks serious. Ianto shakes his head, “No.”
A worried expression still on his face, Jack’s hands continue to rove over Ianto’s body, checking for injury. And he’s practically babbling. On another day, a day a few weeks ago even, Ianto might have made a quip about copping a feel.
“Jack,” Ianto exhales, in a quiet voice. He steps forward, brushing past Jack’s shoulder, and takes two tentative steps. “He’s just a kid.” The body of a pale, naked young man lays face down, arms flung out over his head with his legs curled up.
Jack steps up beside him. “Dammit. I was hoping to take this one alive.” At Ianto’s questioning look, he explains, “It’s not the same as before. UNIT has a whole division working on this. It’s like a virus and they might come up with a cure. We could have saved others.” Jack wipes his arm across his brow, revealing angry red marks on his hand.
Ianto grabs his hand to look more closely. “Did it get you?”
Jack’s eyes drift from Ianto’s face to their joined hands and back. “No, that’s from earlier. Damn dinosaur bit me while I was trying to look at her broken wing.”
Dropping Jack’s hand, Ianto takes a single step away, rage flaring again. “Can you blame her?”
“No.” Jack almost sounds… defeated. But that’s not Jack. “Her wing is healing, though.”
Ianto stares at the boy’s body. “There was nothing I could do.”
“No. I really don’t think so.”
“You held a gun to my head.”
Beside him, Jack stiffens. “Yes, I did.” The heat from Jack’s body radiates in the rapidly cooling night air. “I was angry and… and scared and people were dying and it was a gut reaction.”
“You would have done it, too.”
“Yes.” His voice is hard, but calm. “I would have. If. If I thought you were a threat.”
Ianto nods, absently, as his eyes fill and the world blurs. “Why do you keep saving me?” Jack hovers beside him, his hand up, as if to pat Ianto’s shoulder, but he never touches. Nor does he give any answer. Ianto doesn’t want the tears to spill, doesn’t want Jack to see. “What are you going to-”
“Let me worry about it. You should go on home.”
But Ianto stubbornly gestures to the body. “I could help you-”
“No. I’ve got it. Just go, Ianto. Just go.” And then Jack’s warm hand lands heavily on the back of his neck and Jack whispers, “We’re not ready for you to come back yet.”
When Ianto reaches his flat, closing and locking the door solidly behind him, he strips down to his boxers and crawls into bed, beneath the green and blue quilt. He picks up his diary, finds a pen in the box, and he begins writing. He writes down everything he can remember from that time. It’s jumbled and parts of it are completely out of order. It won’t be the truth of how he’d felt then, but it’s the truth of what he knows now. And maybe that’s better.
part 7
originally posted: 11/03/08
*Having just rewatched Buffy the Vampire Slayer (the movie) for the 1st time in possibly ten years, I had to smack myself in the forehead, because I knew that I was not that clever. I don't want to change the line now, but proper credit goes to Joss Whedon. The line, slightly different, is near the very, very end of the movie, for reference.